Ten
CASEY WINKED AT Lou as she unlocked Dad’s front door with the key from the blue notebook. She pushed the door open and raised the pipe wrench, should her hunch about the thug’s absence be wrong. The wrench wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. She’d look for the tire iron she’d lost Tuesday night.
Standing on the threshold, Casey listened for sounds and peered around the door.
“Crap, look at this,” she said, pulling Lou inside.
A dozen wooden crates, each packed with items wrapped in newspaper, sat in the foyer.
“These weren’t here two days ago.” Casey looked at the staircase and again listened to the quiet.
“Want to leave?” Lou whispered.
“No, but let’s see if a red Jaguar’s in the garage.”
A minute later, they were staring at an empty garage.
“I’ll show you the den,” she said.
In the den, the bloodstained chair and carpet were still here, but everything else was gone except the phone. Was her attacker a professional thief who’d found an unoccupied home, or somebody listed in one of Dad’s address books?
In the living room, she and Lou strolled between more sealed crates before venturing into the empty dining room. Back in the foyer, Casey smacked the wrench against a crate.
“All this packing in a day and a half?” Again, she looked at the staircase. “Someone’s worked fast, or he had help.”
“Any ideas who?” Lou asked.
“Theo Ziegler comes to mind. I called Lalonde, but he still hasn’t been able to find him. Ziegler hasn’t been following me that I could see, so I’m thinking he’s been busy here.”
“A thief and a killer?”
“Possibly. Lalonde wouldn’t tell me what, if anything, they’ve dug up on him, so I did a little research on the net and found a website for a TZ Incorporated, based in Geneva. It’s just a little one-page site, but it states that Ziegler’s owner of a company that specializes in unique imports and exports. His is the only name on the site, along with a contact number.”
“Which I assume you called?”
Casey smiled. “I talked to a woman who said he’s out of town indefinitely. She wouldn’t give me any info about the company and asked me to call back in a couple of weeks. Ziegler’s either warned her to shut up or the police have already scared her off.” She began rummaging through a crate. “When I left my name and number and asked that he call me, her voice went all squeaky, so I’m wondering if she knows the name Holland. It’ll be interesting to see if Ziegler returns my call.”
“Let’s go upstairs.” Lou looked at the staircase. “Want me to lead?”
“Since I dragged you here, that wouldn’t be fair.”
Casey took her time with each step, alert to the silence. At the top of the stairs, she looked over her shoulder and then scanned the area for intruders. She hadn’t noticed the five doors in the dark the other night, or the wood paneling on the far wall. In daylight, the atrium was bright and cheerful. Lou wandered past a row of vibrantly colored plants.
“I knew your dad loved gardening,” he said, “but why bring the whole yard inside?”
“It’s not the whole yard; the grass is still out there.”
Lou touched several flower petals. “Silk.” He gazed at a half-dozen trees, most of them more than six feet high. “The trees are real. Red maple, purple leaf plum.” He studied the tree at the far end of the room. “Japanese maple.”
“Impressive.”
“Remember the tree doctor I went out with?”
Casey remembered all of Lou’s girlfriends. “She really liked you,” although she’d been totally wrong for him.
“She dragged me through tons of parks and forests, very educational.”
Casey spotted the tire iron in a corner, picked it up, and gave the weapon to Lou, “For your protection.”
“Thanks,” he said, as he looked around, “but I don’t think I’ll need it.”
She searched three rooms where more crates were sealed shut, closets emptied, and mattresses upended.
“Hey,” Lou called from the room behind the stairs, “I found a pool table.”
Casey stepped inside and watched him stroke the table’s surface. “Must have been a new hobby.” She gazed at the diagonal violet, mauve, and pink stripes on one wall. Not Dad’s taste at all. “I’m not letting anyone take anything. I’ll hire a security service and talk to the cops before we head back.”
“Do you want to empty the crates?”
“No, I should be back on the M8 by lunch hour.”
“I thought he doesn’t normally strike at noon.”
“I know, but a time pattern’s emerging and it fits a high school student’s schedule. I’m thinking our guy’s a student and not a street kid like Stan thinks. So, I want to check out the schools on or near the M8’s route.” She headed out the door. “Let’s take a peek at this last room.”
In the northwest corner, above the living room, an enormous master bedroom—not yet packed—was flooded by natural light from the large skylight. On the king-sized bed lay half a dozen paintings and one pen-and-ink drawing, each partially covered with brown wrapping paper and a bill of sale.
“Simone told me that Dad’s dealt in art, among other things.” She studied the bills from Oregon and California. All were made out to TZ Inc. “They can’t be stolen or the police would have confiscated them.”
While Lou studied the artwork, she wandered to the French doors and out onto a balcony. From this height, she could see the shoreline and a strip of beach. She turned and stepped back inside.
The room would be packed up soon. One empty crate had been placed in front of the closet filled with casual wear and suits. When had Dad started wearing Armani? There was no sign of women’s clothing, no trace of makeup or other female toiletries in the en suite bathroom.
Lou sat on the edge of the bed while Casey spotted two pewter-framed photographs on the night tables. She scowled at a familiar snapshot of Mother taken years ago; light blond hair curling onto her shoulders, sapphire necklace, royal-blue strapless gown. Mother was laughing, her head tilted, conveying coyness.
Hadn’t Dad thrown the picture out the window after their final fight? From the dining room below her parents’ bedroom, Casey had heard the whole thing. She’d learned about Mother’s promiscuity only a few days before the final showdown and had come home from school to find them already shouting at each other. She’d watched Mother’s possessions fall onto the patio, heard the picture’s glass shatter. She’d seen Dad drag Mother downstairs and shove her outside. Casey never saw the photograph again. Why had he kept it? Dad always believed that once hurt, there was no going back for more.
“Is that your mom?”
Lou’s voice jolted her to the present. “Biologically speaking; people used to say she was a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly.” Casey watched him pick up the picture. “Who do you think she looks like?”
“She looks like you.”
“No way.”
“Same smile, same violet eyes, and I know you color your hair brown.”
“Doesn’t matter; we have totally different body types.”
“Maybe your mother doesn’t share your love of cheeseburgers.”
“Funny, Lou.”
“Did you hear back from her yet?”
“Yeah, she emailed and said Dad’s importing business was a long story and that I should phone her. She didn’t even bother to answer my question about why she wanted to claim Dad’s body.”
“How about the other names? Any luck with them?”
“I got a few emails from people who claim not to have heard from him in over three years. I’ll try more numbers and emails later today.”
