Deadly Accusations (7 page)

“This is Casey,” Paval said to Ursula. “She works with Marie and Jasmine.”

Ursula plunked onto the sofa, put her things down, and then tied her blond streaks back into a ponytail. “Working with Jasmine couldn't have been easy.”

“Ursula,” Paval murmured.

“What? All I'm saying is that she could be quite the snob and smart mouth, which really put some people off.”

Had Ursula experienced Jasmine's vicious side? Casey noticed the way Marie glared at Ursula, who was too busy lighting her cigarette to notice.

“Uh, darling?” Paval said, glancing at the smoke. “Remember what the doctor said.”

“Just one this morning, one this afternoon, and one tonight, okay?” Ursula replied. “I'm trying, Pav.”

“I know it's hard.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but turned to Casey instead. “We're expecting a baby in four months.”

“Congratulations,” Casey said.

When the toddlers began fighting over a stuffed koala bear, Casey headed for the door, hoping Marie would take the hint and leave.

“If you need to hear something nice about Jasmine,” Ursula said, “she was a good dancer. Always had willing partners at the Silver Groove.”

“What's the Silver Groove?” Casey asked.

“A funky new retro club that plays disco,” she replied. “Dancing's the only kind of exercise I like.” She watched Paval referee the feuding toddlers. “Paval's favorite is housework and babysitting.” The doorbell rang. “And chatting with losers.”

Paval winked at his wife as he went to answer it.

“Jasmine collected business cards from her one-night stands,” Ursula continued. “I saw them when we were feeding her animals. Probably repeat customers.”

“Jasmine's dead, for god's sake,” Marie said. “Show some respect.”

“Who are you to tell me how to act in my own home?” Ursula took a long drag on her cigarette.

Paval shut the door. “Idiot.” He waved a check at Ursula. “It's only half. Says he'll pay the rest next week.”

“Kick him out if he doesn't.”

“Do you personally know any of these alleged one-night stands?” Marie asked Ursula. “One of them could be a killer.”

“Or not.” Above Ursula's head, the smoke ring looked like a dissolving halo.

“We should get going.” Casey picked up the cages. “Marie has a ton of things to do.”

Marie opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Belle followed. Paval grabbed the leash hanging on the back of the door and attached it to the spaniel's collar.

“Nice to meet you, Ursula,” Casey said.

“Back at ya.”

Paval handed the leash to Marie. “Could you bring the key back when you're done?”

“Sure.” Midway down the hall, Marie said, “I can just imagine what that hag told the cops about Jasmine.”

How well had Marie, or anyone else, really known Jasmine? She'd gone out with Roberto, Wesley, and Marie's brother, so why not pick up guys in bars? The prostitution angle was possible, she supposed. Mainland didn't pay well, Jasmine had a child to support, and she would have needed money for veterinary school.

Marie inserted the key in the lock, hesitated a moment, and then opened the door.

Belle bounded inside and raced down the hall, as if searching for Jasmine. Casey put down the cages. Her nose twitched from the stench of over-ripe litter box. The living room was crowded with plaid furniture, six wire-meshed cages, and two rows of bookshelves stuffed with toys and
CD
s. The dingy beige walls were bare and the red shag looked in need of a good cleaning.

“Aren't there bylaws about the number of pets tenants can have?” Casey asked.

“Paval bent the rules for Jasmine.” Marie sat next to a cat watching them. “Hey there, Muffin.”

A furry creature darted past Casey, making her jump. “What was that?”

“Fagan. He's a ferret who gets into absolutely everything.”

“I'm surprised Jasmine could save for veterinary school after feeding this bunch.”

“She was good with money; bought her clothes from thrift stores.” Marie stood up. “Her ex works for Canada Post, but only paid child support when he felt like it.”

Casey ran her hand over a footstool embroidered with sunflowers. “This is gorgeous.”

“Jasmine made it. She was terrific at needlework.”

Casey shook her head. She really hadn't known the woman at all. Marie headed down the hall and entered the first room on the left. Casey followed. When she saw the sky-blue comforter with yellow roses, a chill swept over her. The photo of Jasmine asleep had been taken in this room.

Marie sat on the bed, tears sliding down her face as the cat leapt up beside her. Casey took another tentative step into the room. Oh geez, more cages. Two hamsters in each. She turned and saw sparkling, beaded clothes in the open closet. A red feather boa dangled from a hanger. The top shelf displayed yellow, blue, and pink wigs on Styrofoam heads.

“I take it Jasmine liked to dress up for the Silver Groove?”

“She once said she felt like a different person when she was on the dance floor . . . Freer and happier.” Marie wiped her eyes. “She wanted to express that difference in her appearance. She wasn't a whore, let's get that straight.”

“I never suggested she was,” Casey shot back. “I didn't even know her that well.”

“Jasmine had lots of different feelings and needs. Mostly, she just wanted a family to love, which Hannah would have given her.”

Yet Jasmine apparently left her son with the landlord on her many dates and nights at the Silver Groove. She hadn't gone to Parksville to see her ailing mother. Had her desire for family been as strong as her desire to become someone else on the dance floor?

Marie reached for a book on the night table. “This is Noel's. I gave it to him for Christmas. He must have lent it to her.”

Did she assume Noel hadn't slept here because Jasmine had been seeing other guys?

Muffin meowed and rubbed against Marie. “My brother loves to read.” She patted the cat. “He's the funniest, sweetest man I know. A lot like Lou.”

“Definitely a winner then.”

“Noel will be at the funeral. Are you going?”

