Death on a Short Leash (24 page)

“I wish I could help you, but . . .”

“They might have brought a lot of dogs with them,” Maggie cut in.

“In cages on a flatbed?” the gas attendant asked.

“Yes,” Maggie breathed. “That's right.”

“I think I may've seen it. I was just op'nin' up the station. Early one mornin' it was.”

“How long ago?”

The man took off his oily cap and scratched his head. “Must've been at least two weeks. Stopped right over there,” and he pointed across the road. “Tarp'd blowed off, and that's when I saw all them cages.”

“Did you see which way it went?” Nat asked.

“Nah. Can't be far though.”

“Why not?” Maggie asked.

“Truck came back less than an hour later.”

“The only place it could be,” the woman said slowly, “is the old Hatchley place. They sold up about six months ago. Yeah! You try there.”

Maggie could hardly contain her excitement as, armed with the address, they set off for the next dirt road on the left. “Typical!” she commented as they drove past the rundown farm. “It's even worse than Brother Francois' place.”

Nat drove up the steep hill beyond the farm. “I'll find a place to turn around and then we'll walk back. Hopefully we can get close enough to get an idea of the layout.”

As they as they neared the farmyard, Maggie said, “Try and look as if you're enjoying a brisk afternoon walk.”

“You know walking is not my thing,” Nat answered, panting to keep up. He stopped to point to a hole in the thick brush and blackberries. “We should be able to see through the bushes down there.”

Maggie, glad she'd had the foresight to wear her flat walking shoes, hopped over the muddy ditch and peered through the hedge. A long dirt drive led to a two-storeyed clapboard house, and across from the house were two ramshackle barns and a steel gate barring the way into a field containing a few cows. “I wonder which barn has the dogs?” she whispered as Nat joined her.

“We'll have to return when it's dark.” Then he added gloomily, “I suppose they brought their guard dogs with them. Hey, look! I wonder if that's Marigold?”

A woman carrying an infant had come out of the barn and was walking toward the house.

“It would be nice if we could rescue the baby as well as the dogs,” Maggie said wistfully.

“We're not doing any rescuing,” Nat said firmly. “We're just making sure the dogs are there.”

“But . . .”

“No buts, Maggie. If they're there, then we get help. Let's get back to the car.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the town of Chilliwack, then having an early supper at one of the restaurants on Young Street. By this time the crisp autumn day had turned into a chilly, clear night, and as they neared the farm, the stars and an almost full moon shone down, making the buildings look forlorn and ghostly. Maggie shivered as she and Nat returned to look through the same hole in the hedge.

“Okay, boss,” she whispered, “what next?”

“We'll wait another ten minutes to make sure the evening chores are over,” he replied.

The longer they waited, the colder Maggie's feet became.

“There hasn't been any movement around the barns for ages,” she said impatiently.

“Okay, let's go, but for God's sake, stay in the shadows.” He clambered over the ditch and held his hand out to help Maggie.

“Keep to the grass.”

“What about the guard dogs?” Maggie whispered just before they slipped through the farmyard entrance. Merging into the shadow of the first barn, she waited, holding her breath, until Nat was beside her.

“Maybe there's another entrance around the back,” Nat said quietly. “You stay here.” It seemed an eternity before he reappeared and beckoned, but before she could move toward him, the farmyard was suddenly flooded with light. A man had exited the farmhouse.

He's bound to see me!
Flattening herself against the rough wooden planks, Maggie steeled herself to remain absolutely still.

“Come on,” the man yelled. “We haven't got all night. Get a bloody move on.”

“For Chrissake, they're just dogs! They can wait.” Another man, struggling with his coat, emerged into the yard.

“And if they start making a racket? Do you want the nosy neighbours to start asking questions?”

Maggie, trying to keep her face in the shadows, heard them coming nearer and nearer. “We'll feed them and give them their tranquilizers.”

“Do you want me to put the bull terriers on guard now?” the man who was obviously the helper asked.

“Not until everything's quieted down. You know how they get spooked.”

Maggie heard the barn door scrape open. A
t least we've picked the right barn.
Giving the two men time to enter the building, she quietly crept around to the back. Nat was waiting for her.

