Once the laundry was folded, she’d tackle the dusty living room on the main floor, the one she always thought of as Rhonda’s woman cave. The last time Casey took Summer to visit Rhonda in prison, Summer suggested a makeover for the living room. Rhonda would have none of it. She said that after she made parole, she expected to find her house as she left it. Parole eligibility was eight years away.
It was hard to believe that Summer was only eleven when Rhonda was incarcerated just over two years ago. Next month, Summer would turn fourteen. On their last prison visit in early May, Rhonda was stunned to see how much Summer had grown. It had been tough to see Rhonda struggle to hide her emotions as Summer prattled on about being a bridesmaid at Casey’s wedding. Milestones and ceremonies were being missed. Although Rhonda’s absence still left a huge hole in their lives, life without her had become fairly normal, for the most part. But prison visits exposed harsh truths and not-so-great feelings that Casey would rather keep stuffed into one of many compartments in her brain.
She had started to put the towels away when Lou came home. He must have been in a hurry, as he hadn’t changed back into the street clothes he’d had on this morning.
Sweeping damp bangs from his perspiring forehead, he said, “I bought the energy drink you asked for.” He looked at the laundry basket. “Am I too late to throw my uniform in the washer?”
“I’ve just started the last load. If you hurry you’ll make it.”
Lou unbuttoned his shirt. “That moron Philippe’s been bragging about the big security case he’s working with the cops. Made a point of saying the details were top secret.”
“Did you tell him what an idiot he is and that drivers already know what’s going on?”
“Of course.”
Casey smiled. Lou didn’t put up with Philippe Beauchamp’s special brand of crap. Whatever type of security work Philippe had done previously, Casey suspected that he’d worked alone. Probably spent his shifts in his car, pretending to patrol construction sites while he played games on his phone.
“His engineering degree came up in conversation.” Lou unzipped his pants. “One of the guys asked why he was working in security when he had a degree. Beauchamp said he was trying to decide if he liked west coast living.”
“Maybe he should ask if the west coast likes him.”
As Lou traipsed to the bedroom in his boxers, Casey paused to admire his well-muscled back. At five-foot-nine, he wasn’t a large man. Two years ago, he was a little on the thin side but he’d started spending more time at the gym. Now he was all sweet sexy muscle.
When he returned from the bedroom, he was in his old shorts and ABBA T-shirt, not nearly as appealing as his naked back.
“I was talking to Mom earlier,” he said, tossing his uniform on the chair. “She wants to set a time for dress shopping.”
Considering the tension at dinner Tuesday night, Barb was apparently reluctant to call Casey directly. She’d resorted to emailing suggestions about flowers, wine, seating arrangements, and whether doves should be released the moment they were pronounced man and wife. Casey had begun to feel like an actor in someone else’s production. She also knew that she had no one to blame but herself.
“Next Saturday afternoon should be good,” Casey said. “Summer will be back from camp, and I think Kendal has that weekend off.” As maid of honor, her bestie would want to be there.
“That will make six of you altogether,” Lou said.
“Six?” Casey’s brow furrowed. “I count four. Don’t tell me the aunts are coming.”
“Yep, but you’ve been spared the grandmothers.”
“Still, that’s a lot of women.” And opinions.
“If you don’t want a large group,” Lou said, “then tell Mom.”
“What if she insists?”
“Then stand up to her.” He picked his uniform off the floor.
“I’ve been trying.” Casey began matching socks. “But every time I suggest something that’s not in Barb’s game plan, she shuts me down. I feel like I’m being railroaded.”
“Come on. It’s not that bad.”
Seriously? “Shouldn’t we start taking back control of our own wedding?”
“How? We’ve got nearly two hundred guests coming eight weeks from tomorrow, and you’re up to your ears with the home-invasion thing. Face it, Casey. We still need help.”
He was right. She knew nothing about the intricacies of the Sheckter clan’s seating preference. Since Casey had no blood relatives, most of the guests came from Barb’s list, and Casey had never met half of them. She’d invited work colleagues and their dates, plus eight friends and their significant others.
