Death in a Family Way (15 page)

“Mrs.
Floyd?” he asked tentatively.

“Yeah.” She picked up an oily rag and turned back to the engine. “Rosie Floyd, that's me. What's it to ya?”

“Does Derek Stone work here?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he about?”

“No.”

“When will he be in?”

“Who's askin'?”

Nat tried to hand her one of his cards, then changed his mind and read it out to her instead.

“What's he bin up to?”

“I just want to ask him a few questions.”

“Be in tomorrow.”

“I thought he worked here weekends.”

“Hired him full-time.” She picked up a screwdriver and attacked the engine once more. “Not much good. But he's learnin'.”

“What time tomorrow?”

“You can see him on his break.”

“When's that?”

“Ten-thirty.” She returned to her work.

•  •  •

MARGARET MADE IT HOME
before Harry and his mother, and, putting on an apron, even managed to look domesticated.

“And what's this I hear?” Honoria Spencer greeted her daughter-in-law. “Harry tells me you have a little job.”

Margaret shot a withering look at her husband. “Yes, Mother Spencer.” She still found it hard to call this woman mother. “I've been working for a couple of months now.”

“And what kind of job is it? Harry wasn't very forthcoming.”

Who are you kidding? I'll bet he told you every single detail twice to get you primed for the attack!
she thought, but she smiled innocently as she said, “Girl Friday.”

“Office work?” Harry's mother mulled this over and then she smiled. “You're volunteering. Of course!”

You know damn well I'm not volunteering, you old bitch,
Margaret thought. “No, I'm working. In a real office. For real money,” she said very pleasantly, then added wickedly, “I work for an investigator.”

“My dear, you can't be serious. None of the wives in our family have ever worked for money. And an investigator? You don't mean a detective, do you?” She turned to her son. “She is just joking, Harry, isn't she?”

“No, Mother, she isn't joking.”

“The firm is doing well?”

“Quite well, Mother.”

“Then I don't understand.”

“It's quite simple,” Margaret said. “I work because I want to. Now you must excuse me, the dinner is nearly ready.” She escaped into the kitchen.

The rest of the evening went fairly well, considering the slight iciness between husband and wife. The subject of the little job was assiduously ignored, and Harry regaled his mother with anecdotes from the office. This the old lady could appreciate. Before he died, Harry's father had been the senior partner in the same firm.

“Your father would be so proud of you, son,” she said, wiping her eyes after Harry had told her a long-winded story of old Mr. Hardwick, who was an important client of the firm. “He was one of your father's very first clients.”

When Harry finally took his mother home, Margaret washed the dishes, stacked them on the drain tray and went to bed. She did her best to appear fast asleep when he came into the bedroom, but Harry, determined to get in one more lick, announced loudly, “Mother was very upset about your job. She talked of nothing else on the way home.”

Tough!
thought Margaret, and very soon she really was fast asleep.

As she drove to work the next day, humming along with Frank Sinatra on the radio, she couldn't help grinning as she recalled the look on Honoria Spencer's face when Emily had made her entrance the night before.

“Where did that . . . that animal come from?” she had demanded, glaring at Margaret. “You know how allergic Harry and I are to cats.”

Emily rubbed herself against Honoria's legs, making the old woman jump out of her seat, before the cat passed her up for the comfort of Harry's lap.

“I think Harry's outgrown his allergy,” Margaret said, trying not to laugh.

Harry, looking shame-faced at his mother, handed Emily over to Margaret. “You'd better take her outside, Margaret.”

“Get rid of the creature,” Honoria had said, settling back into her chair, “or I won't come again.”

Margaret knew at that moment that Emily would have a home with her forever.

•  •  •

MAGGIE HAD JUST FINISHED
typing up her notes on the interview with Penny Thornton when the telephone rang, and as if on cue, she heard Penny's voice.

“Is that detective there?”

“Not at the moment,” Maggie answered. “Will I do?”

