Few pedestrians were still out this rainy Sunday night, but there was a fair amount of traffic. Casey removed her keys from her purse. She gripped the longest key between her fingers, bunching the rest in her fist. Turning left onto Seymour, she began to jog.
The wind grew stronger and the rain fell harder. A bearded man, squatting in a doorway, asked for change, but she was moving too fast to respond. Headlights shimmered off the wet asphalt. Her Tercel was on level two. Casey hurried up the concrete steps, looking over her shoulder as she climbed. No one was there. Only six vehicles were left on this level. Casey raced past each one until she reached her car. Out of breath, she glanced at the back seat to make sure no one was hiding, then unlocked the driver’s door and clambered inside.
Peeling out of the parkade, she watched for her stalker, but he’d vanished. She cruised past the theater in hopes of spotting Simone. She parked near the fountain and waited ten more minutes before heading to the bus station.
Forty minutes later, Casey was on her way home, frustrated and worried. She’d walked through the station and had described Simone to anyone who’d listen, but no one had noticed a petite seventy-five-year-old lady.
When she reached Rhonda’s house, she parked in her usual spot. Interesting that Darcy’s car wasn’t here. No lights were on at the back of the house. Casey tiptoed through the kitchen and upstairs. On the second floor, she heard loud snoring from Rhonda’s bedroom.
Casey settled into a hot bath to try and relax, but it didn’t help. She had a bad feeling about tonight. Something had happened, something involving the man who’d tailed her. Was it Darcy? Theo?
In bed, she tried to relax with deep, calming breaths. The sound of pebbles rattling against her window made her sit up. When more pebbles hit the glass she threw back her comforter and tried to see outside. Occasionally, rowdy kids roamed the lane, but no one was there now. She lifted the wooden windowframe, poked her head out, and looked into the backyard. A man dashed around the corner toward the front of the house. Grabbing her robe, Casey headed downstairs, moving as quietly as possible past Rhonda’s bedroom.
She rushed to the front door and then stopped. A shadow floated past the rectangle of thick amber glass next to the door. The shadow reappeared then slowly shifted from view again. Dread took her breath away. It couldn’t be, could it? Turning the knob slowly, Casey opened the door just wide enough to see the porch.
She clamped a hand over her mouth and whimpered. A body swung from the rope draped over a beam. She fumbled for the porch’s light switch. The dim yellow bulb illuminated Simone Archambault’s frozen face. Casey stepped out into the porch and frantically looked for something to cut her down with, even though the logical part of her knew it was too late.
She scanned the yard and saw that the front gate was ajar. Casey hurried down the steps, her shoulder smacking Simone’s body and sending it swinging. She opened the gate, darted onto the sidewalk, and stopped. Street lights clearly illuminated Theo Ziegler running toward Commercial Drive.
Twenty-one
CASEY HAD NEW respect for undertakers. There was a huge difference between violent death and a clean, serene-looking corpse stretched out on a bed of satin.
After calling Detective Lalonde, Casey had kept watch over Simone, partly to make sure Rhonda didn’t come down or a passerby become too curious. Lalonde had ordered her not to touch Simone or anything on the porch. Still, Casey had wanted to cut the rope and restore a bit of dignity to the poor woman. She looked up at the beam. Rhonda had talked about putting a ceiling under those three big beams when she got the money.
Casey turned off the light and shut the door. Simone’s body had begun to smell. In one memorable criminology class, she had learned what happened to a body at the time of death, how bladders and other body parts relaxed. Opening the door again, she switched on the light to see how much cleaning she’d need to do before Rhonda woke up. Not too bad yet.
She switched off the light while she recalled snippets from that course. If the rope didn’t break a victim’s neck, she would strangle to death. The face would turn blue and the eyes bulge. Simone didn’t look like that.
Casey glanced at the street. If Theo was guilty, why pelt her window and hang around long enough to risk being seen?
A Vancouver police cruiser pulled up, followed by an unmarked vehicle and Lalonde’s Sebring. Lalonde stepped out of his car and spoke at the gate to some police officers. Krueger also emerged from a vehicle. As he and Lalonde approached the house, Casey switched on the light. Lalonde didn’t acknowledge her. His eyes were on Simone.
“Don’t step onto the porch, Miss Holland.”
“Didn’t plan to.” She kept her voice low. “I think she was brought here to warn me.”
“About what?”
“To hand over three million dollars, or else.” Casey shivered.
As more officers arrived, Lalonde said, “Let’s go inside.”
As they stepped into the hallway, Lalonde murmured something to Krueger, who headed back outside. In the living room, Lalonde and Casey stood at the picture window.
“So, Miss Holland,” Lalonde said, “tell me again what went on tonight. You weren’t making yourself clear on the phone.”
Casey told him about her first meeting with Simone in Victoria and Simone’s insistence on secrecy. When she mentioned Simone’s request to meet her at the theater, Lalonde’s expression became grim. She described the noise at her window and Theo running away. By the time she’d finished talking, Lalonde looked ready to implode.
“You should have told me about the meeting.” Anger laced every word. “You know I’ve been looking for the lady.”
“I knew you tried in France, but you never said anything about letting you know if she contacted me. I thought she only wanted to tell me stuff about Dad’s last hours and give me a few of his mementoes.” Lalonde’s don’t-play-games-with-me look annoyed her. “Look, she was an eccentric who used to tell fortunes with tarot cards. I really believed she knew nothing about the murder. Simone was adamant that Dad died from botulism, and she seemed totally uninterested in hearing anything about the body in the morgue.”
“Yes, well, your belief may have cost the lady her life,” Lalonde said.
Casey’s face grew warm. God, was he right? Had she misread Simone?
Bright lights suddenly illuminated the front yard.
“Did you find any of those mementoes near the body?” Lalonde asked.
“No.”
“Casey?” Rhonda shuffled into the room.
Oh, hell. “It’s okay, Rhonda, go back to bed.” Casey hurried up to her. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Wearing a faded yellow robe that exposed too much cleavage, Rhonda squinted at Lalonde. The front door opened just enough to admit Krueger who marched past Rhonda, into the living room, and whispered something to Lalonde.
“What’s going on?” Rhonda asked on her way to the front door.
Casey rushed past her and stood in front of the entrance. “Some punk’s been joking around. Go back to bed.”
“Has something happened to my house?”
“It’s fine, don’t worry.”
Rhonda stared at the amber glass. “Why’s it so bright outside? What’s going on?”
“It’s a long story.” Casey ushered her to the staircase. “I’ll tell you everything in a few minutes, promise.”
Rhonda rubbed her temples. “My head’s killing me. Too much wine.”
“Mrs. Stubbs, have you seen Mr. Churcott tonight?” Lalonde asked, approaching her.