The Opposite of Dark (3 page)

“What did your father do for a living, Miss Holland?”

“He was an architect with his own firm. His associate and friend Vincent Wilkes inherited the business.”

Lalonde removed a notepad and silver-framed glasses from his pockets. “Address?”

After providing the information, Casey added, “It's a renovated house on Tenth Avenue, just off Granville, but I don't know if Vincent's still around. We haven't kept in touch.”

She saw Lalonde's attention turn to a man standing in front of a grave about fifty feet away. The man's hands were clasped together, his head lowered.

Lalonde turned back to her. “Your father spent a great deal of time in Europe.”

“Dad loved to travel. He worked for a lot of Europeans who'd bought property here and he usually vacationed overseas. He was always bringing back exotic piece of art: masks, carvings, glass sculptures.”

“He must have been quite successful. But even though Mr. Holland wore expensive suits and owned a Jaguar, he hadn't filed a tax return in three years and his checking account was almost depleted. Do you know if he had assets in foreign banks?”

Maybe loyalty was a habit, but Casey didn't want Lalonde to know about Dad's money problems. How on earth could he have afforded a Jaguar and a house in one of the country's most expensive areas?

“He never mentioned foreign banks.”

“We found a one-way ticket to Amsterdam in his den. He was scheduled to leave this week. His passport shows that this was a frequent destination.”

“I don't know anyone living there.” Casey gazed at the Fraser River on the other side of the cemetery. “Dad was a social guy. Couldn't stand being alone.” She turned back to his grave. “I still have trouble believing he cut himself off this way.”

“Maybe he thought he had no choice.”

She knew what he was thinking. Dad had broken the law and faked his death to escape, but then why stay in Vancouver? “Whose name is the house in? Who pays the taxes?”

“We're looking into that.”

“It should be simple to find out, or are there complications?”

“Let's just say that nothing about this case appears to be straightforward,” he replied. “Your father could have been in serious trouble, Miss Holland. Something so dangerous that someone felt compelled to kill him with a heavy knife or meat cleaver.”

“A cleaver?”

“Possibly—there was a collection of them in the kitchen. And bits of onion on the countertop. Dirty dishes by the sink. Looked like he hadn't cleaned up from dinner.”

“Had he eaten alone?”

“It appears so.”

“I've never known Dad to use a cleaver.” She shook her head. “From the depth of some of those cuts, it seems someone was really pissed at him.”

“Someone close to him, perhaps?”

Crap. She should have realized she was a suspect. “In case you were wondering, I was at a baby shower for one of Mainland's clerical staff last night from seven till eleven. A dozen people can vouch for me.”

“They have. Since you took so long getting back to the office, I had time to chat with your colleagues. They think highly of you, by the way.”

“Good to know.” But the gossip would be flying now. “I guess you'll want to exhume this body?”

“Not until I hear from the coroner.”

“When you know who this man is, let me know, okay? And I'd still like forensic proof that the man in the morgue is my father.” Lalonde said nothing, and she had nothing else to tell him. “I'd better make some calls.”

“You do know you're unqualified to investigate this matter, Miss Holland.”

She kept her irritation in check. “You don't mind if I share the news with a few friends, do you?”

“You can talk to anyone you like as long as it's commiserating, not interrogating.”

She started to leave when Lalonde said, “Do you know where I can reach your mother?”

A chill ran through Casey. “I haven't talked to my mother since Dad booted her out of the house seventeen years ago.”

“She was the one who told us you were next of kin and where you live and work.”

Casey could almost feel the blood leaving her face. How long had Mother known? Why would she even care?

“How'd you find her?”

“Her name and number were in an address book at the house. It took several hours to reach her, which is why we didn't contact you earlier.”

Why would Dad have kept that info? “I bet Mother thought it was funny that he'd died twice.”

“Shocked, I'd say. I've tried to reach her again, but her assistant said she's left for the day. I gather you wouldn't know where she is?”

“I don't know a thing about my mother's life.” Didn't want to either.

“She runs her own clerical service agency in Vancouver, Holland Personnel.”

Casey shrugged, uncomfortable with Lalonde's scrutiny.

“I'd still like you to compile a list of old friends, family, and acquaintances along with contact info,” he added.

“Okay, but I'd like to know if any names on my list show up in his current address book.”

Again, she started to leave.

“Did you know you're being followed?”

Casey saw him nod toward the man she saw earlier. As the man started toward the cemetery's south exit, Casey made a note of his height, clothes, and the black ponytail dangling down his back.

“Is he familiar?” Lalonde asked.

“No.”

“Krueger noticed a black Saab when we left your office, and again when you left the morgue. Every time you changed buses the car pulled over and waited.”

“When are you going to question him?”

“Shortly. Krueger's running a license check. Meanwhile, here's my card. Call me when your list's ready.”

“I want to talk to that guy.”

“No, we'll handle this, Miss Holland.”

She ignored him and marched toward the man, vaguely aware that her thoughts were frazzled and this was a dumb move, but the day's events had mangled the sensible approach to mystery solving.

“Miss Holland, come back here right now.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, and began to run.

The man must have heard them. He turned to her and then began racing toward his vehicle. Before Casey could reach him, he roared away in the Saab.

FOR AS LONG
as Casey could remember, Rhonda Stubbs had played a major role in her life. Lord knows she'd been a more involved and empathic caregiver than Mother. She'd been the only female friend Mother had had, until Mother destroyed it all by sleeping with Rhonda's husband. By the time Rhonda was engaged to Dad years later, Casey had learned to appreciate her as a trusted confidante and source of comfort when things were tough.

