Knock Knock

by Debra Purdy Kong

  “It’s the first busy morning I’ve had in a while.”

  “If you need a ride home or anything, let me know.”

  Lord, if Marie was offering a ride, she must look pathetic. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

  Two minutes later, Casey entered Stan’s office.

  He turned away from the computer screen. “You don’t think you can fool me, do ya?”

  No point in asking what he was talking about.

  “You look like crap and I’m pretty damn sure that you don’t have medical approval to be here. So what the hell, Casey?”

  “In my own defense, I didn’t sleep well last night. And I’m here because it’s important to me to stay in the loop.”

  Stan sat back in his chair. “Have you been having a lot of trouble sleeping?”

  She shrugged, reluctant to discuss her medical problems. “That call I took was from Elsie Englehart’s neighbor Monica Silver. I met her the morning after Elsie’s attack.” Too fuzzy-brained to adopt a tactful approach, she added, “Monica caught Philippe speeding down her street. She said he treated her like a senile old bat and she’s still annoyed about it. Based on the two conversations I’ve had with Monica, she’s not senile.”

  “Why didn’t she call us?”

  “Maybe because she has my business card and had already met me. But I didn’t get a new phone till yesterday. Did Philippe mention the encounter with Monica in his report, or talk to you about it?”

  “He wrote something about a witness approaching him with a description of two men lurking in the area.” Stan searched through a stack of papers, then removed a sheet and read it over. “He doesn’t give the witness’s name, but says that he searched for the men she described and a suspicious vehicle he thought was scoping out the neighborhood.” Stan looked at Casey. “He came up empty.”

  Casey wondered if Philippe had truly bothered to look. “Monica wants to see me, to tell me more about the two men she saw.”

  Stan rubbed his beard. “Tell her to call me. Give her my number.”

  “She also wants company. She’s on her own right now and she’s scared. It would be good PR if I went, considering how irritated she is with Philippe.” Casey tried not to be intimidated by his stare. “Monica’s not the type to keep quiet about mistreatment, Stan. I really should go.”

  He leaned forward. “I can’t tell you who to visit on your own time, but I am not giving you any shifts until I have medical clearance. You know as well as I do that a compensation claim will be thrown out if you’re working before you should.” Stan shook his head. “I’ll talk to Philippe again.”

  Why not just fire his ass? Surely they could find a replacement without too much trouble. Résumés came in every week. As Stan looked over her injury claim form, Casey said, “Denver Davies told me VPD’s theory about a leak. He said they’d talk to you about it.”

  Stan looked up. “Davies shouldn’t have involved you.”

  “Denver’s a friend, Stan. He wanted my thoughts.”

  Stan began tapping a pencil. “What did you say?”

  “That I knew of no leak.” Casey leaned forward, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. “Think it’s possible, though?”

  Stan tossed the pencil on his desk. “I don’t want to believe it, but honestly I don’t know. Drivers overhear a lot of conversations.” He paused. “The idea that it could be true bugs the shit out of me.”

  It probably wouldn’t be prudent to point out that Philippe came to mind. After all, he was from Montreal, where similar home invasions had occurred. And his résumé was sketchy. What if he’d been working with the gang all along?

  “Thanks to Gwyn’s cutbacks, too many staff are cash-strapped,” Stan said. “If money was waved in certain faces, I suppose that info about seniors’ routines and living situations could be bought.”

  He was right. Plenty of drivers were disenchanted, if not downright angry, with MPT cutbacks. Gwyn had slashed all overtime for drivers after Christmas, preferring to give more hours to lower-paid rookies. It hadn’t gone over well. Drivers had returned to full hours, yet resentments still festered.

  “You’ve already been checking out their theory, haven’t you?” Casey murmured.

  “I have to, but so far nothing’s come up. The leak could just as easily come from someone in VPD. God knows they aren’t all saints.”

  There was a knock on the door. Philippe poked his head inside. “Oh. You’re still meeting. Can I have a word when you’re done?”

