Death in a Family Way (16 page)

Penny shook her head. “No, like I told you, I was too scared. But I keep thinking about it.”

“What made you tell Mrs. Spencer?”

“Yes, I'd like to know that, too,” Roberta cut in.

Penny looked at Maggie. “She came to the house, see, with him.” She pointed at Nat. “I thought she'd understand,” she said, gazing miserably out of the window.

“She did the right thing, you know, calling us,” Maggie said.

“But those people . . .” Penny cried.

“If you're sure you haven't told anyone else, they can't hurt you.” Farthing stood up. “Now I want you to go back to your class and try and forget it.”

As Penny walked toward the door, she turned to Maggie. “Everybody's going to wonder why I was called down here.”

Maggie smiled at her. “I'm sure you'll think of something.”

Roberta Thornton stood up. “I'd better go with her.” She turned and glared at Farthing. “You'd better be right. If anything should happen . . .”

“That's all we need, a hysterical mother,” Farthing said as he struggled into his suede jacket. “I want to see you two back at the station.” He snapped his briefcase shut and stalked out of the room.

“You came in a taxi, Nat?” Maggie probed as they left the schoolyard.

“Yeah. I dropped the car off for an oil change on the way back to the office. Then I found your note.”

“Mine's around the corner.” As she put the car into gear, she said, “You know that the old man was Ernie, don't you?”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Ernie was killed about the same time that Amelia went missing. March 23rd.”

“But we don't know whether the old man she saw getting killed was here or in Seattle.”

“No, but I think Collins and Violet are mixed up in it somehow.” She drove without speaking for a few minutes, then, “Where were you this morning?”

“Looking for Derek Stone.”

“Amelia's so-called boyfriend?”

“I found him, too.” He related his conversation with Derek. “It's too much of a coincidence that there could be two Larrys mixed up in this. First there was Larry Longhurst taking Collins' boat, and he had a pregnant girl with him. Then we find another Larry mixed up with Amelia. Also pregnant.”

“And that brings us back to Collins and Violet,” Maggie said
as they drew up outside the precinct.

“Why?” Nat asked.

“Because Collins has something going with Violet.”

“Well, of course, she's his aunt . . .”

“And where did Emily go every time she went wandering?” Maggie asked triumphantly.

“What's the cat got to do with it?”

“That's where Ernie went. To look for his cat.”

“So?”

“So he got killed at Violet's,” Maggie concluded as she switched off the engine.

“Maybe.”

“Look. He must have gone after Emily, heard something or saw something and . . . and they killed him.” She picked up her handbag and opened her door. “Come on. Let's face the music.”

“Don't say anything to Farthing about this, eh Maggie?” Nat said as he stepped out of the car. “Let's talk it over some more first.”

In Nat's former office, Sergeant Farthing spent twenty minutes ranting and raving about their interference in police business and failure to keep him informed.

“But Maggie did bring you in on the Thornton girl's statement,” Nat argued. “What more do you want?”

“Just as well she did,” Farthing said, glaring at them both. “So what else have you got to tell me?”

Nat thought for a minute. If he told Farthing about Derek, perhaps he would get some feedback on Larry Longhurst. Was it worth the risk? He decided it was. “I've been following up on Amelia's boyfriend, Derek Stone.”

“Who?”

“You haven't interviewed him on Amelia's disappearance?”

“No reason to. Up to this afternoon, I knew nothing about the girl. She comes under Missing Persons.”

“Well,” Nat said slowly, “you may be interested to know that Derek mentioned a Larry. And it seems very likely it's our friend Longhurst.”

Farthing looked thoughtful. “Okay, give me all you've got,” he answered reluctantly.

“What's happened to Longhurst?” Nat countered. “Last I heard he was badly injured.”

“He was. He's out of hospital and we've questioned him.”

“How'd he explain about the accident?” Nat asked.

“The matter's still under investigation,” Farthing said shortly, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “And frankly, it's none of your business.”

