In the Shadow of Death (28 page)

“And he must've seen you that day at the old mine, Maggie,” Nat chimed in.

“And he started that rock slide.”

“I would think so. Probably saw you speaking to Chandler, too.”

“So Chandler had to be killed.”

“Guthrie must've been worried that you were getting too close to the truth for comfort.”

“What about the others mentioned on the contract?” Nat asked.

“I was coming to that,” Sawasky said, grinning. “Jock Macleod was included, like the other two, just to do the hard work of the mine. The real work.”

“If they were hired just to get the mine going, their share must have been nominal.”

“And Jerry Harkness?” Maggie said. “How does he fit into all this?”

“He insists he knew nothing about any of it, and I believe him. He had no part in the mine, and in fact, he told me that he and Vivienne were on the verge of splitting up when he had that terrible riding accident that paralyzed him.”

“Was it an accident?” Maggie asked. “He insists that he heard a gunshot just before the thunder.”

“Brossard had a long talk with Hendrix,” George answered. “He knew nothing about the kidnapping, but he was always very suspicious about Jerry Harkness' accident. He had no proof, as Vivienne immediately had the animal put down and buried. If there was a shot, I'm putting my money on Vivienne as the shooter.”

“To collect his insurance money,” Nat suggested.

George nodded and stood up. “Well, I must go. Do you want me to run you home?” he asked Nat.

Nat shook his head. “No. I'm going to go over a few things with Maggie.”

“I'll take him home, George,” Maggie said.

“I'll be glad to settle down to normal, unexciting investigations,” Maggie said after George had left and she and Henny had helped Nat into his own office.

“Me too,” he answered, painfully shifting his leg. “And I'll be damn glad to get this cast off.”

Maggie could see it was going to be a very long five weeks before his wish came true.

“You sit quiet, Mr. Nat,” Henny said, patting his shoulder. “I make you tea.” She beamed at him. “I got your favourite—chamomile.”

“Don't bother, Henny.”

“No bother. Do you good.”

After she had left, he turned to Maggie. “I hate chamomile!”

Maggie laughed. “She's worried about you.”

“Have you heard from Kate?”

“No. But I feel so sorry for her,” Maggie said as she spread out the new files on his desk.

“Any idea what she's going to do?” Nat asked.

“She wants to come back to Vancouver,” Maggie answered slowly. “Jodie's asked me to give up my suite so she can move in there for awhile.”

“Are you going to?” Nat asked.

“I don't think I have a choice.”

“You could always move in with me,” Nat said, but his tone said he didn't expect her to say yes.

Smiling, she shook her head.

“Think about it.”

“I'm still married to Harry, Nat,” she said gently.

“I haven't forgotten,” he answered. There was a long silence between them. “Have you got your cat back yet?” he asked at last.

“I'm going to collect her from Harry tonight.”

“Can't you get one of your daughters to do that for you?” he asked, remembering Harry's performance in Williams Lake.

“No. It's something that I have to do for myself,” she answered.

• • •

HARRY WAS WAITING
for her when she arrived to collect Emily. “Come in, Margaret,” he said calmly, as though nothing had happened. He led the way into the living room.

“How's your mother?” Maggie asked. “Is she here?”

Harry shook his head. “No. I took everyone's advice and got a nurse for her. She's in pain but doing quite well at home.”

Maggie relaxed a little. At least she would not have to face the old battle-axe as well. “I'm sorry I couldn't help you, Harry,” she said, “but you know, even if I'd been here, I wouldn't have looked after her.”

“I know that, Margaret,” he answered. “You and Mother have never been that close. Why don't you sit down? I've made coffee.”

As Maggie sat, Emily appeared in the kitchen doorway. The cat walked sedately over to her and sprang onto Maggie's lap. Gathering the cat up into her arms, she snuggled her face into the soft fur as she looked around the familiar room. It hadn't really been such a bad life here.

“She's very fond of you,” Harry said, putting a china mug of coffee in front of her. “I think she's missed you.” Then, pulling a chair up to the table, he said, “There's something I'd like to ask, Margaret.”

Maggie took a sip of her coffee. “What is it, Harry?” she asked, steeling herself for a fresh round of unpleasantness.

“Mr. Crumbie is having his annual tea party next week and . . . ” he hesitated for a moment before continuing, “would you consider going with me? You see, I've never told him or Mrs. Crumbie that we are . . . we are living apart.”

Margaret looked at her husband of twenty-eight years. She realized that they had been through a lot together; they had two beautiful daughters and now a grandson. Harry was stuffy and she knew he would never change. And she knew, too, there was no way she could ever go back to the old relationship. But he had driven all that way to the Cariboo to rescue her, and she owed him this. “Yes, Harry,” she said, “I'd love to go.”

From
Death on a Short Leash
. . .

SANDRA OWENS NERVOUSLY
pushed her lank brown hair away from her face. “I don't think I can help you very much,” she said, peering short-sightedly at Maggie through her thick glasses.

“But you are Johanna's friend?”

“Well, kind of.” She reached for her cup of coffee. “Sometimes she asked me to go to the movies with her . . .” Her eyes misted over. “We went to see
The King and I
. Yul Brynner and Deborah Kerr. Did you see it? Wasn't it marvellous?”

“Yes. I saw it a couple of years ago. About Johanna . . . ”

“Well . . . it was a Saturday afternoon,” the girl continued, hitching her chair closer to Maggie. “We saw the show and then Johanna suggested we go have tea at the White Spot.”