“That was one close call,” he breathed. “I think I've found a way in, but we'll have to wait until they've fed the dogs.” Twenty minutes later, the lights in the farmyard were extinguished.

Maggie followed Nat through a door obviously used for easy access for farm equipment. “They're bringing in the guard dogs,” she whispered.

“How do you know?”

“I heard them say. But they're waiting until the little dogs have quieted down. Oh, look!” And she beamed her flashlight on a double tier of cages.

“We're not here to rescue Rosie,” Nat said firmly. “Just to look.”

But Maggie, flashlight in hand, was hurrying along the row, shining her flashlight into each cage. “Here she is, Nat.” She bent to a cage on the bottom tier.

“Doesn't matter which one she's in,” Nat hissed. “We've got to get out of here.”

“Come over here and help me.”

“No, Maggie!”

“I'll do it myself, then.” She knelt on the muddy floor and tried to undo the door to Rosie's cage, but once again the butting head of the excited little dog hindered rather than helped in her rescue. “Quick, Nat, help.”

“Damn you, Maggie,” Nat replied, “we don't have time for this.” But he knelt beside her just as Maggie got the door open and Rosie pushed herself into her arms.

“Here, take Rosie.” Then, slipping her hand inside the cage, she felt for the puppies. “Stand up and I'll put a pup in each of your pockets, and you get out of here fast.” Not waiting to see if he'd gone, she lifted the three remaining pups out of the cage and stuffed one in each of her pockets before putting the other one inside the front of her jacket. Trying to use her flashlight to see the way out, she stumbled after Nat, now accompanied by the yips and barks of all the other dogs.

“We've got to get to the car,” Nat said grimly as they shut the outside door. “They're bound to have heard all that racket.”

And suddenly the whole yard was flooded with light again.

“That's done it!” Nat muttered.

“Oh, my God!” Maggie whispered. “I don't think I shut the cage door.”

“Maggie!” Nat hissed, pushing Rosie's wet tongue away from his face. “If we get out of this in one piece, I'm going to kill you.”

“Let's get behind that old tractor over there.” Not waiting to see if Nat was behind her, she ran, holding the squirming puppies in place, and ducked down behind the rear wheel of the rusting piece of equipment. Nat hunkered down beside her.

Peering around the broken front wheel of the tractor, she saw the two men silhouetted against the light coming through the open back door of the barn.

“Something's made 'em restless. Want me to search out here?”

“No. Must've been a rat. Plenty of 'em about.”

“The drug will kick in soon. That'll quieten 'em down.”

As if on cue, the little dog in Nat's arms went limp. “We won't risk making a move until the lights go out,” he whispered.

“Just keep your fingers crossed they don't take it into their heads to inspect the cages,” Maggie answered. She realized she was holding her breath in anticipation that there would be a yell from the barn. But the floodlight went out a few minutes later.

“Okay. Let's go.” Nat inched his way around the rusty vehicle.

“Try to keep off the gravel.”

Rosie and the pups seemed to get heavier and heavier as they crept out of the farmyard and trudged back up the hill to the parked car. Nat opened the rear door, placed Rosie on the back seat and tucked her five babies around her. “Now let's get the hell out of here,” he said as he slid behind the wheel.

“Are you going to phone the RCMP?” Maggie asked as they neared the main road.

“I'll call George and let him take all the glory.”

It was well after ten o'clock when they finally reached Maggie's house and, to the utter disgust of Emily, the dogs were once again placed in a blanketed cardboard box. She circled it, hissing and arching her back, ready for a fight. But they just slept on.

“Do you think it's too late to phone George?” Maggie asked.

“No. I'll call him while you make us a sandwich and a hot drink—preferably something with a little something in it.”

“Don't forget to tell him about the baby,” Maggie called as Nat talked to George. “I'm sure he's Jasmine's.”

“George will get in touch with the Chilliwack branch right away and let Farthing know about the baby,” Nat said, returning to sit at the kitchen table. Then he gave a little chuckle. “I told him that to keep Farthing happy, there was no need to tell him where the info came from.” Then, as he bit into his ham sandwich, he asked, “What do you intend on doing with Rosie and family?”