  “Later,” Stan answered. “I have another meeting in five minutes.”

  Philippe glanced at Casey, then left. Had he been listening on the other side of the door? Thank god she’d kept her voice low.

  “Just between us,” Stan murmured, “I’m taking a close look at every one of our drivers who work the Kerrisdale routes, and every security team member, except you.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  “Then please do as I ask and go home.”

  As soon as she took her pills. “Okay.”

  Casey got to her feet and strolled out of the department. She was too weak to walk any faster. She made her way to the ladies’ room, where she grappled with the lid of the pill bottle until it finally opened. Her vision blurred. Oh crap. The headache could be turning into a migraine. She hadn’t suffered through one in quite some time, but one of the triggers was major stress. Did concussions trigger migraines? She’d have to ask her doctor.

  Casey popped two pills, then slurped water from her hands. She was about to open the door when she heard voices in the corridor. One was MPT’s president Gwyn Maddox, the other Philippe.

  Unwilling to face them, Casey waited. She couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but it was certainly more than the usual quick greeting. Both voices sounded intense yet hushed, as if reluctant to be overheard. Why the hell was Gwyn talking to an MPT newbie? The man rarely interacted with staff at Philippe’s level. Finally, their chat ended. Casey opened the door a fraction. Both had disappeared.

  FOURTEEN

  Until this moment, Casey hadn’t realized that driving to Monica Silver’s house would be problematic for reasons that had nothing to do with her physical well-being. In fact, her head was feeling much better. Adequate sleep and painkillers had done their job. Better still, no migraine had appeared. But as she entered the downstairs kitchen and saw the way Summer frowned at the car keys in her hand, it became clear that an explanation would be necessary. As much as she loved Summer and Lou, those two needed to stop hovering. They could take a lesson from Cheyenne, who’d gotten up to sniff her, then flopped back down on the floor next to Summer’s feet.

  Summer closed the recipe book she’d been reading. “What are you doing?”

  “Going out for a bit. Are you planning to cook something?”

  “A dessert that doesn’t require an oven.”

  “Smart.” Following in her mother’s footsteps, Summer had become a good cook and baker.

  “Where are you going?” Summer asked.

  “To visit a lady about twenty minutes from here. Her friend was killed this week and she’s pretty upset.”

  When Casey woke up from her nap this afternoon, Lou had already left for work. The bus route he’d be driving this evening wasn’t in Kerrisdale, and for that she was grateful. Since he wouldn’t approve of this excursion and she’d rather not argue about it, Casey had arranged to see Monica this evening. She would be back long before he came home.

  “Are you sure you should be driving?” Summer asked.

  Casey didn’t appreciate the disapproving tone. “I feel better than I have in days.” More or less. Her shoulder was still painful, but that wouldn’t stop her. She’d just have to avoid shoulder checks.

  “Can’t you take a bus?” Summer asked.

  “It would take two transfers and an extra forty minutes each way,” Casey replied. “Would you like me to drop you off at a friend’s?”

  “I’ll be fourte
en in three weeks. I can stay home alone, you know.”

  “I know.” She headed for the back door.

  “Does Lou know you’re going out?”

  Casey turned to her. “Does he need to?”

  “I don’t know.” Summer met her gaze. “Does he?”

  Casey really didn’t need the attitude. “You worry too much.”

  “What if I went with you? We could stop for ice cream. And if you started feeling woozy, I could get us on a bus home.”

  Somebody was taking her caregiving duties a tad too seriously. On the other hand, if Summer came along, she was far less likely to tell Lou that the two of them had gone for a drive.

  “I’ll call Monica. See if it’s okay.”

  Monica answered on the second ring, sounding a little breathless and explaining that she’d been trying to get her granddaughters to put their toys away. She seemed delighted to have Summer join them.

  As Casey prepared to leave, she said, “Monica has young children with her, so I think we should leave Cheyenne here. We won’t be long.”

  “No problem.”

