Death in a Family Way (10 page)

“I'll be swearing a lot more if you keep this up.”

“Well,” Harry said in his important voice, “it's too late for me to try to fix things.”

“Fix things! What are you talking about?”

“If I'd known this inquest was coming up, I'd have fixed it so you wouldn't have to appear.”

“Harry,” she replied quietly, “you are a corporate lawyer, not a criminal one. You couldn't have fixed it even if I'd wanted you to.”

“Let me remind you that I've a good standing in this community,” he shot back at her. “There are ways to do these things.”

“I've news for you, Harry,” she said, taking the letter back from him. “I found the body and I'm going to the inquest.”

•  •  •

THE NEXT MORNING,
Nat called Maggie into his office. “Listen to this,” he said, and began reading from the newspaper spread over his desk.

The body of a young girl was discovered washed up on Tumbo Island yesterday by a party of birdwatchers. The identity of the young woman has not been released pending notification of next of kin. According to eyewitnesses, the girl appeared to be in advanced pregnancy. When found, she was wearing a life jacket with the name
Seagull
printed on it. Cause of death has not been disclosed by the
RCMP
officer in charge of the case.

“What about Larry Longhurst?” Maggie exclaimed. “Is he still missing?”

“So far as I know. But what was a pregnant girl doing in Collins' boat?” Nat mused.

“Perhaps Mark Farthing will let something slip,” Maggie said. “He's bound to be at the inquest.”

“My God! The inquest,” Nat said, jumping up. “We're going to be late.”

To Maggie's surprise, it was over very quickly. Once again Maggie and Nat were taken step-by-step through their discovery of the body, told to make themselves available for further questioning by the police, and were allowed to leave. The enquiry was adjourned for an additional four weeks, pending further investigation. And Farthing was nowhere in sight when they finally emerged from the building.

•  •  •

“
THAT SHOULD BE
the end of that,” Harry said that evening, when Margaret finished explaining what had happened. “Bradshaw must have disturbed a bunch of young toughs. Nobody's safe these days.”

Margaret, knowing that it wasn't the end of it at all, just nodded. Keep the peace. After all, Harry would be off on his trip in a few days.

•  •  •

ALTHOUGH THE RAIN WAS HEAVY
the day after Harry's departure for Toronto, Maggie found herself once again, without quite knowing why, turning onto Larch Street on her way home from work. Nearing Violet's house, she spotted a girl who was struggling to open the Larkfield gate, and she pulled over to the side of the road to watch her. The girl put down the overnight case she was carrying so that she could use both hands. Once she had the gate open, Maggie noticed that she seemed to have difficulty bending down to retrieve the case. It was then she realized that the girl was very pregnant. The front door opened abruptly to the
girl's knock, and the last Maggie saw of her was Violet yanking her inside.

“Curious,” Maggie said aloud as she slipped the car into gear again.

Thoughts in tumult, she reached home and put the car in the garage. “A coincidence?” she asked herself. “Pregnant girl in Collins' boat and another visiting Violet?” She made herself a sandwich and considered calling Nat, but decided to wait until the morning.

But the next morning, before she had time to tell him about Violet's young visitor, he was bursting to tell her his own bit of news.

“Thought you'd like to know that Farthing dropped by to see me after you'd left yesterday,” he said.

“Have they found Larry?”

“Didn't say. He wanted me to rehash our finding Ernie.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, but he's finally ready to admit I was right about the old man being killed elsewhere.”

Her mind went back to that awful scene—broken dishes, upturned furniture and amid the mess, old Ernie, his head bashed in and a bloody crowbar beside him. “What reason did he give?”

“Same as me. Not enough blood,” Nat answered her.

“But he was covered in it.”

“Yes, but there was none on the walls, floor or furniture,” he explained. “If he'd been killed there, the blood would have been spattered everywhere.”

“Then what killed him?”

“The iron bar. They put it beside him to make it look as if he'd been killed there.”

“Poor man,” she said, feeling slightly sick. “Nobody deserves to die like that.”

“It happens,” Nat replied. “You busy this afternoon?”

“Not particularly,” Maggie answered cautiously. “Why?”

“Want to do a bit of sleuthing?”

“Sleuthing? But you said you only hired me for office work.”

“I was mad at you for taking things in your own hands,” he said apologetically. “You could've been hurt.”

Maggie thought for a moment. “Where are you going sleuthing?”

