Death on a Short Leash (14 page)

“I'll go up and release Emily and Rosie,” Maggie said after he had gone. “They're probably wrecking my bedroom.”

“You do that and now that we have power, I'll get breakfast started,” Nat replied. “You'll stay, George?” he added.

“I'd better get going,” George replied, picking up his coat and heading for the front door. “In case you didn't catch what Hallscroft said, Farthing's been made inspector, and when he hears you two are mixed up in this . . .” He left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

Emily and Rosie were so anxious to get downstairs where the action was that they had momentarily forgotten they were supposed to be enemies, and they were both waiting just inside the bedroom door for Maggie to open it. They scooted past her, or rather, Emily scooted and Rosie waddled, and Maggie actually found herself smiling at their antics as she bent to pick up her discarded pyjamas and robe.

• • •

“I THINK I
can face the world again,” Maggie told Nat after her second cup of coffee.

“Then I'd better get going,” he answered. “Henny will be busy solving our cases again if I don't get there soon.” He bent to give her a kiss. “You sure you're okay?”

Maggie nodded. “I'm fine.”

“I'll meet you at the police station.”

Maggie stood on the porch and watched him drive away. She fed both animals and then let them out the back door before she prepared her own brown-bag lunch. She was so caught up with her thoughts that the shrilling of the telephone made her jump.

“Hello.” At first all she could hear was the sound of someone breathing. “Hello,” she repeated.

“Your boyfriend has left,” a muffled male voice said, “and you're alone.”

“Who is this?” Maggie asked fearfully. “What do you want?”

“A gentle warning, Mrs. Spencer,” the voice continued. “The next time it could be you.” The line went dead.

They know Nat's gone! They're watching the house!
Terror-stricken, she raced to the front window, looked out and then ran back to the kitchen window.
There's no one,
she told herself firmly.
They're just guessing.
She peered out of the kitchen window. All was quiet. Rosie was wandering in the neglected back garden while Emily watched her from the fence. There was the same soggy grass, the few bare fruit trees, and at the end, accessible via an alleyway, the wooden garage where she kept her car. Thick, black clouds moved sluggishly across a grey sky that threatened more rain to come, and the thought of having to walk down to the garage terrified her.

“Pull yourself together.” Opening the back door, she called the two animals in and then, putting on her raincoat, she picked up her lunch, handbag and umbrella. “They're just trying to frighten you. And,” she added, “they're doing a damn good job.” Making sure the house was locked tight, she walked down the path to the garage. To her relief, the padlock was still intact on the door, there was no sign of intruders, and her car started right away.

“You look very pale,” Nat said as he met Maggie in front of the police station.

She put a hand on his arm. “I had a phone call after you left.”

“And?”

“It was a man. Probably the one who tried to kill Jasmine. He said I could be the next victim.”

“What?” Nat exploded. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I am,” she said quietly. “He scared the hell out of me. Nat, he knew that I was in the house alone.”

• • •

“
THIS IS GETTING
to be a bad habit,” Nat said as they walked toward Farthing's office.

“George was kind enough to warn us,” Maggie replied. “After all, Farthing is his new boss.”

“I see you're back to finding bodies, Mrs. Spencer,” were Farthing's first words as Maggie sat down. “What connection has this latest one got with Johanna Evans?”

“Jasmine's not dead, is she?” Maggie answered in alarm.

“No. But she's pretty close to it. So what about answering my question?”

“I don't know if there is a connection,” she answered. “It could all be a terrible coincidence.”

“I don't believe in coincidences,” Farthing answered. “You two have been meddling in police affairs again and,” he added, “withholding vital information. Now how did you meet this girl?”

Maggie went through the story once again, explaining how they had been following a lead that Johanna Evans might—and she emphasized might—have gone to the commune searching for some dog kennels. She explained also that the leader of the commune, calling himself “Brother Francois of The Path to the Golden Light,” had insisted that Johanna had not been there. “And then I received a phone call from Jasmine, a young girl we met at the commune, telling me that she knew where the kennels were,” she ended.