She could see he was too weary to be angry with her. “Tomorrow,” she said, “after they've had a good bath I thought we'd take them to their rightful owner.”

“Did I hear you say
we
?”

“Yes,” she said, flinging her arms around him. “And talking of baths,” she said, making a face, “we both stink of that farmyard. Care to join me in mine?”

M
aggie awoke to the heavenly smell of frying bacon and burning toast and the sound of a yapping dog. Slipping on her robe, she descended the stairs to the domestic scene. Nat waved the fork he was using to turn the bacon. “Your tea's ready. Save that toast, will you?”

“One of these days,” Maggie said as she scraped the burnt bread, “I'm going to buy myself one of those toasters that pop up.

I'm fed up with this side-opening one. Where's Emily?”

“I kicked her out. She got too interested in the pups and Rosie was having a fit.”

Maggie laughed. “Perhaps her maternal instinct got the better of her. Anyway, Emily won't have to put up with these interlopers for long.”

After breakfast they bathed Rosie and her pups. The pups were smelly but easy to wash, but Rosie was another matter. She had lost considerable weight through inadequate food and having to nurse the pups, her coat was matted, and like the pups, she stank, so it took a couple of baths to get her finally cleaned, dried and then groomed. Maggie kept the puppies apart from Rosie while she fed her on kibble and warm milk.

“It shouldn't take long for her strength to come back,” Maggie said, fondling the dog's ears, “once she's properly fed.”

“I can't wait to see Pru's face,” Nat answered, laughing. “She won't have time to think of that husband of hers.”

They waited until after lunch before packing the now snowy-white dogs into the back of Nat's car and driving them to West Vancouver.

“You phoned and told them we're coming?” Nat asked.

“Yes. Pru's mother answered. I just said we wanted to see how Pru's getting on.”

“Whew! What a view!” Nat breathed after parking in the Ball-Hardings' circular driveway. It was a fairly new house built halfway up the mountain in the British Properties area, and it overlooked the Lions Gate Bridge, the City of Vancouver and Stanley Park, and along the waterfront they could see tankers and container ships waiting to be unloaded at the docks. Nat turned back to look at the house. “And the house goes with the view.”

The front door was suddenly flung open, and Pru came running out to meet them. “I'm so glad to see you . . .”

Then all hell broke loose. Rosie, hearing Pru's voice, jumped into the front seat of the Chevy and started barking and pawing at the passenger seat window. Pru stopped short and looked in utter amazement at the little dog, now frantic with excitement. At the same time, a somewhat older look-alike, who had to be Pru's mother, stood waving a drink in one hand and insisting they come inside.

Pru opened the door and scooped Rosie into her arms. “How did you find her? Oh, Rosie, Rosie, Rosie, I thought you were dead.” She turned to her mother. “It's my little dog, Rosie.”

“Pru,” Maggie said, opening the back door, “meet the rest of your family.”

“The rest of . . . oh my God! Puppies!” She touched each one as Rosie squirmed to get out of her arms and back to her puppies.

“Let's go inside and we'll explain,” Nat answered, picking up the box of squirming pups and leading the way into the house. But it took a lot of explaining, as Pru kept interrupting, her mother kept interrupting, and Rosie just got more and more excited.

“I think this calls for a drink,” Grace Ball-Harding said suddenly, walking over to a trolley loaded with bottles and glasses. “Vodka and orange all around?” Not waiting for an answer, she poured generous amounts of vodka into four tall glasses. “Juice in the pitcher. Help yourself.”

Thinking back to the first vodka and orange they'd had with Pru, Maggie filled her glass with orange juice and ice and smiled across at Nat. He must have been thinking of the same occasion, as he gave her a sly wink back.

Pru, looking completely different than the wan figure in the Silver Springs hospital, sat on the floor, drink in hand, surrounded by Rosie and her pups. “Here's mud in your eye,” she said, downing the liquid. “And,” she continued, “here's to that bastard of a husband of mine getting what's coming to him.”