So, why hadn't she told Rhonda about today? Was it because of what happened when she broke the news about Dad three years ago? Rhonda had responded by pouring a large pot of beef stew into the sink. “It was for Marcus,” she'd said. “No point now.” She'd then collapsed. Tonight, Casey had tiptoed upstairs and into her apartment unnoticed. She'd told herself she wanted scientific evidence before saying anything about Dad. Truth was, she didn't know how to tell Rhonda without traumatizing her again.

Casey paced around the living room. She had to find a way. Rhonda needed to be told and she deserved to hear it from someone she thought of as family. After all, Rhonda had evicted a tenant in this big old house so Casey could move in after she walked out on Greg. Casey loved the large rooms and hardwood floors in this third-floor suite. She especially loved the comfy, cushioned seat in the bay window. It was a great refuge when she needed to make plans or to relax. But relaxing was impossible right now.

Casey bumped into her in-line skates propped against a stationary bike. She'd hardly used the bike since Rhonda bought her a yoga video. Tonight's workout would require something more strenuous than the mountain pose, so she climbed on and started pedaling fast so her muscles would soon burn.

To cope with the day's shocks, she'd kept busy by calling Dad's friends, but no one claimed to know anything about his resurrection. One guy called her a pathetic practical joker. Two more implied she was nuts and cut the conversation short while others were so patronizing she'd wanted to smack them. The most infuriating call had been to Vincent Wilkes.

Casey wasn't surprised that Lalonde had already contacted him or that Vincent was still an architect. The shock came when he told her that Dad had built a house in West Vancouver just before he died.

“Marcus planned to tell you about it when the final touches were done, which they pretty much were just before his death,” Vincent had said. “So, I assumed you knew.” And then the infuriating part, “Your mother didn't mention the house?”

She'd wanted to know how Mother knew about the place. All Vincent would say was, “About two weeks after the funeral, Lillian came by to pick up those photos of you that Marcus kept on his desk. She said she wasn't interested in either of his houses.”

Casey peddled harder. Mother hadn't been at the funeral, hadn't been invited. And Casey hadn't noticed the missing photos. Vincent had packed Dad's personal belongings and delivered them to the house. Eighteen months passed before she could bring herself to open the box.

Casey didn't expect to hear from Mother. The last time they'd spoken was seventeen years ago, on Casey's thirteenth birthday, about ten months after her parents split up. Casey had been stunned to find Mother waiting outside the school. Maybe it was wrong to refuse the gift Mother had brought with her, but she couldn't let Mother think she'd been forgiven for wrecking so many marriages.

Casey's muscles ached, but she kept going until she heard familiar taps on the door. “Come on in, Summer.” God, how would
she
handle the news? Summer was only eight when Dad died. She'd cried all through the funeral and wouldn't go to school for a week.

Summer stepped inside, carrying a plate of half-finished chocolate cake and wearing her favorite night shirt and moose slippers with the floppy felt antlers. She really was growing fast. Every time Casey saw her, she looked a little more like Rhonda, thank god. The dark eyes and thick black hair made it easy for Rhonda to convince the world she'd given birth to her, a lie she intended to carry to her grave.

Grabbing a clean towel from the laundry pile she hadn't got around to folding, Casey dabbed her brow. “Need a towel? Your hair still looks wet.”

“I'm fine.”

“How was your swim practice?”

“Good. Coach says I'll do great at the meet, but I don't know.” Summer prodded the cake with her fork. “Like, I don't feel ready.”

“You said that last year, and you won a medal.”

“Only third place. Want some cake?”

“I wish, but chocolate brings on a crappy mood, remember?”

“I thought that was only chocolate bars.” She sat in Casey's rocking chair. “How come you didn't have supper with us?”

“Lousy day,” Casey rubbed the back of her neck and slumped onto the sofa. “I wouldn't have been good company.”

“Sometimes I wish
I
could cook what I wanted. It'd be cool.”

“Sometimes it is, but your mom's spoiled me too much. I need to do more on my own.”

Rhonda didn't agree. Thought the new microwave was a waste of money.

“Can I borrow your bike for school tomorrow? Mine blew a tire.”

“Sure, and I'll get you a new tire. A mechanic at work owes me a favor.”

Two quick knocks on the door told Casey who her visitor was. Trepidation quickened her heartbeat.

“Come on in, Rhonda.”

Oh lord, she had on her hideous, pea-green sweat pants and red flannel shirt again. Rhonda was a worse fashion disaster than Stan, but where Stan didn't know any better, Rhonda simply didn't care. Not in the last three years anyway. Her thick hair was pulled away from her face with plastic ladybug clips.

“Almost bedtime,” Rhonda said to Summer. “Finish up. And have you seen my pastry cutter?”

“You left it in the bag of flour again.” Summer shook her head as if the burden of having a forgetful mother was too much.

Rhonda turned to Casey. “You look exhausted.”

“I am.” She dabbed her face, hoping to hide the stress.

“Mom talked to some guy about renting the room.” Summer raised a forkful of cake to her mouth. “He lasted, like, two minutes before she got rid of him, which is good 'cause he smelled like stinky fish.”

“And I didn't like the nasty grin on his face when I told him the vacant suite's under your bedroom,” Rhonda added. “I won't have him chasing you all over the house when I'm still hoping that you and Lou—”

“Rhonda, don't go there. Not tonight.”

Rhonda watched her a moment, then turned to Summer. “Finish your cake in the kitchen, hon, and then brush your teeth. I'll come say goodnight in a few minutes.”