“I remember when most of these were taken.” Rhonda closed the album. “So, when are you going to kick Greg and his bimbo out of your house? You need to sell the place, Casey. Invest in RRSPs and stuff.”

“I have an RRSP.” Casey took her dirty plate to the sink.

Rhonda had never approved of her renting Dad’s old house to Greg, the same place she and Greg had shared after Dad died. But Greg paid the rent on time and took good care of the yard, or so she assumed. It had been a long time since she’d driven by. She could have rented the house to someone else; could have quit her job so she wouldn’t have to see Greg at work, but she’d needed to show people that a broken marriage hadn’t destroyed her.

“I’ll sell it when I find something I want to buy.”

“Mutual funds are good.”

Every time Rhonda went on about money, it meant she was having financial problems. No surprise there. The studio suite had been empty for three months. Only university students would put up with a hot plate and teensy shower, and most of them, including Rhonda’s other tenant, had gone home for the summer.

“Rhonda, if you need cash, I can help.”

“I don’t want your money.”

She never did. Dad had left Rhonda only a few personal mementoes in his will. Casey still felt guilty for benefiting from a hundred-thousand-dollar insurance policy. After paying his debts, funeral expenses, and taxes, she’d offered half of what was left to Rhonda. Rhonda’s stubborn streak, however, was unparalleled in this universe.

“How about going camping with Summer and me on the Victoria Day long weekend next month?” Rhonda said. “We could clean that grubby sleeping bag in your car.”

Casey sat at the table. Three days without the frequent knocks on her door was too appealing to give up. “It’s still four weeks away.”

“That’s okay.” Rhonda sat beside her. “Whatever’s bothering you should have passed by then and you won’t look so sad.”

Damn, should have done a better job of hiding it. Rhonda was a pit bull when she wanted to know something.

Casey took a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell you about Dad. It’s bizarre and kind of horrible.”

“Out with it then.”

“I saw him today,” she said with a dry feeling in her mouth, “at the morgue.”

“What?” Rhonda didn’t blink. “What are you talking about?”

While Casey told her about Detective Lalonde’s visit, Rhonda’s face grew pale. “I don’t believe this.” By the time Casey finished describing her trip to the morgue, Rhonda was rubbing her temples and dragging her fingernails down her face. Mention of the Marine Drive place brought her to her feet.

“I take it Dad never said anything about it to you?”

“He’d talked about building us a house once.” Rhonda’s voice trembled as she wandered around the room. “I thought it was one of his pipe dreams.” She picked up two teddy bears from the collection on the shelves and hugged them tight. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Are you sure it was him?”

“Forensic evidence isn’t in but, yeah, I think it’s Dad.”

Bears squished between them, as Casey embraced Rhonda, who clutched her for long, anguished seconds.

“I could have identified the body.” She put the bears back and sniffled. “You should have been spared that.” She wiped her eyes with her shirttail. “Why didn’t Marcus contact us?” Her voice broke. “We were his family.”

“Don’t know.” She’d been asking herself that question for hours. “We didn’t see him much those last months. Now there are three years to piece together. I want answers and Lalonde won’t share much. I’ve already phoned Dad’s old friends, but no one knows anything. Tomorrow, I’m going to Marine Drive.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Casey had hoped to see the place alone. “I’m leaving before six.”

“Then we’d better get some sleep.” Rhonda’s hand shook as she opened the door. “Guess it’s my turn to arrange the burial.” She grimaced. “Can’t wait to tell the funeral people we’re doing it again because the first try didn’t last.”

“Thanks for offering, but I’ll do it. What’ll you tell Summer?”

“No clue. But she’ll know something’s up the moment I say goodnight.” More tears slipped down Rhonda’s cheeks. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I will be.”

After more hugging and sobbing, Rhonda left. She’d taken the news better than expected. Still, Casey’s heart ached for her. She would probably spend the night wondering why the man she’d adored had faked his death.

Casey tried neck and shoulder rolls to ease the strain. She attempted a full bend, but felt light-headed from too much stress and coffee, too many questions darting through her mind.

She retreated to the window seat. Gazing at the enormous weeping willow in Rhonda’s front yard, she took slow deep breaths. Not exactly meditation, but close. Under tonight’s bright moon, the leaves almost glowed, and the darker recesses of Rhonda’s weedy corner lot were gently lit. Through the trees, Casey could see part of Napier where it crossed Violet, and a glimpse of a black Saab parked in front of the house. She leapt up.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Casey had known the stranger would reappear. She darted out the door, hoping the guy wouldn’t anticipate her behavior as well as she did his.

Four

CASEY MADE IT as far as the sidewalk before the Saab’s engine started up. She was three steps away from the vehicle when the driver sped off toward Victoria Drive. Damn, she should have gotten into her car this time, instead of trying to run after him again. Stan sometimes lectured her about her impatience, but the habit was hard to break. After all, she was her father’s daughter. That’s what everyone had told her . . . that’s what she’d always believed.

Casey rubbed her arms in the cool night air. Streetlights illuminated fences and empty sidewalks. Usually, at least one person would be out walking a dog. Not tonight. She inhaled the scent of freshly mowed grass and then headed inside.

•  •  •

Crawling out of bed in the morning had been tougher than usual. After leaving a message for Lalonde last night about her stalker, she hadn’t slept. She’d been tempted to watch TV and tidy up a bit, but Summer and Rhonda’s bedrooms were below her living and dining areas, and this old house wasn’t soundproof. She’d finally dozed off some time after three. The alarm rang at five-fifteen.

Casey picked a thread off her navy pinstriped jacket, tucked her clutch bag under her arm and inspected her appearance in the mirror. Skirts weren’t her idea of comfort, but the business outfit might attract the purse thief on today’s agenda. While she pulled a brush through limp, old-perm curls, Rhonda’s knock broke the silence. Casey tossed the brush on her bed. She’d hoped Rhonda would still be asleep when she left. She opened the door and found Rhonda holding a pan of blueberry muffins. The ladybug hair clips still drooped over her ears, and she had on yesterday’s sweats and flannel shirt.

Rhonda looked her over. “My, my, how conservative. Who are you after today?”

“A teenager who steals purses and the occasional wallet. Apparently, he’s a cash-only guy.”

She looked at Casey’s running shoes. “Are you expecting a chase?”

“It’s possible.”

“Then you’ll need breakfast.” Rhonda offered her the pan. “Thought we could eat on the way to West Vancouver.”

Casey’s stomach growled. “Thanks. Let me fix your hair.” She retrieved the brush. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A couple of hours.”

Вы читаете The Opposite of Dark
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