“Behavior at school reflects behavior at home, or doesn’t university teach you that?”
Casey’s patience wilted. “I’m her legal guardian. She’ll live by my rules, not yours.”
Winifred dropped Casey’s handbag and pack onto a chair. She plunked the plate in front of Summer.
Casey tried to ignore the brown chunks and chopped bits of limp, translucent onion. As a kid, she’d been forced to eat this stuff whenever her own grandmother had decided she needed an iron-enriched meal. She’d sit at the table, long after everyone had finished, until those cold, slimy chunks finally wobbled down her throat.
“I’m not eating that shit!” Summer yelled.
“Summer!” both women replied.
Tears dripped from her chin as she turned to Casey. “I’m not living with her!” Summer swept the plate onto the floor and tore out of the room.
Before anyone could react, Cheyenne was gobbling up the liver.
“Stop that disgusting beast!” Winifred ordered.
Casey reached for Cheyenne’s collar. “Come on, Cheyenne. Onions will make you sick. Let’s get you some real food.”
“I might as well wash this filthy floor. Don’t you give that child chores?”
“She’s been busy with school.”
Summer had neglected too many chores since Rhonda left. Letting her get away with it was a mistake, but Summer had been so devastated by Rhonda’s departure that Casey had been afraid to argue over it. Ensuring that she finished her homework was enough of a challenge.
“I gather you’re also too busy to keep this place clean?” Winifred asked.
“I take care of my own apartment and vacuum the rest of the house. I also keep this kitchen tidy. Summer looks after her room and we do the rest when we can.”
“Her bedroom is a pigsty. That child is deteriorating into an irresponsible and unstable delinquent. If we don’t intervene, she’ll become as violent as her mother. Rhonda’s actions have nearly destroyed her!”
Leave it to Winifred blame her own daughter. For as long as Casey could remember, Winifred had criticized Rhonda for every flaw, mistake, and mishap.
Winifred took a drag on her cigarette.
“If you’re staying, you can’t smoke inside,” Casey said. “This house is my responsibility and everyone has to follow the rules. If our two tenants see you smoking, what will keep them from doing the same?” She picked up her purse and cold pack. “And wouldn’t it be less hypocritical if you didn’t smoke in the first place?”
Casey marched out of the room, wondering how in hell she’d calm down a troubled twelve-year-old sinking into more misery and rebellion. Summer probably felt that every adult close to her had either betrayed her or let her down. The awful part was she wouldn’t be wrong. She hadn’t spent nearly enough time with this child lately.
She hadn’t really wanted the rock-throwing assignment, but Stan had insisted. The guys in security—most of them part-timers—weren’t available, and Marie was a single parent who wouldn’t work nights unless absolutely necessary. What choices had she or Summer been given over Rhonda’s absence? What options did they have now?
As much as Casey hated the idea of sharing a house with Winifred, the woman was Summer’s family. If grandmother and granddaughter spent more time together, maybe they’d find a way to bond or at least understand each other better. Besides, help with housework would be welcome.
Casey had nearly reached her apartment when her cell phone rang. She stopped and rummaged through her purse.
“Hello?” No response. “Hello?”
“Stop investigating the murder.”
The raspy, hostile whisper took her breath away. “Who is this?”
“If you don’t, then Summer dies.”
Fear slithered up her spine and tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. “I’m not investigating! I just asked a couple questions for a friend, and I’m done.”
“You’ve been warned.” The line went dead.
Casey plunked onto the carpeted step. She stared at the screen’s “Call One” message. She tried star sixty-nine to find the number and heard “We cannot complete your call as dialed.” She looked up the call log. No numbers displayed. This is what she got for buying the cheap package. Her cell phone wasn’t listed in any directory that she knew of, nor had she added it to her business card. The only people who knew this, or about Summer, were friends and coworkers.
Casey thought she’d be sick.
THIRTEEN
CASEY DROVE WEST ON BROADWAY and, for the fourth time this morning, glanced in her rearview mirror to make sure she wasn’t being tailed. Despite her curiosity and questions about Noel’s guilt, investigating Jasmine’s murder any further would be a horrible risk.
However, Wesley Axelson called her landline last night and said he wanted to talk about the murder, in person. Wesley had never phoned her before. He even apologized for calling. In the eight years she’d known Wes, he’d never asked her for a favor, let alone apologized for anything. Still, she told him she wasn’t investigating for Marie anymore. Before she could tell him why, he said, “But this is real important, and you’re one of the few people at Mainland who can keep her mouth shut. See, the cops showed up at my place with a warrant. When Marie finds out, she’ll think I’m the killer, which I ain’t.”
At that point, Casey’s curiosity had taken over and she’d agreed to see him. She just wished she’d insisted on a better meeting place than a gym filled with pro-wrestling wannabes. Again, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Since yesterday’s anonymous threat, she’d been fighting paranoia. She’d contacted the cell phone provider to see if they could trace the call. After several transfers and what felt like a long wait, she learned that the call came from a pay phone in Coquitlam. Noel lived in Coquitlam. So did Elliot Birch.
Every time Casey thought of the threat to Summer, the bump on the back of her head throbbed like some sort of warning beacon. She hated being forced to look over her shoulder. She hated that an anonymous coward was trying to control her through fear, which was turning into anger, and her anger inevitably propelled her into action.
After Wesley’s call, Casey phoned Marie to tell her about the threat and to insist Marie tell coworkers that neither of them were investigating Jasmine’s murder anymore. Casey would do the same when she got to work.
“I’m sorry about the threat,” Marie had said. “Why is the freak targeting our kids?” And then she said what had also been on Casey’s mind. “I wonder if someone from Mainland really did kill Jasmine. David doesn’t like kids, you know. He and Wesley wouldn’t have anything to do with mine at the company picnic last summer. I’ve also heard Roberto brag that he never plans to have any.”
Casey had heard this, too. She still found it hard to believe that any of them could shoot Jasmine and threaten children’s lives. For the first time in a long while, Casey didn’t look forward to going to work. Mercifully, Stan had told her she wouldn’t be needed on the M10 bus until further notice. After yesterday’s ruckus, Scott and Mo were temporarily banned from MPT buses, and Stan felt that Marie could handle things alone.
The words “Barley’s Gym” were printed in large bold letters across the second floor windows of the building to Casey’s right. She eased into a parking spot at the front of the long, two-story structure. Shutting off the engine, she studied the gray stucco exterior. The main floor had no windows on this side of the building. The double black doors reminded her of an entrance to a cave, one occupied by grunting, sweaty men.
Casey rotated her shoulders to loosen stiff muscles. While struggling out of bed this morning, she’d realized her head wasn’t the only body part that had smacked the bus floor. She stepped out of the car and, scanning the area, headed for the entrance.