Lou paused. “Are you planning to have kids some day?”
The softness in his tone surprised her. “Haven’t thought about it much, but probably.”
“Okay then, that’s good.”
Whoa. Was he really interested in her? But why hadn’t he said so?
“You’re welcome to hang out here again tonight,” Lou added.
“Thanks, but I should stay near Rhonda. And Simone Archambault wants to give me something and talk about Dad. I’m supposed to meet her at the Queen Elizabeth Theater at ten.”
“You shouldn’t go alone.”
“Simone’s hardly a threat, and we’ll be surrounded by people.”
“You sure?”
“She said there’s a performance tonight.”
“Still, I don’t know about this.”
“It’s okay, Lou, I’ll be fine.”
“All right, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “Stay safe, and call if you need me.”
“I will—promise.”
In the kitchen, she found Rhonda, eyes red and vacant, sitting at the table and drinking more wine. She hadn’t touched her food. Her nose looked as if it had been soaked in beet juice. Rhonda never could handle alcohol well, so she usually avoided it.
Casey tried to eat, but she was too restless. “Rhonda, I have to go out for a little while. Do you want me to call someone over?”
“Going to Lou’s again?”
“No.”
“You should give that wonderful man a chance, and don’t take him for granted.” She blinked at Casey. “He’s crazy about you.”
Lou was also her best friend. Maybe he had doubts about ruining a good thing, too. “Are you okay, Rhonda?”
“I’ll survive.”
She’d had her share of loneliness and disappointment, and Casey sure in hell hadn’t helped. She wished she knew how to make her feel better.
“I should finish putting my apartment back together. If you want to talk, come on up.”
Rhonda turned away. “Just go.”
Feeling crappy, Casey did as she was told.
Twenty
IT WAS 9:45 PM and spaces near the Queen Elizabeth Theater were impossible to find. Casey finally found a spot in a parkade near the corner of Robson and Seymour, more than four blocks away. She hightailed it back to the theater just before ten.
She strolled around the courtyard’s fountain on the theater’s south side and waited for Simone. A half hour later, people started leaving the building. By eleven, most people were gone and the courtyard was empty again. There was still no sign of Simone. Worse, the wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped.
To stay warm, Casey took a brisk walk around the courtyard’s perimeter. She scrutinized Georgia and Hamilton streets, and the stairwells leading to the parkade below ground. Why hadn’t Simone showed up? What had gone wrong?
A misty rain formed pinpricks of moisture over Casey’s hair and face, dampening her clothes. She walked back and forth across the courtyard, stopping at the top of the staircase on the southeast corner that separated the theater from a restaurant. As she walked, she began to sense that someone was watching her. She stared at the shrubbery against the restaurant’s wall, then turned and headed back to her car.
Two blocks later, she knew she was being followed. The man who’d been trailing her since she’d left the theater kept changing his pace to match hers. When she turned around he lowered his head so all she could see was his hat. Was it Darcy? Adrenalin warmed her body and her pulse soared.
Few pedestrians were still out this rainy Sunday night, but there was a fair amount of traffic. Casey removed her keys from her purse. She gripped the longest key between her fingers, bunching the rest in her fist. Turning left onto Seymour, she began to jog.
The wind grew stronger and the rain fell harder. A bearded man, squatting in a doorway, asked for change, but she was moving too fast to respond. Headlights shimmered off the wet asphalt. Her Tercel was on level two. Casey hurried up the concrete steps, looking over her shoulder as she climbed. No one was there. Only six vehicles were left on this level. Casey raced past each one until she reached her car. Out of breath, she glanced at the back seat to make sure no one was hiding, then unlocked the driver’s door and clambered inside.
Peeling out of the parkade, she watched for her stalker, but he’d vanished. She cruised past the theater in hopes of spotting Simone. She parked near the fountain and waited ten more minutes before heading to the bus station.
Forty minutes later, Casey was on her way home, frustrated and worried. She’d walked through the station and had described Simone to anyone who’d listen, but no one had noticed a petite seventy-five-year-old lady.
When she reached Rhonda’s house, she parked in her usual spot. Interesting that Darcy’s car wasn’t here. No lights were on at the back of the house. Casey tiptoed through the kitchen and upstairs. On the second floor, she heard loud snoring from Rhonda’s bedroom.
Casey settled into a hot bath to try and relax, but it didn’t help. She had a bad feeling about tonight. Something had happened, something involving the man who’d tailed her. Was it Darcy? Theo?
In bed, she tried to relax with deep, calming breaths. The sound of pebbles rattling against her window made her sit up. When more pebbles hit the glass she threw back her comforter and tried to see outside. Occasionally, rowdy kids roamed the lane, but no one was there now. She lifted the wooden windowframe, poked her head out, and looked into the backyard. A man dashed around the corner toward the front of the house. Grabbing her robe, Casey headed downstairs, moving as quietly as possible past Rhonda’s bedroom.
She rushed to the front door and then stopped. A shadow floated past the rectangle of thick amber glass next to the door. The shadow reappeared then slowly shifted from view again. Dread took her breath away. It couldn’t be, could it? Turning the knob slowly, Casey opened the door just wide enough to see the porch.
She clamped a hand over her mouth and whimpered. A body swung from the rope draped over a beam. She fumbled for the porch’s light switch. The dim yellow bulb illuminated Simone Archambault’s frozen face. Casey stepped out into the porch and frantically looked for something to cut her down with, even though the logical part of her knew it was too late.
She scanned the yard and saw that the front gate was ajar. Casey hurried down the steps, her shoulder smacking Simone’s body and sending it swinging. She opened the gate, darted onto the sidewalk, and stopped. Street lights clearly illuminated Theo Ziegler running toward Commercial Drive.
Twenty-one
CASEY HAD NEW respect for undertakers. There was a huge difference between violent death and a clean, serene-looking corpse stretched out on a bed of satin.
After calling Detective Lalonde, Casey had kept watch over Simone, partly to make sure Rhonda didn’t come down or a passerby become too curious. Lalonde had ordered her not to touch Simone or anything on the porch. Still, Casey had wanted to cut the rope and restore a bit of dignity to the poor woman. She looked up at the beam. Rhonda had talked about putting a ceiling under those three big beams when she got the money.
Casey turned off the light and shut the door. Simone’s body had begun to smell. In one memorable criminology class, she had learned what happened to a body at the time of death, how bladders and other body parts relaxed. Opening the door again, she switched on the light to see how much cleaning she’d need to do before Rhonda woke up. Not too bad yet.
