Casey started toward the cages under the window at the front of the house when she noticed a cane propped against a chair. Then she remembered. Vincent had multiple sclerosis, though he’d been in remission back then.
When he entered the room carrying a tray with the coffee things, she offered to help, but he turned her down.
“Who’s the skink’s neighbor?” she asked.
“A short-horned lizard that a friend and I caught with a pole and noose in Alberta.” He placed the tray on a table between the chairs. “When Charlie’s threatened, he ruptures a blood vessel in his eye and squirts blood as far as a six feet.”
“Neat trick,” and totally disgusting.
Vincent poured the coffee. “How’s Rhonda? Still the world’s greatest cook?”
“She’s fine, and how do you know about her cooking skills?”
“She used to bring us picnic baskets filled with chicken and salads and wonderful strudels.”
“I didn’t know that.” She accepted the mug he handed her.
“Rhonda hung around a lot waiting for Marcus that last year. A couple of times she showed up, thinking he’d returned from one of his business trips when he hadn’t. She seemed lonely.”
“Yeah, well, Dad was around less and less. Rhonda said he’d been on lots of business trips. In fact, the last time I saw him was that Christmas. Less than three months later I was arranging his funeral.” She watched Vincent pour a packet of sugar in his coffee. “I know about his import/export business, Vincent. A woman named Simone Archambault told me. Do you know her?”
“The name’s vaguely familiar.”
“Simone implied you knew something about this business,” she said, watching his mouth clamp shut, “and I need to know more.”
“All I did was help Marcus with the bookkeeping now and then. You know how little patience he had for accounting.”
“Was the business called TZ Incorporated?”
“Yes.”
“Simone said his architectural practice wasn’t doing well and that importing was helping him bring in extra cash.”
“It did that.” He sipped his coffee.
“How long had he had this sideline?”
“About fifteen years. By the end it wasn’t a sideline, it was his whole life.”
The stifling room was making her sweat. “Fifteen years? Are you kidding me?”
“Afraid not. The more money Marcus made through importing the less interested he was in acquiring new architecture clients or in even designing. He was always taking off somewhere, living the high life.”
“I don’t frigging believe this.” Casey’s thoughts were reeling. All that time without saying one bloody word to her. “What did he import?”
Vincent shrugged. “Nothing terribly exotic or illegal, that I know of. Mostly art, rare carpeting, artwork, unusual pieces of furniture, some of it antique.”
“Then why did he keep it from me?”
“Truthfully, I think Marcus was embarrassed that his firm was failing; you know how proud he was. Also, for most of those years he was only a courier, a delivery person for someone else.”
“Theo Ziegler?”
Vincent nodded. “How did you know?”
“A little research. The guy’s been following me since the murder and the police want to talk to him.” She watched his gaze drift to the terrariums again. “Do you know the man?”
“We’ve never met, but we spoke on the phone occasionally, which is also what I told the police.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Just that he was Marcus’s employer and later his partner. They were also good friends, though one day I overheard Marcus arguing on the phone with him about money. I knew it was Ziegler because Marcus called him by name.”
“When was this?”
“About six months before he died, maybe longer.” Vincent gazed into his mug. “I tried to convince Marcus to give up importing and return to architecture, but he brushed me off, said he’d sort things out.”
Casey squirmed in the chair. She didn’t like what she was hearing. “Vincent, how is my mother involved in all this?”
Vincent blinked at her a couple of times. “Have you been in touch with Lillian?”
“I emailed her and then she phoned me back. To hear Mother’s voice after all these years was surreal and awkward. When I told her about Ziegler she kind of freaked out and said I should leave town immediately. She asked me to meet her in Paris and she’d explain everything. She also said she knew about the import business, but wouldn’t say how until I saw her in person.” Casey watched him. “What I’m looking for, Vincent, is a heads-up about what’s really going on.”
Vincent sipped his coffee slowly. “Why Paris?”
“Probably because it’s one of two places Dad apparently went to most, at least that’s where the postcards and occasional phone call came from. Anyway, I want to talk to medical staff who’d tried to help him, and Mother’s already planned a visit with friends there.”
“When are you leaving?”
“As soon as the travel agent can book a flight to England, which is my first stop. That reminds me, do you know a man named Daphne Reid?”
“He was one of Marcus’s regular clients.”
“I spoke with him last night. He knew about the murder because the police had contacted him, but he played dumb with them because he didn’t want to get involved, or so he said. Reid claims to have a pretty good idea about who killed Dad, but he said he wouldn’t tell me more until he got something in exchange.”
Vincent nodded. “Marcus had said more than once that Reid was a bit of a weasel.”
“Dad was supposed to have delivered a pen-and-ink drawing to Reid this week, and now Reid’s pissed because he has a buyer willing to pay double what TZ Inc. paid. I found the drawing in the West Van house, so I’m taking it to him in exchange for information.”
She’d been embarrassed to ask Lou for the drawing back, but if he was really as relieved as he’d sounded, he was fine with it. Happily, he hadn’t told his mother about the drawing.
“I asked Mother if she knew Reid, and she said only by his greedy reputation.” Casey added, “But based on everything she’s heard, he’s not violent, just stupid.”
She didn’t mention that Mother had suggested accompanying her to meet Reid, but Casey wasn’t ready to deal with both of them at once. She still wasn’t sure she wanted to see Mother after all this time, especially when Mother had been so evasive about her reason for being in Geneva and about what she knew about TZ Inc.
“So, Vincent, what’s the deal with Mother? Is she somehow involved in the import business? After all, she knows Ziegler.”
Vincent’s expression was about as cheerful as the Gregorian chant. “Wouldn’t it be better if she told you herself?”
“Mother exceled at leaving out key bits of info, and obviously, she’s still at it. But she’s family, Vincent. If Dad was murdered because of the import/export thing and Mother’s involved, couldn’t she be in danger too? Maybe that’s why she left town right after the murder. So, please tell me everything you know.”
Vincent stared off into space. “When you were little, Lillian was our record keeper. The firm was struggling, so she brought in extra money by helping clients furnish the homes Marcus designed.” A flicker of blue drew his eye to the tank beside her. “Lillian had a talent for interior design and for finding the right art and fabrics, and for networking, which was how she met Theo Ziegler. Ziegler put Lillian in touch with people who could supply whatever she needed. He also helped eliminate red tape.”
“When did she meet him?”
Vincent shifted in his chair. “About twenty years ago.”
Casey put her coffee down and sat forward. “Twenty years?”
