Death on a Short Leash (3 page)

The bedroom had been painted a light beige and had bright yellow pull-back curtains. “This is so pretty,” Maggie said, going over to the window and drawing back one of the drapes, “but I can see why she keeps the drapes pulled.” The room looked over a dismal bit of scrubby grass, several battered garbage cans and a high fence shielding the yard from several rundown houses. She let the drapes fall into place again and turned back into the room. A poster of a black cat hung over a double bed that was covered in a gold satin spread. The photographs on the walnut dressing table seemed to be mostly of Johanna and her family. Marie picked them up one by one and looked fondly at them. “This is Johanna with her father,” she said, showing Maggie a picture of a fresh-faced girl, her braided, flaxen hair coiled neatly around her head, and a slim, dark-haired, handsome man in his forties, both laughing for the camera. Still holding the photo, Marie opened the top drawer of the dressing table. “Such beautiful underclothes,” she breathed.

“And these,” she said, opening yet another drawer to reveal teddies, uplift bras, silk stockings, some still brand new. “And what is this?” she added, the agitation in her voice making her accent thicker.

“What have you found?” Nat said from the doorway.

“This thing,” she said, holding up a bright red, sequin-studded G-string.

Maggie, who was going through the clothes in the closet, popped her head out to see. “What is it?” she asked. “Oh!” She caught the look on Nat's face and felt her own turning red. “It's probably one of those things girls collect these days,” she said quickly.

“But what is it?” Marie insisted.

“I think it's called a G-string,” Maggie answered. “Oh, look what I've found,” she said quickly to change the subject. “Looks like a dance outfit. Reminds me of when I was a kid and took dancing lessons.” Then, realizing her mistake as soon as she held up the diminutive costume, she turned to put it back.

“I have never seen that before,” Marie said, snatching the costume from Maggie's hands. “What is it doing in my daughter's . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence and pushed Maggie out of the doorway. “That . . . that . . . can't be my Johanna!”

Maggie turned. Marie was pointing to a glossy six-by-ten photo that had been thumbtacked to the inside of the closet door. The posed girl was obviously Johanna, dressed in the very same costume that her mother held in her hands. Her long legs accentuated with black fishnet stockings and glittery shoes, Johanna was bending forward, smiling into the camera lens in a very provocative way. The abbreviated skirt was hiked up the back to show a glimpse of sheer panties, and the laced-up bodice of the costume pushed two full, overflowing breasts over a wisp of white chiffon. The costume was completed with puff sleeves and an authentic Dutch starched hat, and Johanna's braided hair hung over her breasts in two long golden plaits.

Marie gave a long, shuddering sob. “That can't be my Johanna?”

“What have you got there?” Nat asked from the doorway.

“You'd better come and see,” Maggie answered.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, there's bound to be a perfectly good explanation,” he continued calmly, turning to the ashen-faced Marie. “Probably a costume party . . . or something.”

“Hi! I've brought coffee.” The voice had come from the living room.

“That's Laura,” Marie said, moving quickly past Nat.

“I brought you some coffee,” Laura repeated, placing a tray on the glass coffee table.

But Marie Evans wasn't interested in coffee. “What is going on here?” she demanded, waving the offending costume in Laura's face. “Where did my Johanna get this . . . this . . . thing . . . and all this furniture?” As Marie burst into tears, Maggie took the costume from her and gently pushed her into a chair.

“You're a good friend of Johanna's?” Nat asked the girl, picking up one of the cups.

“We're friends, yes, but we don't live in each other's pockets,” the girl explained. “That's why I didn't realize she was missing.” She turned away from Marie, who was now sobbing uncontrollably, and directed her next comment to Nat. “I really thought she'd gone to stay with her mom and dad for a few days.”

“Did anyone else know you had Johanna's key?” he asked.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“She seemed okay last time you saw her?” Maggie asked.

“Tired, but that's par for the course.”

“Tired? I didn't think working in a animal hospital would be that strenuous, especially part-time,” Nat said as he stirred sugar into the tepid coffee and took a sip. He tried not to grimace.