“I shouldn’t have let her talk me into having so many guests,” Casey murmured.
“Exactly.” Lou’s voice was unnervingly quiet. “You could have said no.”
“I did try.” Casey reached into the laundry basket, snagging a thread on her engagement ring. “I told Barb I didn’t know most of the people she invited, and she said it didn’t matter because I’d meet them at the wedding. A wedding that is costing us big bucks, by the way.” She regretted the remark before the words were out of her mouth. Blushing, Casey disentangled the thread caught between two of the three diamonds.
“What the hell am I supposed to do? Un-invite them?” Lou’s gray eyes flashed. “Maybe we shouldn’t have turned down her offer to pay for half.”
“I shouldn’t have complained. Sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t regret turning down the financial help. I just wish she’d kept me informed about the guest list.”
Although Casey had finally sold her family home and money wasn’t tight, the wedding had become more expensive than she’d anticipated. If she and Lou wanted to buy their own house in Vancouver one day, they’d need every penny and then some. The already enormous housing costs in this part of the country would only increase over time.
“Listen, your mother suggested doves flying through the air after we say our vows, and she still wants you in a tux,” Casey said. “Don’t you think the wedding’s gotten out of hand?”
“Well, we’ll just have to make our feelings loud and clear.” Lou picked up their landline. “I’ll call and let her know the date for dress shopping. She also wants a final decision about the wine. Have you made up your mind yet?”
Judging from the snippy tone, Lou was ticked. And why did she have to make the final decision? Casey sighed. She didn’t want to argue over this. “All right. Cabernet Sauvignon for the red, Chardonnay for the white, preferably B.C. wines.”
“Fine.” He marched into the bedroom and shut the door.
Casey stared at Lou’s discarded uniform. If he was expecting her to take his clothes downstairs, he was bloody well out of luck. Casey clawed through the basket in search of more socks to sort. She needed to take her mind off wedding problems, deal with more urgent issues, like the home invasions.
All afternoon, Casey had been mulling over the idea of a little computer research. After today’s meeting, Stan privately told her that, according to the investigating officers, the gang’s MO was similar to previous incidents across Canada. Abandoning the laundry, Casey opened her laptop. A quick search soon turned up a number of articles about similar incidents in major cities.
“That went better than I thought,” Lou said, emerging from the bedroom.
“Good,” she murmured, barely glancing up from the screen.
“Mom’s going on a recon mission to find the best dress shops. If she comes across any dresses she thinks you’d like she’ll have them held for you.”
Uh-oh. That could be tricky. Unwilling to trigger an argument, though, she simply said okay.
“In exchange for giving up the tux idea, she’s agreed to a new suit, provided she can help pick it out.”
Casey looked up and started to smile. “Clothes shopping with your mom? That’s so cute.”
“The last time I did that, I was twelve.” He sighed. “Want me to start supper?”
“You don’t have to cook.” She returned to her screen. “We still have cold chicken and salad in the fridge.”
“What’s got your attention?” he asked, moving closer.
“Home invasions in Calgary, Regina, Winnipeg, Toronto, Ottawa, and Montreal over the last eighteen months. I’m reading about the one in Calgary. The MO’s identical to what’s been happening here. Seniors targeted, cash and jewelry taken. None of the victims were seriously hurt, just traumatized.” She scrolled down. “There were three suspects, two men and a woman wearing balaclavas. The woman had an Australian accent.” Casey turned to Lou. “Stan never mentioned this. I wonder if the cops told him.”
“Maybe they didn’t think it was relevant for security people to know.”
“It could be, though,” she answered. “If I heard an Australian woman on the bus, sitting near the seniors, I’d sure watch her.”
A message from Summer appeared on Casey’s phone. She’d been texting Casey all week about the ups and downs of sharing a cabin with seven girls. Her message said, I officially hate camp. Everyone sucks. Can’t wait to come home Sunday.
