Casey looked for Lou’s old black pickup, but it wasn’t here. The M10 was due to pull out in fifteen minutes.
“Do you think I should go to Parksville?”
“I can only tell you which bus to work on and when,” he answered. “Since Marie’s kids are away, I’ll put her on the rock-throwing case until it’s safe for you on the M6 again.”
“Did you say you’re giving Casey time off to go to Parksville?”
The sound of David Eisler’s voice made them turn around.
“What of it?” Stan asked.
Eisler glanced at staff wandering past them. “Step outside, both of you.”
Stan rolled his eyes while Casey led the way, irritated that Eisler had been eavesdropping when she’d purposely kept her voice low. Outside, he didn’t stop walking until they were too far from the doors to be overheard.
The VP zeroed in on Casey. “Why are you going to Parksville when we’re short-staffed?”
“Why should you care?” Stan shot back.
“Jasmine’s mother lives there,” Eisler said, turning to her. “I thought I told you not to pry into a murder investigation.”
Her jaw clenched under his withering stare. “She invited me, and there’s nothing to investigate in Parksville.”
“There must be a link or she wouldn’t have asked you.” Eisler stood straighter, as if to appear taller, yet he still barely reached Stan’s shoulder. “Since you didn’t respect my request to stay out of the investigation, you’re fired for insubordination and sabotaging what was a pleasant working environment.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Stan asked.
“She was involved in an altercation with staff about murder suspects.”
“That was Marie, not me.”
“It was both of you! I heard every word.”
Part of Casey wanted to scream at the moron, but why give him more reasons to fire her?
“I decide which of my staff are fired, not you,” Stan said.
“You’re not running this show, Stanley.”
Even under the beard, Casey could see Stan’s face redden. He hated it when people used his formal name.
“It looks like you won’t be running things much longer either,” Stan replied. “I know about your job interview the morning Jasmine died.”
Casey saw Eisler’s hands curl into fists.
“Not what I’d call productive time for Mainland Public Transport,” he added. “So maybe you should fire your own ass, you fascist little twerp.”
Eisler’s lips grew white “Maybe I should fire your ass, too.”
Casey spotted employees staring at them.
“Well, Davey, old buddy, that works both ways,” Stan crossed his arms and smiled. “What do you think Gwyn will say when I tell him you’ve been job searching on company time?”
Before Eisler could respond, Casey said, “Do the police know that you went to Jasmine’s apartment looking for her?” The shock on Eisler’s and Stan’s faces was worth the risk. “Some of the staff know you’d been calling her at home, David. Jasmine told people and I imagine phone records will corroborate that.”
“It seems we’ll have lots of news for Gwyn when he gets back from holiday,” Stan remarked.
Eisler’s perma tan darkened. “You never did have much class, did you, Stanley? But then, you belong in this dump, so why should I expect otherwise?”
“Casey stays,” Stan said, “and stop bloody eavesdropping!”
“That wasn’t my intention,” he shot back. “I came to tell you that the company’s lawyers just learned that the bullet fired at Casey came from the same gun that shot holes at Mrs. Crenshaw’s house. A Glock twenty-seven, which I’m told is owned by Wesley Axelson.”
“Lawyers, huh?” Stan remarked.
“Someone has to protect the company’s interests; obviously, you’re not up to it and never will be.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Eisler ignored him as he focused on Casey. “See what happens when you meddle?” Anger seethed through his words. “Keep it up and you’ll get yourself killed.” He marched toward the door.
“Good luck with the job hunt!” Stan shouted.
Casey noticed the surprised looks on employees’ faces. Word would be out about it by lunchtime, which was probably what Stan intended.
“Miserable toad,” Stan muttered. “When are you leaving for Parksville?”
The question caught her off guard. “I haven’t said I’m going.”
“I’ve known you a long time, kiddo, and you’d never turn your back on a plea for help.”
It wasn’t that easy. There were critters to feed, an essay to finish, a class tomorrow. On the other hand, Lou could feed the animals and she could take the essay with her. “Do I still have a job?”
“You bet.” He watched her. “Be careful over there, okay?”
“I will, and thanks.” Maybe getting away would be good. Marie might call it selfish and even cowardly to take off, but survival, psychological and physical, sometimes required selfish acts. “I’ll leave after tomorrow morning’s class, stay the night, and take a ferry back first thing Thursday.”
Wesley stepped out of the building and headed for one of two buses still in the yard. He spotted Casey and Stan, and gave them a curt nod.
“Aren’t you usually at the gym in the mornings?” she called, and walked toward him.
“Too many guys called in sick.”
There’d been a lot of sick calls lately. People not wanting to work at a place with horrible morale. Two of Mainland’s admin staff greeted Casey and Stan on their way into the building. She’d noticed a couple of other friendly greetings this morning. Were staff finally believing that she wasn’t investigating Jasmine’s death? If this was really true, would she be even going to Parksville?
“Wes, we just found out that the bullet in the bus came from the same gun used on Marie’s place,” Casey said. “A Glock twenty-seven.”
“Shit, it’s probably mine.”
“So I heard,” Stan said as he joined them.
Wesley looked at her. “You told him, too?”
“No, Eisler did.” She detected a glimmer of respect on that big hairy face.
Wesley rolled his eyes. “They were ripped off from my apartment,” he told Stan. “Two Glocks and a rifle. The thirty-five was used on Jasmine.”
Roberto pulled his Corvette into a parking stall. The moment Roberto stepped out, Wesley charged toward him. “Your alibi’s shit, de Luca!”
Casey cringed.
Roberto slammed the door shut. “Mind your own damn business.”
He squinted in the sunlight as Wesley moved to within arm’s length of him. Compared to Wesley, Roberto was short and spindly. Wesley could have Roberto on the ground and writhing in two seconds.
“Your gun killed Jasmine,” Roberto said. “Maybe you’re the liar.”
Casey held her breath. Who’d told him about the gun? Wesley flexed his fingers and narrowed his eyes. He looked like he wanted to tear Roberto’s head off. Why was Roberto poking the bear? He’d never win a fight with Wesley.
“You weren’t at no dentist when Jasmine died,” Wesley said.
Roberto started to walk away.
Stan leaned close to Casey and whispered, “Is that true?”
“I think so.” She saw Marie drive into the lot.
“She was my friend!” Wesley shouted, following Roberto toward the garage at the far end of the yard. “For some dumb reason she loved you and you treated her like shit! I ought to kick your ass from here to hell.”