Death on a Short Leash (26 page)

“Did you try telephoning this girl Marigold?” Hans asked, pulling away from the curb.

“I didn't want to spook her into running off again.”

“So she doesn't know you're on your way?”

“No,” she answered. “We've just got to keep our fingers crossed that she and the baby are there.”

“Well,” he answered with a smile, “at least it's not raining, so you can sit back and enjoy the scenery.”

But Maggie found that the heavy noonday traffic, plus being driven by someone who was a comparative stranger, made her too tense to even think of relaxing, and it wasn't until they were well clear of the city that she felt that she could sit back. But instead of enjoying the scenery, she found her mind trying to pinpoint what important thing she had missed. She realized that the nagging feeling had been with her since the day before.
It was something someone said.
And apart from Nat and Henny, the only other person she'd spoken to had been Jasmine.

But before she could bring the conversation to mind, the weather suddenly changed from low clouds to wind and icy snow pellets that slammed against the windshield, and Hans had to lean forward to peer through the dirty smears left by the ineffectual wipers.

“Perhaps we should turn back,” Maggie said, pulling up her collar from the cold, as she realized that the car didn't have a heater.

“No. We'll soon be there,” he replied.

A sudden gust of wind made the car shake. “I think we should turn back, Hans.”

“No,” he answered. “This weather's bound to improve once we're in the valley.”

But to Maggie, it seemed to be getting worse by the minute. She glanced around the car's interior, hoping to keep her mind off the impending storm and her persistent unease. “That's a picture of your brother's wedding?” she said, pointing to the sun visor.

“Yes,” he said proudly.

“You were the best man?”

“No. I had to take my parents and the out-of-town guests to the church, and then I had to pick up the bride and her father.”

“Not in
this
car?”

“God no! I can just see my snobby sister-in-law in this.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “No, no. My brother hired a limo for the wedding. My brother, the big shot!”

“A limo?” There was silence and then she asked, “Did you pick it up that morning?”

“No. The night before. My brother's wedding was at eleven in the morning.” There was another long silence and Maggie found herself counting the clicks as the car ran over the joints in the concrete road. “So now you know, don't you?” he said.

“Yes,” Maggie replied quietly.

“How did you find out?”

“Jasmine told me that Johanna arrived at the farm in a long black car at eight in the morning,” she replied. “I thought she meant Peterskill's car or Williams, but they can both account for their whereabouts that day . . .”

“Ah!”

“And you drove the limo to pick up the bride and her father.”

“That bitch yelled at me for being half an hour late.” He gave a low chuckle. “But I had the laugh on her.”

“The bride?” Maggie asked as calmly as she could.
I've got to keep him talking.

“She thought she was so special?” He gave another little giggle.

“But she had no idea what was in the trunk.”

Oh My God!
“Johanna?” she asked calmly.

“I didn't mean to kill her,” he said, putting his foot down on the accelerator. His laugh suddenly turned into tears that coursed down his face.

“It was an accident?”

“Did you know that she stripped her clothes off at that Pandora's place and she screwed around for money?” he asked in a broken voice. “And she laughed when I told her
I
wanted her.”

“But it was an accident. You didn't mean to . . .”

“I . . . I wanted her so badly, but she struggled and . . .” His voice trailed off.

“But Jasmine?” Maggie said, trying not to let her panic show.

“Why did you attack her?”

“She and that other girl saw me with Johanna.”

“What other girl?”

“That other one at the farm.” Suddenly, he pulled the car over to the side of the road and switched off the ignition, and Maggie turned and made a frantic grab for the door handle. But before she could open it, he had slid along the bench seat, grabbed her left arm and twisted it painfully up behind her back. “Don't struggle,” he said. His voice was almost gentle. She tensed as she felt something pressing into the side of her neck. “You're going to drive the rest of the way.” She felt the warm blood running down her neck as he pressed the knife deeper into her skin. “Open the door,” he said.