Crap, she’d forgotten that Summer would need to be picked up Sunday afternoon. Everything was moving so fast lately. She felt as if she was stumbling through the days, losing track of time. Casey closed the laptop. At least she could control the laundry. She picked up another pair of socks.
EIGHT
Casey was finishing another patrol through Kerrisdale when her eyelids grew heavy. Stamina fizzled fast at three in the morning and she had four hours left on this horribly dull shift. She’d already consumed two protein bars and most of the coffee in her thermos. The energy drink, and its blast of caffeine, was beckoning.
Casey turned onto Elsie Englehart’s street and pulled up in front of the park. She’d chosen this spot to keep Elsie in mind. Better to feel sharp and unsettled than bored and complacent. In the rearview mirror, a street lamp illuminated the crime-scene tape still in front of Elsie’s house. Five nights had passed since the attack. Understandably, neighbors wouldn’t want to go near the place. Elsie once mentioned that her son lived in Hope, a two-hour drive from here. He was probably too preoccupied with funeral arrangements to focus on clearing out the house.
As Casey checked in with dispatch, a bolt of lightning flashed above her, followed by thunder. A raindrop splashed the windshield, then another. The weather forecast was correct. Rain was about to wash the smog away.
In her notebook, Casey jotted down the time and the route she’d taken. She worked on the details, pausing to observe the turbulent sky and the houses partially shielded by hedges, shrubs, and trees. There were plenty of hiding spots along this street. Not one light was on in any home, not even a porch light. After listening to several conversations on the bus, she’d come to realize that many retirees regarded the home invasions as isolated incidents. They couldn’t fathom why anyone would break into a home for a few dollars and a bit of jewelry. Few truly believed it would happen to them.
A gust of wind sent swings swaying in the playground to her right. There was no lighting in the park. Lurkers would have an easy time watching neighborhood activity without being seen. Casey stared into the darkness. A second lightning bolt lit the park just long enough to glimpse someone emerging from the shadows fifty yards ahead. Her heartbeat quickened.
A man hurried toward the sidewalk. He didn’t break his stride as he crossed the road and headed toward the side street. His long gait, hands in pockets, and dark hoodie over his head told her that this was someone young. The gang never worked solo, unless this was a recon mission. On the other hand, maybe he was just a local on his way home from a night out.
Casey started the engine. Noting the time, she eased her Tercel forward. If he was a home invader, she hoped her presence would keep him from doing something stupid. Casey turned down the side street and spotted him on the sidewalk on the other side of the road. Glancing over his shoulder, he kept a steady pace. He had to have seen her vehicle. The street lights and hood pulled low over his forehead made it impossible to see his face. He wasn’t a heavy set man, just average height and weight.
The man started to jog. Casey sped up. His hands were out of his pockets. He didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon. She was nearly beside the guy when he turned around and bolted back toward the park. Damn it!
Casey pulled into a driveway, shifted into reverse, and backed up. Accelerating, she caught up with him until he turned and darted between two houses. As she stopped the car, two large dogs barked from the backyard of one of the homes. Casey started to call 9-1-1 when the man came running back. His hood slipped off. Lightning lit up the sky exposing the startled, all-too-familiar face. He stopped and raised his arms as if in surrender.
“For shit’s sake!” Casey put on her high beams to find herself facing Philippe Beauchamp. She stepped out of the car. “What the hell, Philippe?”
“I keep hearing how good you are.” He paused to catch his breath. “Wanted to learn from the famous pro.”
The dogs were still barking. Casey expected house lights to switch on and police cruisers to converge.
“You came to see if I was doing my job.” She glared at him. “Were you hoping I’d fall asleep or be too scared to pursue a suspect? Speaking of cowardice, would you have let me see you if those dogs hadn’t freaked you out?”
“Keep your voice down!” he hissed.
“Maybe the cops should show up, because that was a stupid thing to do!”