  After leaving Cheyenne with a new dog bone, Summer stepped outside. Reluctant to show any sign of weakness, Casey descended the steps at her usual pace. Sliding into the driver’s seat, though, wasn’t easy.

  “You’re wincing,” Summer said. “Maybe we should take the bus after all.”

  “As long as I don’t have to get in and out of the car too many times, I’ll be fine.”

  Casey used the side and rearview mirrors to back out into the lane. She could do this. Had to. It was humiliating to depend on Lou and Summer for everything. To keep Summer from watching every move she made, Casey said, “Have you thought about what you want for your birthday?”

  “Not really.”

  “How about a sleepover? You and your friends could make pizzas and ice cream sundaes.”

  Summer shrugged. “Sure.”

  “We’ll make a shopping list.”

  Man, the traffic was slow. Casey had hoped not to spend a lot of time behind the wheel.

  “I think it’s good that the wedding was postponed,” Summer suddenly said.

  Casey glanced at her glum expression. “Why?”

  “Now you’ll have time to take me to see Mom.” She looked straight ahead. “That’s what I want for my birthday.”

  Oh boy. More stress. Casey wasn’t sure how mother and daughter would cope. Two years of imprisonment had aged Rhonda. Her dark hair was now generously threaded with gray. Her eyes were always puffy and her skin pale. Rhonda persisted in assuring them that things were okay. She told them that some of the younger women confided in her and sought guidance on parenting and other things. As hard as Rhonda tried to put a positive spin on things, her sadness was almost palpable.

  Understandably, Summer despised the prison and tried to postpone visits until the need to see her mother became almost urgent. She had learned not to wallow in self-pity, to move on with her life. Yet moments of anger, grief, and acting out inevitably arose. Most of the time, Casey stayed calm, listening to outbursts and offering support any way she could. Other times, she barely managed to ride out the storm before sinking into her own emotional maelstrom.

  “I’ll make the arrangements,” Casey said.

  Searching for something more upbeat to talk about, Casey came up with, “How would you like to repaint your bedroom before school starts?”

  Summer’s face brightened. “Cool. It’s been the same since I was, like, five, which is so embarrassing. Can we paint before the sleepover?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Don’t tell Mom. I don’t think she wants any room in the house changed.”

  “Deal.”

  While they discussed possible colors, Summer became more animated. By the time they reached Monica Silver’s neighborhood, she was bubbling with enthusiasm about what would become a complete makeover.

  “If you spot anyone watching the houses with more than a passing interest,” Casey said, “let me know.”

  Summer scanned the area. “That guy coming out of the park looks kind of creepy.”

  Casey recognized the tall, pudgy kid with the grungy hockey T-shirt. “His name is Denis Stoyko and he lives on this street. Monica pointed him out to me when I was last here.”

  As he headed for the road, the kid kept his head down. Casey cruised toward Monica’s place. In the rearview mirror, she saw Denis watching them.

  “I still think he’s creepy,” Summer said.

  Casey frowned. “You know better than to judge people by their appearance. There’s always more than meets the eye.”

  “Yeah, and it’s not always good.”

  Casey pulled into Monica’s driveway. Although the house looked new, there were some lovely heritage-home touches like a wrap-around porch and stained glass in the upper portions of wood-framed windows. A wishing well sat on the left side of the lawn. Garden gnomes and other ornaments occupied strategic spots.

  “Cool. She’s got flamingos everywhere!” Summer exclaimed. “Probably a good thing that we didn’t bring Cheyenne. She’d turn them into chew toys.”

  Monica opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.

  “Wow,” Summer murmured. “She looks just like the flamingos.”

  “Shh,” Casey said, even though her comment was spot on.

  Monica Silver’s tank top and shorts were the same shade of pink and her legs nearly as thin. The beehive hairdo looked more deflated than Casey remembered, but the gold necklace and bracelets were still evident. Casey and Summer stepped out of the car and strolled up the walkway.

  Monica smiled, but as Casey drew nearer the smile vanished. “Good god, Casey. What did that monster do to your face?”