Laura laughed. “No, but her second job took it out of her.”

“What second job?” Maggie asked.

“You don't think any of us girls could afford to live in these apartments on one job, do you?”

“There are other single girls renting here?” Maggie asked as she reached for a cup of coffee and took it to Marie.

“All but one. The other's rented to a fella.”

“Single?” Nat asked.

Laura laughed. “Yeah. He lives in the place below me. Loves parties and loud music.”

“Johanna never said anything about a second job,” Marie insisted. “Why didn't she tell us?”

“She probably didn't want to worry you,” Laura hedged.

“Lots of people have two jobs to make ends meet,” Maggie commented, “but why keep it a secret from her family?”

“At Pandora's?”

“Pandora's!” Nat said.

“What is this Pandora's?” Marie demanded, rising from her chair. “What is so bad about this place?”

“It's a kind of nightclub,” Nat explained. “She's probably a waitress there.”

“Then,” Marie said firmly, “we will go there right now and see if they know where she is!”

“Uh . . . no,” Laura said hastily. “You can't do that!”

“Why not?”

“It's a private club and . . . it's not open during the day,” Nat cut in quickly.

“What do you mean, private?” Marie asked.

“You have to be a member to get in,” he explained. Then, picking up the coffee tray, he turned to Laura. “I'll carry these back for you.”

“Thanks,” Laura said, happy to be escaping. “You can hold it while I open my door.”

“Okay,” Nat whispered as soon as they were outside, “is Johanna a stripper?”

Laura nodded. “You can't let her mother go there.”

• • •

NAT WAS THANKFUL
for the afternoon rush-hour traffic that met them as they made their way back to the office. He could sense the questions that both of the women wanted to ask him about Pandora's, but made it clear he needed to concentrate on his driving.

“So how do I get to this nightclub place?” Marie demanded as they rode up in the elevator.

“Let's talk about it in the office,” Nat replied.

“Did you find our Johanna?” Henny greeted them.

Marie shook her head. “But we found out that she has a night-time job at some place called Pandora's, and tonight I will go there and make them say where she is!”

Nat shook his head. “Pandora's is not the sort of place you would want to go to, Mrs. Evans,” Nat said.

“What do you mean? It can't be that bad if my Johanna works there.”

Nat shook his head. “I'll go there tonight and let you know first thing in the morning what I find out.” He motioned for Henny to get her coat from the rack. “I promise to call you if I find out anything. You'll be at Henny's?”

“Yes. Henny and Bernie insist I stay with them.”

“Good. Now before you go, please give Maggie a list of the people who would know Johanna—friends, family, boyfriends, the people at the animal hospital. Anyone you can think of.”

“I've never heard of Pandora's,” Maggie said as soon as the two women had left, “but apparently you have. Where is it?”

“East Hastings,” he answered.

“Oh, you mean it's a strip joint?”

“Yup. A hard-core strip joint.”

• • •

“WHAT ARE YOU HAVING?
” Nat asked as he sat scanning the menu in Monty's Seafood Restaurant.

“I'm going all-out and having the fish and chips.” She closed the menu. “I can't believe that a quiet, reserved girl from a good family like that is actually a stripper!”

“Well, let's not jump to conclusions. She might be working behind the bar or waitressing.” Nat gave an exaggerated sigh. “So it is my sad and unpleasant duty to visit Pandora's to find out.”

“Not without me, you don't,” Maggie asserted.

“You can't go there, Maggie!”

“It's okay. I'll change into something more suitable for a strip joint. What do you suggest?”

“You're not going,” Nat said firmly. “And that's that.”

Maggie smiled up at the waiter hovering over them. “I'll have the fish and chips, please.”

• • •

IT WAS AFTER NINE
when they arrived at the club entrance, where they were greeted by a burly man who demanded to know if they were members. Nat passed over some folded money, and they were let into the dimly lit interior. Maggie realized that it didn't matter at all what she had chosen to wear, as all eyes were riveted on a small stage, where a red-headed girl, wearing only black fishnet stockings, a black garter belt and tassels on her nipples, was reclining on a chaise longue. As Maggie stared, the girl leaned forward and slowly began peeling off her stockings, to the accompaniment of thumping, whistles and catcalls.

