address book, so you either ransacked my hotel room or paid someone to do it. Did you pay the American kid to steal my purse?” She didn’t bother waiting for a response. “I suppose I’m lucky you didn’t steal the book in Paris.”
“I wanted you to feel you could trust me.”
“All because you needed my help finding the money.” She glared at him. “I wish my parents had never met you.”
“That night in Paris, you said the more truths you learned, the darker things became,” Theo replied. “You must feel completely blind now.”
Police cruisers raced into the parking lot. Theo grabbed two briefcases and started running. Casey doubted he’d make it out of the complex.
Thirty-three
CASEY FOUND RHONDA’S station wagon parked in its usual spot at the house. There were no police vehicles anywhere, no hint of the day’s death and destruction. Sitting in her Tercel, Casey gently pressed the back of her hand against her face. Her skin felt hot, her body still weak from everything that had happened.
Thank god Theo had been caught only five minutes after he’d bolted. While she’d been giving the cops a detailed account of events, Lalonde showed up and apologized for having been delayed over a search warrant. Apparently, he’d arrived at the scene just as Rhonda was speeding out of the lot and decided to intercept her rather than stop Darcy because he’d been assured backup was there. It seemed there’d been a communication breakdown, however, and VPD officers actually had been sent to two serious traffic accidents, one of them fatal. An angry Lalonde had made it clear to the VPD officers that he’d expected better. After he told Casey that Summer was now at her grandmother’s, she headed for home. Poor Summer. She could well imagine how deep that child’s grief, confusion, and sense of helplessness must be.
Casey slogged up the back steps. Pressure encased her skull as if someone had placed a snug metal cap on her head and was tightening a clamp at each temple. Lalonde had said that bail for Rhonda was a possibility and that since she didn’t have an attorney, one would be provided for her. Given the backlog in Vancouver’s courts, her trial wouldn’t take place for months.
Casey stepped into a silent kitchen. Emptiness clawed her insides. When would Summer be back? If Rhonda went to prison, she wouldn’t want Summer living with Winifred’s strict rules. Tears blurred her vision and Casey felt thirteen years old again, sitting in the dining room as her mother left, unable to fix her family or even gather the courage to say goodbye.
Wiping her eyes, Casey headed upstairs and entered her apartment.
Her message machine’s light was blinking. Had Summer called? Was there news about Lou? Casey pressed the button and listened to Stan tell her that purse snatcher Karl Hawthorne had been arrested. “When the cops came to see his parents, the kid freaked out and confessed.” Stan gave her the names of the officers who wanted to speak with her.
Casey looked up the list of numbers by her landline phone. Rhonda had given her Winifred’s number in case of emergency. Winifred picked up on the second ring.
“This is Casey Holland. May I speak to Summer?”
“One moment,” Winifred replied, sounding none too pleased. On the occasions Casey had met Winifred, the woman was usually unhappy about something. This time she had good reason.
“Casey?” Summer’s quiet voice sounded weak and uncertain. “Grandma says I have to spend the night, but I want to come home tomorrow. Can you pick me up early? I’m not going to school.”
“Sure. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Get Mom out of jail.”
“I’ll do my best.” But then what? How would she deal with Rhonda, knowing that she’d killed the man she thought was Dad? At this moment, she couldn’t begin to process the conflicting emotions swirling around her head.
“Grandma says I have to go now. She needs to make some calls.” Summer started to cry. So did Casey.
Once she’d hung up, Casey retreated to her window seat. Like an evergreen covered with snow, she felt weighted down, cold and dormant. Tears slid down her face as she thought about her mother. The way Mother had talked this afternoon, it was as if she knew something might happen. Had she planned to drive off the road? Darcy’s anger could have prompted her to do something drastic. The Sea-to-Sky Highway was treacherous at high speeds. If a car had gone over an embankment, everyone would assume it was an accident. Mother must have known the police were closing in on Theo and her, too, perhaps. What sins had she committed for him and Darcy?
If she hadn’t been so cold to Mother, if she’d been able to let go of the past, things might have been different. But there was the blue sequined dress. And the sinking realization that even if Krueger hadn’t grabbed the bags from her, she would still have handed them in, no matter who’d worn the outfit.
Casey wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. Had Lalonde told Rhonda about Mother’s accident? Would she rejoice? She wished she’d paid more attention to the signs . . . Rhonda’s eavesdropping on tenants’ conversations, how she’d searched Darcy’s belongings, and the hidden correspondence with Mother. No wonder Dad had distanced himself from her. He must have learned about her secretive, manipulative side that was so similar to Mother’s.
She’d missed other signs too. Greg’s adultery for one, and Lou’s feelings for her. Had denial, fear, and cowardice been that much easier to bear than the truth?
When the phone rang, Casey leapt up to answer it.
“Casey, it’s Barb. Good news—Lou’s doing much better. Doctors say he’ll make it.”
“Thank god.” She brushed away more tears.
“He wants to see you.”
“Really? Can I go now?”
“Absolutely.”
“Be right there.” Casey grabbed her purse.
Second chances didn’t happen every day. This time, she’d gather the courage to tell Lou how much she cared about him. Maybe even ask him out. If he wanted to go, she’d take him some place special, see what developed. There was hope, wasn’t there? Casey hurried out of her apartment.
DEBRA PURDY KONG has a diploma in criminology and has worked in security as a patrol and communications officer. She is the author of two other novels:
Acknowledgements
WRITING MIGHT BE a solitary endeavor, but preparation for publishing and the publishing process are something else altogether. I’d like to thank those who read earlier drafts of this novel, especially Ellen Godfrey who saw the possibilities in protagonist Casey Holland ages ago. Also, a big thanks to editor Joyce Gram for her valuable input in a later draft, not to mention her encyclopedic knowledge of grammar and syntax. Where would
