Casey started down the hall toward the front of the house. She peeked in the living room. No Winifred. She started up the staircase and listened for signs of life. At the second floor landing, she glimpsed the two closed bedroom doors at the front of the house. Summer’s room was on the left. Winifred was using Rhonda’s room on the right. Casey turned around. All was quiet from the two tenants’ rooms.
Reluctant to face Winifred, Casey hurried upstairs and into her apartment. A chorus of whistling guinea pigs greeted her. Tiny paws pressed against the bars as the guinea pigs stood on hind legs, while hamsters and gerbils scampered back and forth.
“Hey, kids.” She glanced at her blinking message light. She would have preferred to listen to the messages right away, but until the critters settled down, she wouldn’t be able to hear anything.
Casey fetched the veggies and then refilled pellet dishes and water bottles. She picked up Ralphie and let him nibble the carrot in her hand. He grasped the carrot while his mouth worked at breakneck speed. For a rodent, he was awfully cute.
The telephone rang. Casey answered and heard Marie say, “Good, you’re back.”
Anger surged through her as she thought of Jasmine’s letters and the bull Marie had told her.
“First, Stan wants you on the M6 with Wesley tonight and tomorrow night. He’ll call you about it, but I thought I’d give you a heads up.”
Casey sat down and placed Ralphie on her lap. “I thought I was off that assignment for safety reasons.”
“Yeah, well, Eisler received a note from that rock-throwing nut yesterday.”
“Really? What’d he say?”
“That he didn’t shoot at the bus, but that he wouldn’t stop throwing rocks until Mainland shaped up, whatever that means. Anyway, I can’t work nights because I need to go see my kids, so Stan’s putting you back on.”
Casey stopped stroking Ralphie. If the rockhound knew about the shooting, had he been there when it happened? She hadn’t seen or heard anything in the media about the incident. She recalled the people she’d seen: the three guys who’d been walking by when the shot was fired, and the old man with the long beard and hoodie pulled low over his forehead.
“What happened in Parksville?” Marie asked. “Did you meet Hannah?”
No point in denying she went. Marie wasn’t stupid. “You didn’t tell anyone I was going, did you?”
“No one at work knows, and Noel’s discreet.”
Casey sighed. The stupid woman had told the police’s prime suspect.
“Did you read Jasmine’s letters?” Marie asked.
“Yes, and I read some of them to Lou too. He came over and spent the night. Wasn’t that sweet?” She’d feel ashamed for rubbing Marie’s nose in it tomorrow, but right now revenge was sweet. “It turns out that Parksville’s a great place for hot sex.”
“We were talking about letters.” Her voice was sharp. “Stay on topic, Casey.”
“I am; Jasmine wrote about you.” She gripped the receiver. “You told her I stole Lou from you. You also told her I was Stan’s favorite and got the best assignments. How could you lie like that, Marie? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“She must have misinterpreted—”
“Stop it! You were playing her and that’s not only disgusting but selfish.” Casey returned Ralphie to his cage. “Get this straight: Lou’s with me and we’re staying together because that’s what we both want.”
“Not even you can predict the future. You thought your marriage would last forever and look what happened. Everyone knows you’re not anxious to try that again.”
“I don’t recall discussing marriage with you or anyone else at work.” Rhonda and Lou were the only ones who knew about her insecurity. “If Lou wanted to be with you he wouldn’t have gone all the way to Parksville to tell me that he loves me.”
“I didn’t call to talk about Lou, for shit’s sake. I thought you’d want to know that Paval found a new tenant for Jasmine’s place, and he’s been selling her stuff cheap.”
“Is that legal?”
“Hannah gave him permission to get rid of the furniture. She’s already had someone pick up photo albums and other personal stuff. Anyway, I remember you liked her footstool with the sunflowers, but you’ll have to collect it today. Whatever’s left goes to charity first thing tomorrow.”
“Making money off her death’s a bit cold, isn’t it?”
“That’s what I told Ursula. She said Jasmine owed them a week’s worth of babysitting so it balances out, but yeah, it’s beyond tacky.” Marie hung up.
Casey wondered if the footstool was still available. Should she go out there? It was nearly one o’clock. And she needed to catch up on homework. Besides, Ursula was a suspect. Getting close to her again wouldn’t be smart. On the other hand, she’d sure like to know if the Gallenskis had crossed the line with other tenants. If she could talk to some of them . . .
Casey watched the animals munch their food and thought again about Jasmine’s letters. When it came to wanting something or solving problems, Jasmine had been a take-charge person. When her parents died and the rest of the family disowned her, she moved on. Got a job, left an abusive marriage, and sought her biological mother. She’d taken charge of her life, made plans.
Casey remembered when she used to be like that, and she knew that passivity crept in the day she started parenting a grieving, angry teenager. She’d spent the past four months tiptoeing around, hoping Summer would learn to deal with Rhonda’s absence, but clearly she hadn’t. Time to face reality, regain control of her life. Marie had been a good start. Winifred’s turn next.
Casey marched out of her apartment and jogged down to the second floor. She rapped on Winifred’s door. “Winifred, it’s Casey. I want to talk to you.”
No answer. Casey pressed her ear against the door and listened. She heard a noise. “I’m not leaving until we talk, so you might as well open the door.” She crossed her arms and counted to ten. “That’s it, I’m coming in.”
She turned the handle. The door was unlocked. Casey stepped inside the darkened room and gasped when she saw Winifred on the floor, beside the bed. Blood covered some of her face and one eye was swollen shut. Oh god, how long had she been here? Bending closer, Casey felt Winifred’s breath on her cheek. Casey checked her pulse. It was there, but not that strong.
“Winifred, can you hear me?”
“Mmm.”
“Can you breathe okay?”
“Hurts.”
“What happened?”
Winifred moaned. Her swollen eyelid twitched. “Attacked.”
“Did you see the person?”
“No.”
“Can I check to see where you’re injured? I have first aid.”
“No.”
“I’ll call 911.” Casey yanked the comforter off the bed, draped it over Winifred, and then called for help on her cell. She tried to answer the dispatcher’s questions, but knew too little to be of much use. “Winifred, do you know how long ago this happened?”
“No.”
“The suspect could still be nearby,” Casey said to the dispatcher. “Send the police right away.” She turned to Winifred. “Winifred, did you see any part of your attacker, like clothing, hair, a tattoo? Anything that could describe him?”
“Dark clothes . . . hat.”
“A wide-brimmed hat?”
“Mmm.”
“Brown?”
Winifred groaned.
Nausea roiled in Casey’s stomach as she repeated Winifred’s description to the dispatcher. She spotted closed suitcases in front of the bed, an unopened purse on top of them. Winifred must have been preparing to move out when she was attacked. Since Summer wasn’t here, the killer must have carried out his threat on the next available victim.