“He seems to spend a fair amount of time with Summer too.” Casey glanced over her shoulder. “Doesn’t the guy have anything better to do?”
“Not that I know of, but I went through his stuff yesterday, just to make sure there’s nothing kinky or weird about him.”
Casey’s mouth fell open.
“Don’t look so shocked. You know I’d do anything to protect my daughter, and his references could have been bogus. Anyhow, I didn’t find any porn magazines, and he doesn’t own a computer.” She glanced over Casey’s shoulder and then lowered her voice further. “I know none of this proves he’s the picture of innocence, but I’m watching him as closely as he watches me.”
“Do you think he’s up to something?”
“Maybe cheap rent and sex,” she shrugged. “He’s on his cell phone a lot, but I have no idea who he talks to. Darcy never mentions family or friends.”
Rhonda had been known to eavesdrop from time to time. Casey suspected this was why she had no long- term tenants. How many other tenants had had their suites searched?
“Don’t worry, Casey, I’ll keep an eye on him. Maybe learn more through some pillow talk, and let me tell you, I’m looking forward to the research.”
“Not a great plan, Rhonda.”
“I know what I’m doing, sweetie. I’m not a total fool.”
“True.” But she had her gullible moments. “I should go.”
Rhonda reached for her arm. “Stay safe, and don’t forget to call.”
Casey gave her a big hug. “I will.”
She hurried down the steps and into Lou’s pickup. As Lou pulled away, she looked back at the house. Darcy had joined Rhonda and Summer on the porch. As mother and daughter waved, Darcy stood between them, arms around their waists, and a smile on his face.
Thirteen
TO KILL TIME on the airplane, Casey had read about the barren, open spaces of England’s North Yorkshire County. Much had been written about the crimson and purple foliage of the moors in autumn, but the brilliant spring greens she saw in and around the village of Goathland were breathtaking.
At the tiny train station, one of the locals told Casey she could arrange for a taxi at the pub up the road. She’d found the village cabby starting his lunch and had agreed to meet him in a half hour.
As she strolled through the village, past open fields and toward the moor, the afternoon sunlight made the fields almost glow. It was a sharp contrast to the stone fences and brown stone houses. Casey had never been in a village where there were more sheep than human beings, and these animals acted like they owned the place. Two strutted down the road. Some grazed in cottage yards while others rested in the fields. Still, this was a beautiful spot, evidently known for its hiking trails.
Once sitting inside the taxi, Casey grew more apprehensive about meeting people from Dad’s other life. Her anxiety grew as they approached an H-shaped hotel in a shallow valley. The building was protected on two sides by enormous oak and beech trees. The walls were streaked with soot. Blinds covered most of the windows as if to indicate that neither light or visitors were welcome.
“This is a rather isolated site for a hotel, isn’t it?”
“It’s full up in summer with ramblers,” the driver answered. “There are also the permanent lodgers.”
He parked in front of double wooden doors at the center of the building, then retrieved Casey’s luggage. A bald, pale man looked at her through a window pane near the door. A moment later he was gone.
The hotel lobby displayed a scruffy collection of wing chairs, gouged tabletops, and faded paintings of fox hunts. Casey told the young desk clerk she was here to meet Daphne Reid and asked for directions to the gift shop he managed.
“Go out the main doors and down the side of the building,” she said.
“Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, Casey had dumped her things in her drab and chilly, second-floor room and was heading outside. She strolled around the side of the building and walked past a giant checkerboard embedded in the spacious lawn. Wet leaves were scattered over the squares, a soggy paper bag marooned in a puddle. It must have rained heavily last night.
The gift shop was locked, a Closed sign propped between a collection of dolls and music boxes in the form of tiny, thatched-roof cottages. Peeking through the window, she saw a room that looked more like an art gallery than a gift shop. Unframed canvases filled the walls. More were stacked against shelves.
Casey turned and spotted a man kneeling in front of a flower bed. The gardener pulled out a weed, wiped his hands, and then repeated the process. Stepping closer, she recognized the same bald head she’d seen in the window.
“Excuse me,” Casey said. “Sorry to bother you, but could you tell me where Daphne Reid is? The gift shop’s closed.”
He looked around and then pointed at a man and woman approaching a tall thick hedge on the far side of the lawn. “That’s him, heading into the maze.”
Casey jogged across the yard and caught up to Reid as he was kissing the woman. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said as the couple turned to her, “but I’m Casey Holland and we spoke on the phone about my dad, Marcus.”
“Right.” He gave the woman a tap on her rear. “Off you go.”
The woman, who looked about seventeen, glared at Casey as she marched back toward the hotel.
“So, where’s my drawing, luv?”
“In my hotel room.”
He smirked. “Let’s have a look then, shall we?”
“Can’t we talk first?”
“Not until I make sure you brought the right drawing. Let’s go to your room.”
Casey sighed. The jerk was already trying her patience. “You’ll get your picture, Mr. Reid, provided I get the information I need.”
His smirk turned to a sneer as he removed a pen knife from pants pocket. “You think you can order me about?”
Casey backed up. “Hey, I’m not looking for trouble.”
As Reid looked past her shoulder his sneer vanished. A moment later he was running into the maze, chased by a man with a black ponytail who ran past Casey. Holy crap, what in hell was Theo Ziegler doing here? She’d come too far to let Reid disappear, and since she wanted answers from Ziegler too, Casey started after both them. She hadn’t gone far before she saw Reid slip on the mud and fall. The knife disappeared in the hedge.
It took only three seconds before Ziegler had him pinned to the ground. Reid grunted and tried to scramble away, but the mud was too slippery. Twisting his upper body, Reid took a swipe at his opponent and missed. Ziegler forced Reid face down in the mud, but let him turn his head as Ziegler sat on Reid’s back, holding his wrists together.
“What do you want to do with him?” Ziegler asked.
His long, black eyes under neatly shaped brows reminded Casey of characters from ancient Egyptian art.
“Get some answers.” Casey came closer. “Why did you take off when you saw this man, Mr. Reid?”
Reid gasped for air. “He’s a mate of yours, isn’t he? That’s why he came after me.”
“Then you’ve never seen him before?” She glanced at Ziegler who returned an amused expression.
“No.”
Strange. Dad and Ziegler had either kept their client lists quite separate or Reid was lying.
Reid squirmed under Ziegler’s weight. “Tell your mate to bugger off.”
Ziegler yanked his arms upward. “You’re not the one in charge, so why don’t you tell the lady if you killed her father.” He looked at Casey. “It’s what she came to find out, isn’t—?”
“What? No! I didn’t kill Marcus. W-who said I did?” Reid stammered. When he tried to throw Ziegler off, Ziegler pushed his face into the mud once again and yanked Reid’s head back by his hair.