“I guess you don't want to know about Derek Stone, then?” Nat stood up. “Come on, Maggie, we've got work to do.”

“Sit down, sit down.”

Nat sat and leaned forward. “So how did he explain the accident?”

“At first he insisted he knew nothing about June Cosgrove. Then we produced the life jacket the girl was wearing.”

“Did he say how the boat was wrecked?” Maggie asked.

“He said he'd borrowed the boat to take the girl over to a party on one of the islands. Then the weather turned nasty. She panicked and the boat capsized.”

“Did you believe him?”

“No. Now tell me about this Derek character. Where will I find him?”

“Quit screwing around, Farthing,” Nat said. “We're talking about a girl's life.”

Farthing swung his swivel chair around to face the window and thoughtfully tapped a pencil against his teeth. “Your information better be good,” he said eventually. “There were bullet holes in the hull.”

“Bullet holes?”

“We figured they might've come from the
US
Coast Guard. They admit they shot at a boat that refused to stop.”

“How did Larry explain that?”

“He changed his story a bit then and said he must've gone too close to the border, and that's when the girl started to panic. The boat started sinking and when he tried to beach it, he hit a reef.”

“Was there anything in the boat when you found it?”

“Look, Southby, I've told you enough. I don't like dealing with people like you, so get out.”

“What the hell do you mean by
people like me?”
Nat exploded, and jumping to his feet, he leaned over Farthing's desk. “What are you getting at, Farthing?”

“I don't like ex-cops, especially ones on the ta . . .”

“What the hell are you implying . . . ?” Nat broke off as he felt Maggie's hand tugging at his arm.

“Leave it, Nat,” she said quietly and gently pulled him toward the door.

After they had left, Farthing slowly opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a half sheet of paper from a buff folder. “A bit more evidence and I've got you, Southby,” he muttered, scanning the paper once again. “You conniving son of a bitch.” He carefully placed the note back in the folder and returned it to the drawer.

“What's with that guy?” Nat fumed when they reached Maggie's car. “Every time I see him, he makes some kind of crack.” He opened the passenger door and flung himself into the seat. “There's something strange going on.”

“He certainly seems to have it in for you,” Maggie answered thoughtfully. “Why don't you give your pal Sawasky a call?” she added. “Perhaps he could shed some light.”

“I think I might just do that,” Nat answered her.

Fifteen minutes later, Maggie parked the Morris in front of the Aristocrat Restaurant just down the street from the office. “Lunch is on me,” she announced. She waited until their order arrived before she returned to the topic of Collins' and Violet's involvement in Ernie's death. “It's the only logical explanation,” she said briskly.

“But what could Ernie have overheard? I can't see old Violet as a gangster type, and she'd hardly have killed him just so she could keep Emily.”

She took a sip of her coffee before answering. “I've been mulling it over and over in my mind.” She put the cup carefully back in its saucer. “It's got to do with these pregnant girls, Nat.”

“Pregnant girls?” Nat waved his cup in the direction of the elusive waitress. “As far as I can see, only two of those missing girls were pregnant—June Cosgrove and Amy Holland.”

“Three,” she replied quietly.

“Would you folks like some more coffee?” the waitress said as she slapped the bill down in front of Nat.

“It's about time . . .” He caught Maggie's disapproving eye. “Yes, please,” he said, pushing his cup toward the girl. “What do you mean, three?” he said, turning back to Maggie just as she picked up the bill. “And give me that, by the way.”

“No, I have it. Now listen, I saw another pregnant girl entering Violet's house, remember?”

“When was this?”

“About three weeks ago when I went to see how Emily was doing. It didn't mean much to me at the time. I thought she must be Violet's daughter or maybe granddaughter.”

“I suppose there's a remote chance that you're right.” Nat leaned forward and laid his hand over hers. “Promise me you won't go there again.”

Maggie looked down at the large protective hand covering hers and gently pulled hers away. “I think it's time we were on our way.” And she headed for the cash register.