Casey hadn't thought about it. Maybe a proper goodbye would offer some peace to their tumultuous relationship. “If Stan gives me the time off.” She watched the cat lick its paw. “Does your brother own a camera?”

“Everyone owns a camera. Why?”

“Corporal Lundy and I found a photo of Jasmine sleeping in that bed. I recognize the comforter.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Lundy wanted to look in her locker. Stan asked me to open it for him.”

Marie's red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “So, you decided to hang around and snoop?”

“It fell out of a magazine when I opened her locker. If she was intimate with someone, the cops will want to know.”

Marie shook her head. “It's all so sordid.”

“Especially when it could involve people at work, like David Eisler.”

“I see the bloody grapevine's flourishing even after she's gone.” Marie got to her feet.

“She died violently, Marie, and people aren't likely to forget that. Eisler's fists were clenched through the whole staff meeting, as if he was fighting to keep his emotions in check. I can't help wondering if he felt more than an attraction for her.”

“Did the corporal make you his assistant?”

Casey's patience dissolved like cotton candy in water. “Remind me, why am I here? Oh yeah, that's right; to help you.”

Marie swept thick hair back from her freckled face. “Sorry, but I'm still upset. I hardly slept last night.”

“I understand that, but I didn't kill her, Marie. Jasmine wouldn't let me know her when she was alive, and I did try. What's wrong with wanting to understand how things were for her now?”

“It doesn't matter.” Marie turned away.

“Yes, it does. It bothers me that the longer I knew Jasmine the more she hated me. I'd like to know why.”

Marie picked up the cat. “Get over it, Casey.”

“What do you think I'm trying to do?”

“There's a goldfish in Jeremy's room.” She headed for the hallway. “Could you take it too?”

Casey had worked with Marie long enough to know when a discussion was over. “I think I can manage one goldfish and a few hamsters.”

At least it was better than taking home Fagan the ferret.

CASEY MANAGED TO KEEP HER
food-laden paper plate steady while she nudged her way through Marie's crowded living room. She didn't really want to be here, but commiserating with grieving colleagues seemed like the right thing to do.

“It was a beautiful service, don't you think?” Paval Gallenski said.

Casey glanced at the landlord's moist eyes, and then focused her plate. “Yes, it was.”

“What happened to your fingers?”

She wiggled three bandaged fingers. “Jasmine's pets.” They didn't like her any better than Jasmine had. “Who knew guinea pigs could draw blood?”

Casey had been fostering the animals for a week and Marie still hadn't found them homes. She'd been so edgy lately that Casey had left the issue alone. She wished Lou was with her, but not everyone had been able to take time off work for the funeral. Two other supervisors besides Stan had attended, but Stan was the only one who'd come to Marie's house. David Eisler hadn't made an appearance at all.

“Why is that horrible ex-husband of Jasmine's here,” Paval asked, “and who's looking after poor Jeremy?”

Casey followed Paval's gaze to the short, sulky guy dripping artichoke dip onto his shirt. Elliott Birch's shiny black hair was slicked back and his thick triangles of sideburn were decades out of date.

“Marie looked furious to see him at the church,” Paval said.

“I noticed.” Just before the service began, Birch had plunked beside Marie in the front pew. The disgust on Marie's face had made his identity easy to figure out.

“She shouldn't have let that asshole in her home,” Paval said.

“She didn't. He slipped in with a group of people while Marie was talking to our supervisor.” Casey watched Birch shovel food into his mouth. “Apart from the free food, why would he come at all?”

“The psycho likes to stalk and taunt. Whenever I saw him by Jasmine's balcony, I called the cops, but he always took off before they got there.” Anger darkened Paval's face. “Maybe he's playing games with Marie because she didn't want to give Jeremy back.”

“I take it you were good friends with Jasmine?”

“I am with most of the parents in our building. We've only had one tenant leave since we took over a year ago. When you offer people respect and friendship, they stay loyal. Jasmine was a great gal.”

Casey focused on her plate so Paval wouldn't see her guilt. She hadn't shed many tears at the service, and she felt as out of place now as she had last week in the lunchroom. The peace and closure she'd hoped for hadn't happened.

“Do you know how the investigation's coming along?” Paval asked.

“No, the police have asked staff so many questions that no one wants to talk about it anymore.”

“Birch should be their main suspect.”

Better him than Mainland staff, Casey thought. After Roberto and Wesley were interviewed twice, employees started wondering if those who'd been closest to Jasmine were under suspicion. People had begun taking sides. In eight days, the laid-back, chatty work environment she'd enjoyed was now filled with suspicion and silence. Friendly expressions had grown furtive; greetings were reduced to half-hearted murmurs. She glared at Birch as he checked out the women while stuffing his face with cocktail sausages.

“Some people think Birch paid a coworker with his height and build to do his mail route the day Jasmine was shot,” Paval said.

Casey had heard this as well, and didn't buy it. “Wouldn't someone at work or on his route have noticed the difference?”

“Maybe Birch bought their silence. What if he stole Noel's van the night before, hid it somewhere on his route, and then used it to kill Jasmine the next morning?”

“How would he know she'd arrive early to pick up Jeremy?”

“He could have been stalking her again; waiting for an opportunity.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Marie charged toward Birch.

“Trying to figure out which one of you killed my wife.”

Casey and Paval exchanged pensive glances. Conversations stopped.

“As far as I'm concerned, you did, you abusive freak,” Marie said.

Casey cringed. Why couldn't she just ask him to leave and be done with it?

“I've got witnesses who'll prove I didn't shoot her,” Birch said. “If I had something to hide, I wouldn't be here.”

“Get out!” Marie shouted.