She gasped as the fierce wind took hold of the door and blew it back against the side of the car. But Hans, who seemed possessed of added strength, held her tightly in the arm lock and pushed her out into the storm. “Shut it,” he commanded. Then, forcing her to walk around the back of the car, he opened both the back passenger's and the driver's door. “I've nothing to lose if I kill you now,” he said as he pushed her down into the driver's seat and slammed her door shut.

If I start the motor, I might be able to get away before he gets in the back.
She moved her hand forward to start the car and then stopped. There were no keys!
I must get out!
But she couldn't push the door open against the strong wind.

“You'll need these,” he said, dangling the keys over her right shoulder. “Now drive nice and easy.” The knife pressing against her carotid artery made her comply.

• • •

IT WAS JUST AFTER
one o'clock when Nat called the office. “Maggie there, Henny?”

“No, Mr. Nat,” Henny answered. “She's gone to get that baby.”

“What baby?”

“You know, that Jasmine girl's baby. In Abbotsford.”

“Abbotsford!” Nat exploded. “What time did she leave?”

“About eleven. I don't know for sure.”

“If she calls again, tell her to sit tight until we get there.”

“But . . .”

“Henny,” he said firmly, “just tell her.”

“But Hans is . . .” But Nat had slammed the receiver down.

“We're going to have to make a detour to Abbotsford,” Nat told George as they piled their overnight bags into the Chevy.

“That damn fool woman has gone to pick up Jasmine's child.”

“What's wrong with that?” George asked.

“I've told her over and over to discuss things with me before she goes off on these junkets,” he replied angrily. “There's a murderer loose.”

• • •

“SHE ASKED ME
to take her to the commune,” Hans said, leaning over Maggie's shoulder. “I told her I had to go to the wedding.” His voice had taken on a dreamy tone. “But she said we could get back in time.”

“So you picked her up early that morning in the limo and drove her out there. But you didn't mean to kill her . . .”

As if he hadn't heard her, he continued, “We were on the way back, and I pulled off in some woods and I told her I loved her . . . She laughed at me and I had to force her . . . I tore her dress . . .” His voice faltered.

Maggie found herself trembling in fear. She knew she had to escape from him somehow.
He's got to relax sometime. I'll just have to keep my wits about me.
But as she drove on mile after mile, the pressure of the knife never relaxed on her neck.

“Slow down,” he said suddenly. “We're almost at the turnoff.”

But instead of slowing down, Maggie put her foot down on the accelerator and swerved into Cowslip Lane, bouncing high off the frozen ruts as she careened down the dirt road. Hans, screaming at her, tried to climb over to the front seat as he saw her heading for the gatepost leading into the cow field. But the car hit the post with a loud bang and came to a shuddering stop, the momentum sending Hans over the seat and into the windshield and Maggie into the steering wheel, taking her breath away. It was minutes before she realized that she was still alive, and, not waiting to see if Hans was, she opened the door and ran down the lane toward the farmhouse.

• • •

AT THE BORDER
, the car in front of Nat and George, an overloaded, decrepit Vanguard, was being minutely examined by the Customs officer while the man, his wife and three kids watched helplessly as their luggage joined shopping bags, toys, blankets and a baby's potty on the ground. “For God's sake, get a move on,” Nat muttered under his breath. Eventually, the officer seemed satisfied and commanded the family to repack. “Anyone with any sense can see they've got nothing to hide,” he added, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Having taken his nastiness out on the family in the Vanguard, the officer sent Nat and George on their way in minutes.

“Calm down, man,” George said as he settled back into his seat. “If Maggie left Vancouver around eleven, we aren't that far behind her.” He glanced at his watch. “We'll be there by one-thirty at the latest.”

“I know,” Nat replied, “but I've just got this funny feeling she's in danger.”

George laughed. “Quit worrying. Maggie is one lady who can take care of herself.”

“I hope you're right,” Nat replied grimly. “I just hope you're right.”

