stranger had been watching the house.
âI reread Marcusâs postcards,â Rhonda said. âHe left no clue about going underground. I could go over the stuff he sent you, if you want.â
âI did. Thereâs nothing in them.â
Rhonda used to read Dadâs postcards out loud. To spare her feelings, Casey had never told Rhonda that sheâd received a couple of long letters inside birthday cards.
âWish Iâd gone the hi-tech route,â Rhonda said. âHe and I would have kept in touch better.â
Rhonda refused to spend money on a cell phone and hated computers. Wouldnât even try out Caseyâs PC .
âRhonda, are you sure you want to see the house?â Casey slowly brushed Rhondaâs thick dark hair. âAnd what about Summer?â
âI told her about Marcus last night and that Iâd be going to his place this morning.â
âHowâd she take the news?â
âMore confused than anything.â
Who wasnât? âIâve got to be at work by eight, so youâll be back before she leaves for school.â
âWhat if the cops arenât finished looking around?â Rhonda asked. âHow will we get in without a key, especially if thereâs an alarm system?â
âAs closest relative, I could inherit this place, and thereâs nothing illegal about dismantling any alarm system and using lock picks on my own house.â She didnât add there was plenty wrong with trespassing on a crime scene, but Dadâs secret life would torment her until she had some answers.
âI wonder if he left this place to you in a new will?â
Casey put the brush down. âIâll call his lawyer later.â
âWhat about the lock picks? Arenât you out of practice?â
She smiled. âI still play with them now and then.â
When she was twelve, an uncle gave her a nine-piece set for Christmas. Her parentsâ disapproval had sparked a heated argument during dinner that night, but Casey had begged to keep the tools. Dad only agreed when she promised not to use them for anything illegal. By age seventeen, sheâd become skilled enough to impress friends at parties. After moving here, she taught Rhonda, whoâd become fed up with tenants changing their locks then losing their keys. Learning to pick locks was much cheaper than calling a locksmith.
âWeâd better go,â Casey said.
The trek downstairs and along the narrow hallway toward the back felt longer than usual. She didnât look forward to this excursion to West Vancouver. Much as she wanted to see the house, she worried about what sheâd find and how Rhonda would cope. She entered Rhondaâs kitchen and opened the back door.
âIâll leave some muffins and a note for Summer,â Rhonda said, trailing behind.
âOkay.â
Casey flipped on the porch light, then took her time down the rickety wooden steps. Heading out before daybreak was depressing, but itâd be lighter within the hour. She trudged through the overgrown grass, climbed into her Tercel, and tossed fast food wrappers onto the sleeping bag in back. She hadnât had to stake out troublesome bus stops for months. One of these days, she should do a little spring cleaning.
âToo bad you donât drive something nice,â Rhonda said as she clambered inside. âThe wealthy folks of West Van are going to sneer at this rust-ravaged garbage can.â
Casey had once thought about buying something newer and then decided to keep her money until she drove this one into the ground. Besides, she rode buses for free. Unfortunately, Mainland Public Transport didnât have West Vancouver routes.
âWould you like to take your old beater instead?â
âNo.â Rhonda removed a muffin from a plastic bag as Casey cruised down the back lane.
âDetective Lalonde asked about Mother yesterday,â Casey
Carol Wallace, Bill Wallance
Vic Ghidalia and Roger Elwood (editors)