Maggie and Nat followed the scantily dressed, high-heeled waitress to a back table, where, after seating them, the girl bent low over Nat's shoulder, almost filling his ear with her left breast, which was struggling to get out of the strapless bodice. Nat ordered a beer for himself and a gin and tonic for Maggie, and they waited until the girl had returned with their drinks before he pulled out Johanna's photograph. “Do you recognize her?” he asked.

“You a cop?”

“No. We're just trying to find her.”

“I've only been here a couple of weeks. Better ask him up there.” She pointed to the stage. “He's the manager.”

“Give our Irish colleen a big hand,” the man boomed over the mike, “and welcome Mademoiselle Linnette from Gai Paree!”

“Could you ask him to give us a few minutes?” Nat said, handing the waitress a fiver and one of his cards.

They sat through Mademoiselle Linnette's routine and then Gretel from Hamburg and then an act that brought on the most appreciative noise of the evening. “Pretty Paula with her Pouting Pigeons” walked onto the stage with a dove on each shoulder and immediately struck a pose. Maggie couldn't take her eyes off the girl, who stood absolutely still while the two doves pecked at the ribbons on her shoulders until they had untied them. The doves flew into the air while the stripper's sheer camisole floated gently to the ground, exposing two well-shaped breasts (with tassels, naturally). The doves then flew down to the girl's hands, which rested on her hips, and pecked at the ties holding up the flimsy skirt. This, accompanied by more whistles and catcalls, floated down to join the camisole on the stage, leaving Pretty Paula completely naked except for a sparkling G-string.

Maggie was still recovering from the act when the manager approached and threw Nat's card down on the table. “What d'ya want?”

“You know her?” Nat asked, showing the man Johanna's photo.

The man picked it up. “Maybe. Who's asking?”

“She's missing,” Nat answered.

“You the cops?”

“No. We've been hired to find her.”

“That little bitch has caused me a lot of trouble. I've got her billed as part of my International Revue —Heidi from Holland.”

He sighed. “The clients loved her, with those long blonde braids and that innocent schoolgirl look . . . went over great with them.”

“And she stripped?” Maggie asked, awed.

“Why not?”

“When did you see her last?” Nat asked.

“Couple of weeks ago. Must've been around the second of September.”

“Didn't you wonder where she'd gone?” Nat asked.

“Sure. I was steamed, but I figure she'd gone off to strut her stuff someplace else!”

“Can we speak to some of the girls backstage?”

“I dunno 'bout that.” But another folded bill changed hands, and the manager tilted his head for them to follow him backstage. Banging on the door of a dressing room, he flung it open to reveal several girls sitting in front of makeup mirrors. “This gent wants to talk to you about Heidi.” He turned to Nat. “Make it snappy. They're due back on the stage in ten minutes.”

“She's gone for good, eh?” Gretel asked. “Can't say I blame her. He's a pig to work for.”

“She didn't say anything to you about leaving?” Maggie asked.

“Heidi was very quiet.” Maggie turned to the speaker, a dark-haired girl dressed in a multicoloured Mexican skirt—and little else. “But she had a boyfriend,” she continued. “He usually picked her up as soon as the show was over.” She bent to stroke the chihuahua that sat shivering on a velvet cushion at her feet.

“What a cute little dog,” Maggie exclaimed.

“Chi-Chi. He's part of my act,” the girl explained. Maggie couldn't even imagine what part the poor little thing played.

“Did any of you get to know her well?” Nat asked.

“Not really,” the girl billed as Gretel answered. “She always acted like we wasn't good enough for her.” Maggie noted that all the girls had Canadian accents. So much for international flavour.

Just as they were about to leave the dressing room, Maggie asked, “What did the man who picked Johanna up look like?”

“Never really got to see him, did we, Conchita?”