”And you went there?” Farthing asked. “Alone?”

Maggie nodded. “Yes.”

“So where was our hero, Mr. Southby?” Farthing asked sarcastically.

“I had business elsewhere,” Nat answered. “And Maggie is quite capable of following up leads herself,” he added.

Maggie shot him a grateful glance, remembering how angry he'd been when he found out she'd gone there on her own.

Farthing turned back to Maggie. “So this Jasmine showed you where the dogs were kept.”

“She told me where to look.”

Farthing drew some papers toward him. “According to this report from the Abbotsford RCMP, they could find absolutely no trace of these kennels—or, as you put it, puppy mill. Are you sure you didn't imagine seeing all ‘those pathetic animals?'”

Maggie flushed. “Sergeant Farthing . . .”

“Inspector,” he corrected her.

“Inspector Farthing, if I imagined the whole thing, why was Jasmine stabbed and left on my doorstep? And,” she concluded, “why did I get a threatening phone call?”

“You haven't mentioned a phone call before.”

“I haven't had time,” she exploded. “Everyone just keeps asking me the same damn fool questions over and over.”

To Maggie's amazement, Farthing actually smiled. “Okay. I'll stop asking the same damn fool questions and let you tell me about the phone call.”

When Maggie finished, Farthing turned to Nat. “You weren't there when she got the call?”

“No. And that's what's so worrying,” Nat answered. “Whoever called knew that Maggie was in the house alone. They, whoever they are, must've have stayed close by until the police and I had left.”

“I hope both of you will take the killer's—and make no mistake
he
or
they
are killers—warning to heart,” Farthing said, standing up. “Just leave things to us. As I've told you before, Southby, stick to divorces.”

• • •

THEY RETURNED TO
the office to find that Henny had gone for the day, but she had put a note on Maggie's desk. “Mr. Evans say they are moving things out of apartment on Saturday. Have you finished looking? And you had call from a Joan Bittersomething.”

Nat leaned over Maggie's shoulder as she read the note. “Do you think there's anything in Johanna's apartment we've overlooked?” he asked. “And who the hell's Joan Bittersomething?”

“Oh, that must be Joan Betteridge. Prudence Williams' neighbour.”

“Williams' neighbour? How did you meet her?”

“I forgot to mention that after taking Rosie to the vet, I decided to visit Prudence Williams,” she answered, taking a quick look to see how he was taking the explanation. “But she was out and her next-door neighbour spoke to me over the wall. Quite simple, really,” she finished lamely.

“And you kept this to yourself, too,” he answered tersely. “In case you've forgotten, we're supposed to be sharing information.”

“I was going to tell you, but things just got out of hand.”

“Well, you'd better tell me about this Joan Betteridge.” He listened quietly while she explained. “So Prudence has gone to look after her mother,” he said when she finished. “Let's hope she remains sober.”

“But she didn't want to go. According to Joan, Carl Williams practically pushed his wife into the car.”

“Perhaps he thinks that his in-laws can cope with her better than he can.”

“But why would she make such a fuss about going to her parents?” Maggie answered, reaching for the telephone. “I'll give Joan a buzz and see what she wants.”

The phone was picked up right away. “Thought it would be you,” Joan said breathlessly.

“Has Prudence returned?” Maggie asked.

“No. Just the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got to thinking about things and decided to give Prudence's mother a ring. Sort of neighbourly, you know, just to see how she was.”

“You know Mrs. Ball-Harding?” Maggie asked.

“Of course. She went to Crofton House School with my mother. And I've talked to her several times since Pru moved next door,” she explained.

“And how ill is she?” Maggie asked.

“That's why I called you. She's not sick at all. In fact, Pru's parents have gone south for the winter. Palm Springs.”

“She's not ill?”