  “It could have been worse.” Casey refused to dwell on how much worse.

  “Well, you’re up and about. I guess you could call that lucky.” Monica turned to Summer. “This pretty young lady must be Summer.”

  After Casey made the introductions, Monica said, “I’m glad you’re both here. It’s not much fun being alone these days.”

  “You mentioned that your husband is away on business,” Casey said. “Will he be back soon?”

  “Not for a while.” Monica’s mouth puckered as she stared at something behind them.

  Casey turned and spotted Denis loping past the house. He returned Monica’s stare until he nearly smacked into a boy riding a bike. Denis yelled at the boy, who gave him the finger.

  “His mother shouldn’t let him parade around in that disgusting shirt,” Monica grumbled.

  Two girls, both preschoolers in ruffled one-piece swimsuits, peeked around Monica’s legs.

  “These little rascals are Shawna and Seanna,” Monica said. “Shawna’s four and Seanna’s three.”

  “I’m thirsty,” Shawna whined.

  “Then let’s have some lemonade,” Monica answered.

  She led them down a hallway, where the rich hardwood shone on either side of a slightly frayed, beige runner. The house was bright and polished, and the sage-colored walls looked freshly painted. Casey sighed. This was what Rhonda’s house could be if she would let them modernize.

  Monica opened the refrigerator and poured lemonade into two plastic cups. “Take your drink outside, girls.” She handed a glass to Summer, then looked at Casey. “A little vodka jazzes up all that lemony goodness. Would you like some?”

  “No thanks. Still on painkillers.” A slight headache was forming. With luck, the meds would keep it under control.

  “Too bad.” Monica removed a half-full vodka bottle from the fridge and splashed a bit into her lemonade. “Let’s sit on the patio.”

  The covered patio overlooked a vibrant, colorful garden running along the fence on each side of the property. A circular display of pink and coral dahlias occupied the middle of the yard.

  Cup in hand, Shawna wandered to the vinyl wading pool just beyond the patio. Seanna started to put her cup on the table but it c
aught the edge. Summer tried to grab it and missed. She gasped as lemonade splashed onto her bare legs. Seanna ran to the wading pool and hopped in.

  “I’m so sorry.” Monica tore two sheets from the paper towel roll on the table and handed them to Summer.

  “No problem,” Summer replied. “I’ve spilled more than my share of drinks.”

  Monica tore off two more sheets. “It’s always like this,” she said, mopping up the ground. “I would rather take the kids on picnics to avoid the kitchen mess, but I don’t feel safe in the park these days. God knows what criminals might be watching.”

  If she was that worried about safety, Casey thought, then why didn’t she keep her jewelry locked away? “Tell me about the men you saw lurking.”

  Monica dropped the soggy towels in a garbage pail and handed a third towel to Summer. “The first time I saw them, they were strolling past Elsie’s place and looking at the houses. A short while later, they knocked on my door, claiming to be Jehovah’s Witnesses. The bigger one looked too scruffy to be a religious type.”

  Casey’s throat tightened. Had Monica encountered the suspects? “Did you happen to notice the color of the larger man’s eyes?”

  “No, they both wore sunglasses, which is also odd, right? Have you ever seen those people door sporting shades at your door?”

  “Not that I recall.” Casey removed a pencil and notebook from her bag. “Can you describe them a little more?”

  “Both were in their late twenties and wearing suits. The shorter one carried a satchel and had a nicely trimmed beard.”

  “What color was his hair?”

  “It reminded me of a chocolate Lab.” Monica sipped her drink. “Anyway, I shut the door on those two, then watched them wander down the street. When I realized that they were skipping the houses of younger families, I called the cops, but they took forever to get here. The pair were probably long gone by then.”

  “When did you spot my colleague in the Hummer?”

  “While I was on the porch waiting for the cops,” she answered. “When he sped by, I ran to the sidewalk to see if I could get a plate number. That’s when he pulled over.”

  Casey glanced at Summer, who was still wiping lemonade off her legs and shorts.