“How long had he had this sideline?”
“About fifteen years. By the end it wasn’t a sideline, it was his whole life.”
The stifling room was making her sweat. “Fifteen years? Are you kidding me?”
“Afraid not. The more money Marcus made through importing the less interested he was in acquiring new architecture clients or in even designing. He was always taking off somewhere, living the high life.”
“I don’t frigging believe this.” Casey’s thoughts were reeling. All that time without saying one bloody word to her. “What did he import?”
Vincent shrugged. “Nothing terribly exotic or illegal, that I know of. Mostly art, rare carpeting, artwork, unusual pieces of furniture, some of it antique.”
“Then why did he keep it from me?”
“Truthfully, I think Marcus was embarrassed that his firm was failing; you know how proud he was. Also, for most of those years he was only a courier, a delivery person for someone else.”
“Theo Ziegler?”
Vincent nodded. “How did you know?”
“A little research. The guy’s been following me since the murder and the police want to talk to him.” She watched his gaze drift to the terrariums again. “Do you know the man?”
“We’ve never met, but we spoke on the phone occasionally, which is also what I told the police.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Just that he was Marcus’s employer and later his partner. They were also good friends, though one day I overheard Marcus arguing on the phone with him about money. I knew it was Ziegler because Marcus called him by name.”
“When was this?”
“About six months before he died, maybe longer.” Vincent gazed into his mug. “I tried to convince Marcus to give up importing and return to architecture, but he brushed me off, said he’d sort things out.”
Casey squirmed in the chair. She didn’t like what she was hearing. “Vincent, how is my mother involved in all this?”
Vincent blinked at her a couple of times. “Have you been in touch with Lillian?”
“I emailed her and then she phoned me back. To hear Mother’s voice after all these years was surreal and awkward. When I told her about Ziegler she kind of freaked out and said I should leave town immediately. She asked me to meet her in Paris and she’d explain everything. She also said she knew about the import business, but wouldn’t say how until I saw her in person.” Casey watched him. “What I’m looking for, Vincent, is a heads-up about what’s really going on.”
Vincent sipped his coffee slowly. “Why Paris?”
“Probably because it’s one of two places Dad apparently went to most, at least that’s where the postcards and occasional phone call came from. Anyway, I want to talk to medical staff who’d tried to help him, and Mother’s already planned a visit with friends there.”
“When are you leaving?”
“As soon as the travel agent can book a flight to England, which is my first stop. That reminds me, do you know a man named Daphne Reid?”
“He was one of Marcus’s regular clients.”
“I spoke with him last night. He knew about the murder because the police had contacted him, but he played dumb with them because he didn’t want to get involved, or so he said. Reid claims to have a pretty good idea about who killed Dad, but he said he wouldn’t tell me more until he got something in exchange.”
Vincent nodded. “Marcus had said more than once that Reid was a bit of a weasel.”
“Dad was supposed to have delivered a pen-and-ink drawing to Reid this week, and now Reid’s pissed because he has a buyer willing to pay double what TZ Inc. paid. I found the drawing in the West Van house, so I’m taking it to him in exchange for information.”
She’d been embarrassed to ask Lou for the drawing back, but if he was really as relieved as he’d sounded, he was fine with it. Happily, he hadn’t told his mother about the drawing.
“I asked Mother if she knew Reid, and she said only by his greedy reputation.” Casey added, “But based on everything she’s heard, he’s not violent, just stupid.”
She didn’t mention that Mother had suggested accompanying her to meet Reid, but Casey wasn’t ready to deal with both of them at once. She still wasn’t sure she wanted to see Mother after all this time, especially when Mother had been so evasive about her reason for being in Geneva and about what she knew about TZ Inc.
“So, Vincent, what’s the deal with Mother? Is she somehow involved in the import business? After all, she knows Ziegler.”
Vincent’s expression was about as cheerful as the Gregorian chant. “Wouldn’t it be better if she told you herself?”
“Mother exceled at leaving out key bits of info, and obviously, she’s still at it. But she’s family, Vincent. If Dad was murdered because of the import/export thing and Mother’s involved, couldn’t she be in danger too? Maybe that’s why she left town right after the murder. So, please tell me everything you know.”
Vincent stared off into space. “When you were little, Lillian was our record keeper. The firm was struggling, so she brought in extra money by helping clients furnish the homes Marcus designed.” A flicker of blue drew his eye to the tank beside her. “Lillian had a talent for interior design and for finding the right art and fabrics, and for networking, which was how she met Theo Ziegler. Ziegler put Lillian in touch with people who could supply whatever she needed. He also helped eliminate red tape.”
“When did she meet him?”
Vincent shifted in his chair. “About twenty years ago.”
Casey put her coffee down and sat forward. “Twenty years?”
Vincent nodded. “When Ziegler’s business grew, he hired your mother to deliver goods, pick up checks, that sort of thing. Ziegler’s business kept growing while Marcus’s firm went further into debt, so Lillian got him some courier work. It was supposed to be temporary, but the more Marcus learned about the business, the more fascinated he became. Then five years ago, Ziegler offered him a partnership.”
“So you ran the firm while Dad played importer? And was Mother a courier all that time?” Casey shook her head.
“Yes, but she also established her own personnel business. After the divorce your parents rarely saw each other.”
“I tried calling Dad’s lawyer to see who legally owns the West Vancouver house and contents now, but he’s not listed in the phone book.”
“The man was this firm’s lawyer, too, and he died months ago.” Vincent watched the skink. “Marcus’s will was drawn up five years before the botulism tragedy. Maybe he never had it changed, which means you’ll inherit everything.” He shook his head and stood, wincing slightly. “I didn’t know Marcus had left the business to me until the lawyer called.”
“Dad wouldn’t have given the firm to someone he didn’t trust.” Casey followed him to the other end of the room and watched him ease into a chair behind the desk. She wandered past the desk toward the cages beneath the picture window. “Aside from Paris and Geneva, it seems that Dad also spent a fair amount of time in Amsterdam. Does the name Gislinde Van Akker mean anything to you? I have an address for this person, but no other information.”
“It could be a client, but I don’t really recall.”
It took a moment before Casey realized she was gazing at a boa constrictor coiled against the glass. She jumped back.
“None of them are venomous,” Vincent said, and smiled.
“Good,” but hardly comforting. She sought refuge in the chair in front of his desk. “Did you ever hear the name Gustaf Osterman?”
“Lillian mentioned him a couple of times. I remember her referring to him as the chameleon, though I don’t know why.”
“What else did she say about him?”
“Nothing, really. But her eyes shone whenever she mentioned him, like she was in love.”