There was a long silence, then, “She told me something else on the phone.”

“Amy?”

“Yeah. She said they'd never let her come home.”

“Who wouldn't?”

“You know, the people at that adoption place.”

“Why not?” Maggie kept her voice even. She didn't want the girl to break off the connection. “Why not, Penny?” she repeated.

“Because she saw something.”

Maggie felt her patience going. “For heaven's sake, Penny, what did she see?”

“She said she saw them kill this old guy.”

Maggie suddenly felt cold. After a pause, she said, “What were her exact words?”

“She said she was waiting for them to come for her in some kinda shed. She said this old guy tried to come in and someone hit him over the head.”

“Where was this? Did she say?”

“No. She said when she started to scream, the woman came in and jabbed a needle in her arm.”

“Why didn't you tell the police about this?”

“And have them get me, too?”

“Are you calling from school?”

“Yeah. I'm on my break.”

“Which school?”

“Kits.”

“I'll come and get you.”

“No.”

“Penny. Do as I say. Wait.”

There was a pause, then, “I'm not going to talk to the police.”

Maggie left a note for Nat:
Going to Kitsilano High to see Penny. See if you can get Farthing to meet there. Explain later.”

•  •  •

IT WAS A LITTLE AFTER
ten thirty that morning before Nat managed to corner Derek Stone. Coke in hand, he was sitting on the end of the dock beyond the boatyard, morosely watching a crowd of gulls fighting over some fish guts on the mudflats below. Nat sat down next to him.

“I'm looking into Amelia Holland's disappearance,” he said, after introducing himself.

“I don't know where she is,” Derek said, getting up to leave.

“But you did give her a name to contact.”

“Yes, but . . . I didn't know the guy.” Derek stopped but didn't turn around.

“Who passed the name on to you?” Nat insisted.

“Just some guy who brought his boat in here for repairs.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He was just a guy.” Derek sat again but kept some distance between himself and Nat. “See, Amy'd been bugging me. Heck, how'd I know if I really was the father?”

“Okay. This guy,” Nat prompted.

“Well, it was over a few beers, see. I told him about her bugging me.”

“And?”

“He said he knew someone.”

“What was the guy's name?” Nat persisted.

“He was just a guy.”

“You can do better than that, Derek.”

“Larry something,” he mumbled.

“For God's sake, man! What was his other name?”

“I told you we just got talking over a couple of beers.”

“How was Amy to make contact?”

“He gave me a phone number.”

“You still got it?”

“I gave it to Amy.”

“Did she meet the guy?”

“She's gone, isn't she?”

“Derek, think! Did she say where she was meeting him?”

“Derek,” boomed Rosie's voice, “you can yap to that guy on yer own time.”

Derek stood up. “I've got to go.”

Nat stood up, too. “I think you're holding back on me.” He started for his car.

Derek walked toward the yard and then turned back. “They were going to help her, right?”

Nat stopped in his tracks. “So?”

“So why did Larry want to know so much?”

“Know so much?”

“Heck, you know—did she sleep around? What kind of house did she live in? Were her folks professionals . . . that kinda stuff.”

“Derek!” Rosie yelled. “Yer'll be working on your lunch hour if ya don't git a move on.”

“I've got to go.”

“Call me,” Nat said, thrusting the last of his crumpled business cards into Derek's hand.

He was still mulling over his talk with Derek as he entered the office. “Maggie, I'm back,” he called. No Maggie! He peered inside his own office. “Where the hell is she?” Then he saw her note on his desk. “My God, woman, what have you done this time?” He lifted the receiver and dialed Farthing's number.

•  •  •

IT TOOK MAGGIE
five minutes to get from the office at Broadway and Granville to Kitsilano High, but another ten minutes trying to find somewhere to park. She ran through the old school's front entrance and then came to a complete stop. Where could she expect to find the girl? The administration office was to her right.
She waited impatiently for the faded blonde sitting behind the desk to take notice of her. “Yes?” the woman said finally.

