she needed to catch up on homework. Besides, Ursula was a suspect. Getting close to her again wouldn’t be smart. On the other hand, she’d sure like to know if the Gallenskis had crossed the line with other tenants. If she could talk to some of them . . .
Casey watched the animals munch their food and thought again about Jasmine’s letters. When it came to wanting something or solving problems, Jasmine had been a take-charge person. When her parents died and the rest of the family disowned her, she moved on. Got a job, left an abusive marriage, and sought her biological mother. She’d taken charge of her life, made plans.
Casey remembered when she used to be like that, and she knew that passivity crept in the day she started parenting a grieving, angry teenager. She’d spent the past four months tiptoeing around, hoping Summer would learn to deal with Rhonda’s absence, but clearly she hadn’t. Time to face reality, regain control of her life. Marie had been a good start. Winifred’s turn next.
Casey marched out of her apartment and jogged down to the second floor. She rapped on Winifred’s door. “Winifred, it’s Casey. I want to talk to you.”
No answer. Casey pressed her ear against the door and listened. She heard a noise. “I’m not leaving until we talk, so you might as well open the door.” She crossed her arms and counted to ten. “That’s it, I’m coming in.”
She turned the handle. The door was unlocked. Casey stepped inside the darkened room and gasped when she saw Winifred on the floor, beside the bed. Blood covered some of her face and one eye was swollen shut. Oh god, how long had she been here? Bending closer, Casey felt Winifred’s breath on her cheek. Casey checked her pulse. It was there, but not that strong.
“Winifred, can you hear me?”
“Mmm.”
“Can you breathe okay?”
“Hurts.”
“What happened?”
Winifred moaned. Her swollen eyelid twitched. “Attacked.”
“Did you see the person?”
“No.”
“Can I check to see where you’re injured? I have first aid.”
“No.”
“I’ll call 911.” Casey yanked the comforter off the bed, draped it over Winifred, and then called for help on her cell. She tried to answer the dispatcher’s questions, but knew too little to be of much use. “Winifred, do you know how long ago this happened?”
“No.”
“The suspect could still be nearby,” Casey said to the dispatcher. “Send the police right away.” She turned to Winifred. “Winifred, did you see any part of your attacker, like clothing, hair, a tattoo? Anything that could describe him?”
“Dark clothes . . . hat.”
“A wide-brimmed hat?”
“Mmm.”
“Brown?”
Winifred groaned.
Nausea roiled in Casey’s stomach as she repeated Winifred’s description to the dispatcher. She spotted closed suitcases in front of the bed, an unopened purse on top of them. Winifred must have been preparing to move out when she was attacked. Since Summer wasn’t here, the killer must have carried out his threat on the next available victim.
“Winifred, you’ve got a gash on your cheek. Do you want me to wash it out and get some disinfectant?”
“No.”
Aside from Marie and Noel, the only other suspects who knew she’d gone to Parksville were Gabrielle and possibly Birch. Gabrielle probably told Birch everything that had happened over there, and hitting women wasn’t new to him.
Panic shot through Casey. Was he still in the house? Winifred moaned again. Casey swallowed back her fear while she stared at the open bedroom door. Her gaze darted to the closed closet door. She held her breath and listened for sounds, but the pounding in her ears made it tough to hear anything.
“Casey?” Winifred squinted at her.
“I’m here.”
“Your fault,” she mumbled.
TWENTY-SEVEN
RUSH HOUR HAD BEGUN AS Casey drove east toward Coquitlam, but she didn’t mind the slowing traffic. She needed to think before she met the Gallenskis. She called them twenty minutes ago to see if the sunflower footstool was still available. Ursula warned her that she’d only hold it for an hour. Casey wasn’t thrilled to see Ursula again, but staying alone in the house was worse. Winifred’s assailant was out there somewhere, probably waiting for her or Summer.
The paramedics thought some of Winifred’s ribs might be broken. They’d also found large dark bruises on her lower back, where she could have been kicked. Casey told the police that Elliott Birch could resort to something that vile and suggested they contact Corporal Lundy about him.
Explaining things to Summer had been tougher. When she heard about Winifred, she cried. She’d wanted to visit Winifred at the hospital, but with a killer running loose Casey had said no.
“I can take care of myself,” Summer had insisted. “And Lou and Barb and you can protect me. Don’t hospitals have security anyway?”
“It’s not that simple.”
And on it went until Casey cut things short by saying she needed to call Rhonda. When she heard about Winifred, Rhonda said, “What kind of coward would attack an old woman, and why on God’s earth was Mother still at the house? What if the psycho’s waiting to get Summer?”
Rhonda had then demanded Barb’s number so she could tell Summer to stay away from the hospital. She’d also decided to take a more active role in parenting her daughter. Casey’s job was to simply ensure that Rhonda’s rules were followed. Her diminished role as guardian made her feel incompetent.
She pulled up in front of the Gallenskis’ apartment building and scanned the street for Gabrielle’s Jetta or Birch’s Dodge Dart. What if she’d missed something in the rearview mirror? By the time Casey shut off the engine, her body was so tense that a tap on the shoulder would catapult her through the front entrance. She needed gum. Chewing would at least unclench her jaw. She popped a piece in her mouth, stepped out of the car, and jogged up to the door. The sound of Ursula’s voice over the intercom already annoyed her.
“This is Casey.”
“You got the cash?”
“Yes.” Geez, this wasn’t a drug buy, for heaven sake.
The intercom buzzed and Casey entered a lobby cluttered with boxes and full plastic bags. A woman and two guys were pushing a sofa toward the door.
“Moving day, huh?” Casey asked.
“Yeah, thank GOD,” the girl replied.
“It’s that bad here?”
She barked out a laugh. “You could say that.”
“Really? I was thinking about moving in.” The tenant headed for the door.
“Please, I need to know. I’m about to give them a damage deposit.”
The girl turned around. “Stuff goes missing around here.”
“From the laundry room?”
“From your bloody apartment. Coins or a five dollar bill; things they don’t think we’ll notice.”
“Has it happened to others?”