•  •  •

“
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?”
Harry's querulous voice met her as she entered the house. “I've been alone here for at least an hour.”

“I didn't know you were coming home early,” Margaret said, slipping off her coat. “Something wrong?” Emily, who had been curled up on Harry's lap, stretched, arched her back and jumped down to run into the kitchen.

“I'm coming down with the flu,” Harry stated.

“Would you like me to make you some tea?”

“No. Miss Fitch-Smythe could see I wasn't well. She very kindly went out and bought me some Aspirin tablets.” He pulled himself wearily out of the armchair. “I'm going to bed.”

“Good idea, Harry. I'll bring you a hot water bottle.”

“Margaret.” He was halfway up the stairs, looking down at her. “You've changed.” He coughed and blew his nose into his spotless handkerchief. “You've got to give it up, you know.” He climbed a few more stairs. “I've never felt so alone. You should be at home, especially when I'm sick.”

Poor old Harry.
Margaret carefully filled his favourite hot water bottle and screwed the cap on tightly.
He's right. We can't go on like this much longer.
Hot water bottle in hand, she trudged reluctantly up the stairs. Emily, tail on high, followed closely behind.

The rest of the week flew by, and before Maggie knew it, it was Thursday again. That morning, Nat wrote a letter to Mrs. Read, apologizing for the slow progress he was making in the investigation of her father's death. He didn't bother to tell her that the old man hadn't been particularly liked by his neighbours, who seemed to have forgotten him already. He finished up the report by asking if she, Mrs. Read, still wanted him to continue with the investigation.

“I still think,” Maggie said, placing the typed sheet in front of him, “that we've got to start looking closer at Collins and Violet.”

“Oh, come off it,” he replied, scrawling his signature at the bottom of the page. “Quit casting poor old Violet as a heavy.”

At noon she gathered all the outgoing mail, picked up her handbag and poked her head into Nat's office. “I'm on my way.”

He looked up from the document he was reading. “Can you be here about eight-thirty tomorrow?” he asked.

“I suppose so.” She waited.

“Thought we'd get through the office work early and take a run over to the Osprey Harbour Yacht Club.”

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Hoping to see Collins?”

He grinned at her. “You never know. Anyway, I'll give Cubby
a call and maybe we can have lunch with him in the clubhouse. Okay?”

“Okay by me,” she said, smiling back at him.

He picked up his pen and resumed writing.
She's a hell of an attractive woman when she smiles.

•  •  •

IT WAS ANOTHER PERFECT
west-coast day. Sitting in Nat's car, Maggie felt herself relaxing. Her husband had got over his flu bout quite quickly the previous week and returned to the office and his attentive secretary. But the atmosphere at home had remained heavy, their relations awkward.

The repaired, newly painted
Seagull,
bobbing up and down in the gentle swell, was back at her berth. Phillip Collins, screwdriver in hand, was on his knees, fixing something under one of the seats in the front cockpit. “Hi. Got a minute?” Nat called out.

“Oh, it's you,” Collins said, getting to his feet.

“Boat looks lovely,” Maggie said. “Take you long to fix it?”

“Long enough,” he answered shortly. “I could kill the little bugger.”

“How is Larry?”

“Mending and very subdued.”

“Did he ever tell you why he took
Seagull
out that night?” Nat asked.

“No.”

“He must have given some explanation,” Nat insisted.

“Even if he did, it's none of your business, Southby. Case closed.”

“Did you know Ernie Bradshaw?” Nat asked.

“No, who's he?”

“The old guy who was murdered a few weeks back. He knew your Aunt Violet.”

“Oh, that Ernie. The guy with the cat. I never met him.”

“Mr. Collins,” Maggie cut in. “Your aunt's got a garage in her backyard.”

“A garage?” He stared at Maggie, mystified. “Yes. So what?”

“Ernie Bradshaw's cat used to hole up somewhere. I just wondered if that's where . . .” Her voice tapered off.