“No, the bus leaves for Vancouver soon. I will meet you outside the theater, by the fountain in the courtyard.”
“The bus terminal isn’t beside the theater anymore. It moved ages ago.”
“I know, but I like the theater. There’s a performance tonight so lots of people will be around. See you then.”
Simone had sounded nervous. Did she know that Osterman had impersonated Dad, or was she simply a paranoid old lady?
By the time Casey rejoined Rhonda, a third of the bottle of red wine on the table was already gone. For someone who didn’t drink much, Rhonda had downed the stuff pretty fast. Rhonda held her half-empty glass while she poured sauce on a plate of spaghetti. She was about to hand Casey the plate when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Casey said.
Detective Lalonde stood on the porch. “May I come in?”
“I’ll come out.” She didn’t want Rhonda to overhear. “I was going to call you.”
Although the porch could accommodate a few people, Casey felt claustrophobic next to Lalonde. Ivy enclosed both sides of the porch, making the space feel like a small closet.
“Have you locked up Darcy?”
“No, his lawyer arrived. Mr. Sheckter didn’t see enough of his assailant to make a positive ID.”
“But Lou heard Darcy’s voice and it’s really distinctive. And what about the guard?”
“He can’t remember anything useful.”
“You’re giving me a headache.” She rubbed her forehead. “Can’t you get a warrant to search Darcy’s things for traces of blood and hair or something?”
“We’re doing what we can.”
“So, now what? Darcy has keys to this house.”
“I’ll have someone watch the place. Mrs. Stubbs should change the locks, and maybe you three can stay elsewhere for a few days, unless Churcott knows your friends.”
“I don’t think Rhonda’ll do anything, seeing as how they’re now romantically involved. She doesn’t want to hear about Darcy’s dark side. Did you know he works for Theo Ziegler?”
“He told us he’s between jobs.”
“Figures,” she shook her head. “I saw Mother this afternoon. She said the murdered man wasn’t my father, but a man named Gustaf Osterman, who apparently also worked for Ziegler.”
Lalonde pulled out his notebook and glasses. “Anything else?”
As Casey told him about Osterman’s quest to locate Dad’s clients and the three million dollars, Lalonde scribbled notes.
“There were two good prints on the letters you gave me,” he said. “We soon learned that the victim wasn’t your father, but it took time to identify Gustaf Osterman. He had no criminal record.”
Casey nodded. “According to Osterman’s fiancée in Amsterdam, he was planning to leave Ziegler and start his own business. Mother said Dad had planned to do the same thing. Funny how everything about this murder is somehow connected to Ziegler, isn’t it? The victim, the suspects, the money.”
“It’s not your worry, Miss Holland.”
“It is when one of the suspects is living in our house. Will you please go and talk to Rhonda?”
Lalonde put his notepad away. “I came to pick up your father’s old address book, and I’ll need a list of everyone you saw in Europe, including addresses and phone numbers. I’ll talk to Mrs. Stubbs while you fetch the book.”
“Okay, but don’t take it personally if she throws you out.”
In her apartment, Casey compiled the list and then straightened more of her living room to give Lalonde time with Rhonda. When she finally brought the notebook and list downstairs, Lalonde was leaving the kitchen.
“Did you get through to her?” she whispered.
“I think so. She said she’d call a locksmith right away.”
Casey handed him the items. “Thanks.”
When he’d left, Casey hurried back to her apartment and telephoned Lou.
“You sound a little frazzled,” he said.
As she gave him the highlights of her chats with Vincent Wilkes, Mother, and Lalonde, the anger poured out. “I can’t help wondering what my parents were importing, besides art and tarot cards.”
“Information’s a hot commodity these days. All you need is a computer and some education, and you’ve got yourself a cottage industry. It’s great for the housewife with a yen for hacking and an aptitude for industrial espionage.”
“Oh good,” she chuckled, “something to consider when I start a family.”
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.