“No. Carl Williams made it all up.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“I spoke to the housekeeper, Mrs. Crawford. She said they left two weeks ago and won't be back until April.”

“Does the housekeeper live in?”

“Yes. She also told me that she hadn't seen Pru for several weeks.” She paused for effect. “How's that for a mystery?”

“Joan,” Maggie said conspiratorially, “it would be a great help if you could keep this bit of information to yourself, especially about me having Pru's little dog.”

“You mean it will help with your investigation?”

Maggie was quiet for a moment. “You're good friends with Pru . . . ,” she said.

“Good neighbours, really. We keep an eye on each other's places, take in parcels, water plants when we're away. That sort of thing.”

“It's nice to have a neighbour like that,” Maggie answered. “I used to have a neighbour I exchanged keys with.”

Joan took the bait. “That's just like Pru and me. I know where she keeps her key in the garage, and she knows which flowerpot mine's under.” She laughed. “Of course, I guess it wouldn't take a burglar long to figure it out, either.”

“The answer is to have lots of pots,” Maggie said, laughing.

“Bye. I'll be in touch.” She replaced the receiver.

“What's all that about pots?” Nat asked.

“Pru's mother isn't sick at all, and in fact, she's in Palm Springs for the winter.” Quickly, she filled Nat in with the rest of Joan Betteridge's conversation. “Where do you think Williams has taken her?” she pondered. “And why?”

“I think our doctor needs some more looking into.” Nat walked toward his own office. “But we'd better make a list of priorities. Of course,” he added, “our first problem is what to do with you . . .”

“What do you mean
do with me?
I'll be fine.”

“You could come and stay with me,” he continued, “or you could go back to Harry. I'm sure he'd love that,” he added with a grin.

“You're joking, of course,” she answered. “And according to my daughter Barbara, he's got himself a lady friend. Barbara was very incensed about the whole thing.”

Nat laughed. “I can just imagine she was. But seriously, I can't leave you on your own.”

“I have a guard dog now and I promise I'll lock all my doors.” She grinned back at him. “But you could come and stay tonight if you like. I'll even cook you dinner.”

“Never could resist an offer like that. I'll bring the wine.”

Fifteen minutes later, Maggie was back behind her desk, list in hand, and ready to make phone calls. The first was to Hans Van Dyke, Johanna's boyfriend, and the second to David and Marie Jones to arrange a time to meet them at Johanna's apartment on Saturday morning. Dr. Carl Williams, Nat had decided, would be getting an unexpected drop-in call.

T
he evening did not go as planned. Maggie arrived home armed with bags of groceries for the special dinner she had promised to cook for Nat and found an agitated Emily waiting inside the front door.

“Where's your pal Rosie?” Maggie put down one of the bags and reached to stroke the cat's fur. But Emily pulled away. “Okay, be moody.” She followed the cat into the kitchen, still wondering why the dog hadn't appeared.

“Oh, my God!”

Rosie was in her box bed, licking a tiny white puppy. When Maggie knelt down beside her, she discovered that this was puppy number four, and by the way Rosie was straining, another one was on its way. By the time Nat arrived with the wine, Rosie was the mother of five perfect little black-nosed Sealyhams.

Emily and Nat were entranced. Rosie allowed Nat to get close, but snarled every time Emily got near enough to sniff. “They're wonderful,” Nat breathed.

“And that little bunch,” Maggie said softly, “are worth a mint. I've been reading up on Sealyhams and they are quite rare in Canada. Apparently females are few and far between and their litters are small. You'd be looking at over two hundred and fifty dollars for one of those puppies.”

“No wonder those guys in Abbotsford are mad at you,” Nat said, looking down at the tiny little animals. “What are you going to do with them?”

“I'd like to keep them here.”

“But what if those goons break into the house?” Nat answered. “They've already threatened you. We've got to find another hiding place.”

“Your place is out, we can't take them back to the Williams' . . .” Maggie sat back on her heels. “Midge!” she burst out. “Midge. I'll call her right away.”