“Yes?” Maggie encouraged.

“We were eating our cream puffs when she told me that she was going to Abbotsford the following Saturday.”

“Who did she know in Abbotsford?”

Sandra put her cup down and leaned across the table conspiratorially. “She said that she was going to see some dogs there. It was someplace that had a really weird name. Something about a light.”

“A light?”

“Something about a circle of light. Have you heard of anything like that?”

Maggie shook her head. “Did she say why she was going there?”

“No. Just that she needed to see this place.”

“And did she get in touch with you afterwards?”

“No. That was the last time I saw her.”

“How long have you known Johanna?”

“We were in high school together. Then her parents moved up the coast someplace . . . Gibsons, I think it is . . . but Johanna stayed in the city to take some courses at the vocational school for looking after animals. So we lost touch.”

“Easy to do,” Maggie commented. “So what did you do after you left school?”

“Me? Oh, my dad got me my job in Eaton's. You can just imagine the surprise Johanna gave me when she walked into my department about six months ago.” She leaned toward Maggie to add in a whisper, “To buy a push-up bra!” Then she sat back in her chair. “We've seen each other a few times since.” Then she added as an afterthought, “I do hope you find her.”

“If you hear from her,” Maggie said, picking up the tab, “please call me at this number.” And she handed over one of the agency's cards. “I've written my home phone number on the back.” Then, gathering up her purse, she asked, “Have you ever met Johanna's boyfriend, Hans?”

“No. Didn't know she had one.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Maggie asked brightly.

Sandra nodded, a faint blush rising up her thin neck. “Desmond. He's in menswear.”

• • •

NAT WAS ACTUALLY
quite nervous around small dogs and cats—he tolerated Emily because she belonged to Maggie—so he was rather glad when he opened the door to the waiting room of Richmond Little Pets Hospital and found it devoid of pets, except for a black rabbit clutched in the arms of a small freckledfaced boy. A short man sporting a neat black goatee and dressed in an immaculate white coat stood behind the counter. “Dr. Williams?” Nat asked.

“Be with you in a minute,” the man answered before turning back to the child. “Get your mother to give the rabbit these pills. Instructions are on the bottle.” The boy nodded and began trying to stuff the squirming animal back into its cardboard box.

“Here,” Nat said, “let me help.” The animal put up quite a struggle, but eventually it was subdued and in the box, and with Nat holding the lid on firmly, the boy quickly tied it up with a piece of string.

“Thanks, mister,” the boy said, making for the door.

“Tell your mother she now owes me ten dollars, and don't bring that animal back here without it,” Williams called out angrily. “And if the pills don't work, eat the damn thing.” The boy gave the vet a terrified look and ran out the door. “It's like getting blood out of a stone to get those people to pay up,” the doctor muttered before turning to Nat. “Now what can I do for you?”

“Nat Southby. My assistant phoned. About Johanna.”

The doctor turned away without replying.

“I'd like to ask you a few questions,” Nat persisted. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

“I suppose you'd better come into my office,” the man replied grudgingly. “This better not take long—I only take a half-hour lunch break.”

Nat took in the man's appearance. Roman nose, brown hair and eyes, the snowy-white lab coat making a perfect setting for the man's bronzed-tanned face.
Looks as if he's just returned from the Riviera,
Nat thought, not a little envious,
and he's probably only in his thirties.
“When was the last time you saw Johanna?” Nat asked, before they were even seated.

“A couple of weeks now. I had to get temporary help.” He scowled as he munched on a sandwich while pouring himself a cup of coffee from a Thermos on his desk. He did not offer Nat any. “You know what they're like.” Nat nodded. He'd been that route several times before Maggie came into his life. “I had to get rid of her,” Williams continued, “and hire another full-time assistant.”

“How did Johanna seem when you last saw her?”

“Same as usual.”

“She didn't seem worried about anything?”

“I'm a vet. Not a bloody psychiatrist. How the hell would I know if she was worried about something?”

“Did you meet any of her friends? Her boyfriend, for instance?”

“I run this hospital on a strictly professional basis. What she did after hours was her business.” The man stood up. “Sorry I'm not much help.” There was no sorrow in his voice.

As he got up, Nat reached into his pocket and handed over one of his business cards. “Perhaps you'd give me a call if you hear from her.”

Williams nodded and threw the card onto the desk. “I'll see you out.”

GWENDOLYN SOUTHIN
was born in Essex, England and launched her career after moving to the Sunshine Coast of Canada. She co-founded The Festival of the Written Arts and the region's writer-in-residence program. She co-edited
The Great Canadian Cookbook
with Betty Keller and her short stories and articles have appeared in
Maturity
,
Pioneer News
and
Sparks from the Forge
. She lives and writes in Sechelt, British Columbia.

Stay tuned for more adventures in the Margaret Spencer series which currently includes:
Death in a Family Way
,
In the Shadow of Death
,
Death on a Short Leash
, and
Death as a Last Resort
.

“The flow is smooth, the action well-paced.”
—Quill & Quire

“A good puzzle plot and an engaging character to carry it along.”
—Globe and Mail

“[Margaret] has her way with the reader . . . you want to find out how she's going to make out as a detective (she seems better at it than the professionals).”
—The Vancouver Sun

“Satisfies throughout. Fascinating story.”
—Sunstream Magazine

“Margaret Spencer is a smart and feisty woman to whom people open up. Original.”
—The Saskatoon Star Phoenix