• • •

TERROR KEPT MAGGIE RUNNING
. She realized that the trickle of blood flowing down her face and her increasing dizziness must be from banging her head on the steering wheel, and her leather pumps were not the ideal shoes for fleeing over the muddy ruts.
Just let me make it to the farmhouse before he comes to.
She gave in to her urge to have a quick look back, but she had reached a bend in the lane and the car was now out of sight.
I wish I could remember how far it is to the house.
The stitch in her side, the dizziness and an increasing headache made her body scream for rest, but she kept running blindly on, until a huge pothole sent her flying, scraping her knees and shins.
I must get up!
But it took all her willpower to stagger to her stocking feet and then, shoes in hand, hobble the rest of the way to the farm. She picked her way through the chickens and goats to the back door and slipped inside. Marigold, her arms covered with flour from kneading a lump of bread dough on the wooden table, backed away in fear. “What do you want?” She grabbed the rolling pin to defend herself.

“We've got to get out of here,” Maggie gasped. “Where's the baby?”

“Upstairs. Why?”

“I'll explain later. Just get him.”

“But . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Now, isn't this cosy! Two birds with one stone.”

Maggie whirled to see Hans standing in the doorway. One eye was badly swollen, and a gash on his forehead seeped blood down his face. He held his knife menacingly toward her. “You're not going anywhere,” he added as he made a sudden grab for her arm.

But Maggie, risking getting cut to pieces by the sharp knife, jerked her elbow back into his chest to unbalance him long enough for her to spring forward and grab the rolling pin from the terrified girl's hand. “Get out of here,” she yelled. Marigold hesitated only a second before she turned and fled toward the living room.

Hans, with the resilience of youth, recovered quickly. “Put that silly thing down,” he ordered as he neatly avoided the swinging rolling pin. Holding the knife like an expert, he slowly advanced, forcing her to stagger backwards around the table. Then, realizing she was close to the inner door, she made a supreme effort and flung the rolling pin in the general direction of Hans' head. As he instinctively ducked, she escaped out the door, slamming it closed behind her before running up the stairs to where she could hear the baby crying.

• • •

“THERE'S THE TURNOFF,”
Nat said.

“Maggie hasn't passed us, so I guess she's either still at the farm or she hasn't got here yet,” George said as Nat made the turn.

“Hopefully she's found Marigold and the kid,” Nat said, “and everything's turned out hunky-dory.”

“This is one awful road,” George said, gripping the door handle.

“Yeah! I swear it's worse than the last time.”

“Hey!” George suddenly yelled. “There's a car.” And he pointed ahead to the car mounted on the gatepost.

“It isn't Maggie's,” Nat said.

“We'd better stop. Someone might be hurt inside.”

Reluctantly, Nat pulled the Chevy alongside the wrecked car.

“There's no one inside,” he said as he opened the driver's door. “But look!” and he pointed to the blood on the windshield.

“Whoever was in the passenger seat bashed her head on the windshield,” George answered from the passenger side.

“Her?”

“She left her handbag behind.”

Nat, leaning one hand on the steering wheel, snatched it from him. “Bloody hell! It's Maggie's!”

“But you said this isn't her car.”

“It isn't!” Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he wiped his hands. “More blood! Whoever she's with is injured, too!” The two men climbed back into the Chevy.

• • •

MAGGIE FLED UP
the stairs, trying to judge which was the child's room, but the crying had stopped abruptly. Flinging open the first door she came to, she saw a dilapidated baby's crib with half of the bars missing—but no baby. Now time was swiftly running out. Hans' footsteps were bounding up the stairs. Wildly, she looked around for somewhere to hide.
The closet!
She flung it open and burrowed behind the stale-smelling men's clothes hanging inside, catching a heavy ebony walking stick just before it crashed to the floor.
This must have been Francois' room,
she thought, remembering how he had threatened Nat and herself with the same stick on their visit to the commune. Holding her breath, she waited in dread for Hans to open the door and drag her out. She heard him enter the room, heard his footsteps on the bare boards. Then, to her horror, she heard the baby cry in some room farther down the hall, and the footsteps suddenly retreated. Moments later, piercing screams told Maggie that Hans had found both Marigold and the baby.