“Only Marcus and one other friend knew this phone number and address. This was my hidden retreat. I moved here permanently after I left Paris. I don’t want people to know where I live.”
Was this more than a privacy issue? Was something troubling this woman? “Simone, do you know anything about a Marcus Holland look-alike? As far as I know, Dad never had a long lost twin.”
Simone locked the trunk. “I know nothing about the person in the morgue.”
Casey flipped through dozens of pages containing names, phone numbers, email and street addresses. “Do you know who these people are?”
“I haven’t looked in the book. You should go now.”
Casey turned to the last page and stared at the name “Theo Ziegler.” Dad had written down two addresses, one for San Francisco, the other in Geneva, plus two phone numbers and an email address.
“Simone, did Dad ever mention someone named Theo Ziegler?”
Simone glared, as if offended by the question. “I don’t know those people.”
Was this true? Casey zipped up the book. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“I pray I’ve done the right thing. There are too many decisions to make. Difficult.”
“I don’t quite know what you mean.”
“Go now.”
Casey removed a pen and pad from her purse. “If you want to talk or need anything, please call me.” She jotted down her home number on the back of her business card.
Simone struggled to her feet. “You will keep this visit secret? I swear on the lives of my family that I know nothing about that man in the morgue.”
“Why do you want to keep my visit a secret?”
“I don’t want to be involved in a murder investigation. I just want peace and quiet.”
“Okay, I won’t tell a soul.” Unless her promise turned out to be undeserved.
Simone opened the door. She scarcely gave Casey time to step outside and say goodbye before shutting it.
In her car, Casey studied a slip of paper tucked into the back of the book. Dad had written the address of the house on Marine Drive. Below, he’d drawn two vertical rows of x’s and o’s and a bunch of squiggly lines. Had he been doodling, or was there a point to the squiggles? She thumbed through the book. Most of the addresses were European, a few were American. Simone was one of two Canadians who’d lived close to Dad, the other was Vincent Wilkes whose old address was listed. Both of them had stars beside their names. Casey turned to Ziegler’s name. No star there.
It’d be impossible for her to meet all the people in the notebook, but she could try emails and phone numbers. Several other names had stars beside them, and Casey didn’t recognize any. Had they been Dad’s friends? It was possible, since Mother’s name, street and email addresses, plus a cell phone number were also listed, yet she had no star by her name. For the second time this week, she wondered why Dad had listed Mother at all.
Casey sighed. Everywhere she went Mother’s name cropped up; with Detective Lalonde, her father’s address books, Rhonda. Now the woman was passing messages to her through the authorities.
Casey pulled the crumpled phone slip from her pocket. As she looked at the brief note Lalonde had written, she couldn’t help feeling that Mother was moving closer, preparing to make contact as Rhonda had predicted. Was that such a bad idea, though? If Mother and Dad had kept in touch all those years, how much did she know about this importing business? Had she known Dad was alive? Casey shoved the number back in her pocket.
Nine
CASEY CHEWED THE warm, misshapen ball of falafel for three seconds before her taste buds couldn’t take any more. She spit out the ochre-colored mess in the sink. So much for a nutritious supper; grainy garbanzo beans saturated with spices and parsley flakes wasn’t for her, with or without the yogurt and cucumber dip. Good thing the bowling alley made a decent burger.
As Casey fetched the last Coors from the fridge, she heard Rhonda’s knock. When she opened the door she was surprised to find Rhonda standing beside a tall, thin man sporting blue-tinted glasses and tight, blond curls.
“Hi, Casey, I’d like you to meet my new tenant, Darcy Churcott.”
“Hi,” he said in a raspy voice. “Good to meet you.”
“You too.” She turned to Rhonda. “I didn’t know you’d interviewed anyone.”
“That’s because you’ve been gone all day.”
True, she’d only got home from Victoria forty-five minutes ago and had just finished sending a carefully worded email to Mother. Casey had thought about calling her, but she wasn’t ready to hear Mother’s voice again.
“Since Darcy now has the Summer seal of approval, he’ll be moving in tomorrow,” Rhonda said.
“Great.” Rhonda never rented a room unless Summer approved of the applicant.
“Darcy’s an electrician,” Rhonda said, “but he had knee surgery a few weeks ago.”
“The doc says I can go back to work in a few days.”
“I think you’ll like it here,” Rhonda smiled at him.
“Thanks, Mrs. Stubbs.”
“Whoa.” Casey laughed. “If you don’t want to be evicted before you move in, call her Rhonda.”
“Yeah, sure.” He smiled. “I’d better go pack.” Leaning on the rail, Darcy started down the steps. “If I ever get on skis again, shoot me. It’s not as much fun as everyone says.”
“Don’t talk to me about fun.” Rhonda snorted. “My last date’s idea of fun was to let his parakeet hang upside down in his hair and peck the mole on his cheek.”
Darcy called over his shoulder. “I hate birds.”
“Something else in common.” Rhonda stepped inside Casey’s apartment and shut the door. “He’ll make a fun foursome.”
“Foursome?”
“You and Lou, Darcy and me.”
“Aren’t you moving a little fast? You don’t even know if he’s attached.”
“He isn’t, I asked.”
“Anyway, Lou and I are not a couple.” She sipped the Coors.
“But you hang out together. So why don’t the four of us go to the neighborhood pub this weekend.”
“How do you know Darcy doesn’t have other plans?”
Rhonda spotted the blue notebook Casey had left on the coffee table and changed the subject. “That looks familiar.” She unzipped the book and flipped through the pages. “Oh my god, it’s Marcus’s address book.” She looked at Casey. “He used to keep this with him all the time. Where did you get it?” Casey had hoped a brief answer would work, but one question led to another, and before long Rhonda knew about the meeting with Simone Archambault and Dad’s import business.
“I didn’t know about any import sideline,” Rhonda said, scanning the book. “Almost none of these names are familiar.”
“What about Theo Ziegler on the last page?” When she and Lalonde were talking about him at Dad’s house, Rhonda had wandered off and hadn’t heard his name mentioned.
“No idea,” Rhonda replied, staring at the name.
“While I was on the ferry, I tried calling the handful of Canadian and American phone numbers in the book, but the numbers were either out of service or the person I wanted had changed companies. I’ll try emailing people later.” She’d also see if Ziegler’s name popped up on the Internet.
“The notebook’s old and could be a gigantic waste of time. Besides, isn’t fact finding Lalonde’s job?”
“This is family history research, not a murder investigation.”
Rhonda sat on the sofa. “If Marcus had wanted us to know about his other life, don’t you think he would have told us?”
“Not if circumstances forced him underground.”
“Circumstances that could have got him killed.”