“What’s the big deal? No one got hurt. No one’s even around.”
Casey looked up and down the empty street. The dogs stopped barking. No lights had come on, although someone might be peeking through a window. “Get out of here right now or I’ll call Stan.”
Philippe scowled. “I’ve heard you’re not much of a team player. I can see why. But thanks for the lesson in professional conduct.”
He saluted her, then marched toward the park while Casey stomped back to her car. She followed Philippe as far as the park. He didn’t look over his shoulder. Picking up the binoculars, she watched him stomp toward his Hummer on the park’s north side. When he reached the vehicle, she waited for him to leave. An adrenalin rush sent Casey’s heart pounding. More seconds passed. Another bolt of lightning struck. This time, she heard thunder. Raindrops started to fall. What the hell was his game now? Did he expect her to drive over there and chase him away?
Casey started the engine and released the handbrake as the Hummer took off. She stopped. What other pathetic, creepy ploy would Philippe devise in an attempt to bring her down?
Casey wrote a detailed description of the encounter. She’d brought her laptop and had plenty of time to draft up a report and a short email to Stan about Philippe’s outrageousness. First, though, she needed to calm down, to not compose anything driven by emotion. Maybe another patrol would help.
She drove slowly, paying attention to any movement near bushes, fences, doors, and parked cars. It wasn’t raining hard, so she rolled down her window and listened for car engines. She wouldn’t be surprised if Philippe returned, but as she cruised down neighborhood streets it appeared that he’d decided to leave after all.
Forty minutes later, Casey began her email. The rain picked up and soon turned into a deluge. Casey continued typing, but by the second paragraph, she was making too many typos. She switched on the engine to get the windshield wipers going, and scanned the area. No movement anywhere. She saved the email, then turned her attention to something a little easier. She googled Philippe.
His Facebook page popped up. There he was, sporting the same smug expression, elbows on knees, hands loosely clasped together. He claimed he was twenty-six, born on December twenty-fifth, and had five siblings. The few photos were selfies. He also claimed to be a high school honors graduate who’d won a scholarship to McGill and graduated with an engineering degree. Interests included mountain climbing, skiing, snowboarding and swimming. Strange. All she’d ever heard ab
out were his nights in the pub. Here was something that made her chuckle. Philippe stated that he was a security specialist and entrepreneur with plans to form his own company.
It didn’t take too many more keystrokes to learn that Philippe was on several free dating websites. The moron described himself as an easygoing, fun-loving adventurer who’d traveled through four continents. Apparently, he spent the previous year working his way across Canada on a mission of self-discovery. Hmm. Only MPT’s human resources personnel and Stan would have seen his résumé, but she’d bet a paycheck that most of his statements were lies.
Casey struggled to keep her eyes open. She wound the window part-way down again, not caring about the raindrops. She welcomed a little water and cooler air. The longer she sat, though, the more fidgety she became. Her legs had started to ache from all the sitting. Casey closed the laptop, rolled up the window, and started the car.
She cruised down one side street after the other. The cooler air she longed for was nothing more than a dense, humid mess. Her chest felt constricted, as if she couldn’t quite get enough air no matter how deeply she inhaled. Maybe a short foot patrol would help.
Casey stopped the car. She pulled up the hood on her jacket and stepped out. Turning full circle, she watched and listened to silence. She started down the sidewalk, feeling like an intruder, someone whose presence might worry any insomniac senior who happened to be looking out the window.
At the end of the block, two people appeared from around the corner, stopped, and faced each other. Casey darted off the sidewalk and crouched by a hedge. She stayed in the shadows, hoping she hadn’t been seen. She waited a few moments, then peered out from behind the hedge. Both males stood there, talking, oblivious to the rain. Philippe hadn’t reappeared with a friend, had he? Casey continued observing. Seconds later, the two parted. One climbed into a vehicle and drove off while the other jogged up to a house and opened the front door with ease, like he belonged there.
Knock Knock Page 5