“Penny Thornton, where can I find her?”

The woman glanced at the oversized clock on the wall. “In class. Why?”

“She called me. I must speak to her.”

“Are you her mother?”

“No. I just need to speak to her.”

“I think you'd better see the principal, Mrs. . . .”

“Spencer. Yes, right away, and please get Penny in here, too.”

“I can't do that without permission from Mr. Harding.” She rose, moved at a leisurely pace across the room and opened a glass-panelled door. “There's a Mrs. Spencer to see you, Mr. Harding . . . She says it's important . . . It's to do with Penny Thornton.” She turned to Maggie. “He can give you five minutes.”

But it took longer than five minutes to convince a very stern Mr. Harding that it was imperative that Penny be allowed to come out of class. After he had examined Maggie's driver's licence, he called Nat's office—even though she explained that he wouldn't be there.

“I think I'd better contact the girl's parents,” Mr. Harding said, reaching for the phone.

“Please, Mr. Harding,” Maggie pleaded, “hear me out. Penny has information on Amelia Holland's disappearance.”

“All the more reason to call her parents.”

“When Penny phoned, she asked me specifically not to tell her parents,” Maggie said, fishing in her handbag for a slip of paper. “Here, this is Sergeant Farthing's phone number at the Vancouver Police Station. May I call him?”

Harding took the piece of paper from her and reached for the telephone. “I'll call him,” he declared. Maggie listened while Harding had a short conversation with Farthing. “Yes, sergeant,”
he said in a resigned voice. “I understand. We'll send for the girl when you arrive.” He put the phone down and turned to Maggie. “He's coming here to the school. I will put our guidance counsellor's room at his disposal.”

“Thank you.” She picked up her bag and turned to go out.

“You can wait in the staff room. Mrs. Jansen will show you the way and call you when they arrive.” Maggie felt herself dismissed.

As the door closed behind her, Harding reached for the phone.

In the staff room, Maggie helped herself to a cup of tepid coffee and dutifully put a dime into the cracked saucer sitting beside the pot. While she waited, she watched the schoolyard from the window, but it was at least thirty minutes before Farthing arrived, accompanied by a policewoman. Moments later a taxi drew up and Nat jumped out.

“But I told you I didn't want to see the police,” Penny complained as she and Maggie were escorted to the counsellor's office.

“All you have to do is tell them what you told me over the telephone,” Maggie said, pushing the girl into the room.

It took a few false starts and a bit of prodding from Maggie before Penny would tell Farthing and Nat about the conversation she'd had with Amelia Holland. She sat as close to Maggie as she could, but Maggie had to admit that Farthing did a good job of interviewing the girl. The policewoman sat behind Penny, taking notes. They had just about finished when the door burst open and a distraught Roberta Thornton rushed into the room.

“Penny!” she cried, going to her daughter. “What's happened?” She turned to Farthing. “What's going on?”

“It's okay, Mrs. Thornton,” Maggie said. “Penny very sensibly got in touch with me when she remembered something Amy had told her.”

“But, Penny, why didn't you tell
me
?”

“You'd only've got into a state, Mum!”

“Is this something you didn't tell the Hollands?” Roberta asked, sitting down next to her daughter. Penny shook her head. “But Penny, you swore you didn't know . . .” Roberta said sadly.

“Don't worry, Mrs. Thornton,” Maggie interrupted.

“Perhaps we can get on,” Farthing said, tapping his pen on the table. Then, turning toward the girl, “Now, everything from the beginning again, please.”

“Not again!” The girl wailed, but after a look from her mother, she started over.

“What I can't understand,” Farthing said when she finished, “is why didn't you come forward right after she phoned.”

“They might come after me.”

“Who'll come after her?” Roberta cried, jumping up from her seat.

“Please, Mrs. Thornton,” Farthing said, “let's get all the information before we get excited, shall we? Now Penny, this is very important, have you told anyone else about Amelia seeing the old man killed?”