“In Ernie's neighbourhood. Thought you'd like to come along.”

“I don't know, Nat, I don't think Ha . . .”

“If we leave right after twelve o'clock,” he interrupted her, “you'd be home way before suppertime.”

“Well, okay. If you're sure I won't be late back.”

Nat smiled as he made his way into his own office.

It was still raining when the two of them climbed into Nat's old Chevy, and when they reached Ernie's house, the overcast skies gave the place the appearance of being even more drab and neglected. “Where do we start?” she asked, reaching for her umbrella.

“With the neighbours on either side of the house. You take the left side.”

“On my own? I wouldn't know what questions to ask.”

“Just keep it simple, Maggie. Did they hear anything unusual? Did they see any strange cars around? Did they like him? Use your common sense.”

“For heaven's sake, what difference does it make if they liked him or not?” she said as she struggled to get a notepad and pencil out of her handbag.

“You'd be surprised the things people notice, particularly if it's someone they dislike,” Nat replied as he got out of the car.

“Wouldn't it be better if we did this together?”

“Nope. I'm giving you the opportunity to get your feet wet as an investigator.” He strode off.

It took her quite a few minutes to pluck up courage to knock on the first door.

“Yes?” The woman opened the door a crack. Behind her. a small child clung to her skirt. The cloying smell of wet diapers and the shrill wailing of a baby wafted out of the house.

“I would like to ask a few questions . . . about your neighbour,” she started, tentatively. “Mr. Bradshaw?”

“He's dead,” the woman answered shortly.

“That's what I would like to ask you about.”

“Police've been here already. You another one of them reporters?” She started to close the door.

“No. I'm not a reporter,” Maggie assured her quickly. “Insurance company,” she said, keeping her fingers crossed that the woman wouldn't ask for her credentials. “Did you happen to hear or see anything unusual that night?”

“Didn't think he'd have anything worth insuring.”

“You'd be surprised,” Maggie answered. “Did you hear anything?”

“Can't say I did. Miserable old bugger.”

“Can you remember when you saw him last?”

“Day he was killed. Looking for that blasted cat of his. Bloody thing was always digging up my husband's garden.”

Maggie had to shout the next question over the mounting screams of the baby. “Any loud noises that night?”

“No,” she yelled back. “Like I told the cops. We didn't hear nothin'.” And picking the toddler up, she slammed the door.

“Any luck?” Nat asked when she reached the car.

“No. And she didn't love him either,” she said with a grin. “What about you?”

“Nothing. But they did mention the fact that there's a back alley to these places.” He buttoned his coat against a sudden gust of wind. “Let's go and see.”

As they walked toward the back of the house, Maggie couldn't help but remember their last visit there, with Emily leading the way. Now she followed Nat down the path to a wooden garage or shed that loomed at the end of the yard.

“It obviously backs onto the alleyway,” he muttered as they approached the broken-down building and pushed open the door. He took a flashlight from his overcoat pocket and shone it over several old tires, a rusty bicycle hanging from the ceiling, and in one corner, a push-type lawn mower. The large open doors that banged dejectedly in the wind opened onto the alleyway. “Easy to see where they got in,” he said.

“But they would have had to carry him, and how did they get from here into the house? There weren't any broken windows.”

“Took the keys out of Ernie's pocket, I suppose. I guess the old fool strayed where he shouldn't have.”

“Do you realize what this means?”

“No, not really.” Nat looked at her, puzzled.

“They, whoever they were,” she said slowly, “knew exactly where Ernie lived.”

“My God, Maggie, you'll be a detective yet.” He linked his arm in hers as they turned away from the garage. “Come on, let's get out of this miserable weather.”

“You know, Nat, nobody really cared for the old man,” Maggie exclaimed as she settled herself in the car.

“True,” Nat answered, “even his cat kept leaving him.” He started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Hey, cheer up, Mrs. Spencer,” he said. “Let's go and get a bite of lunch.”

“No, I think I'd better get back,” she answered. “Harry might call from Toronto.”

“So what? He can always call back. Do you like Italian?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“That's settled then.”

The afternoon passed swiftly and pleasantly. They talked over spaghetti and green salad as if they had known each other for months, not weeks. And to Maggie's surprise, she found that Nat shared her love of classical music. A long time later, she looked reluctantly at her watch. “It's four o'clock, Nat. I don't know where the time's gone.”

He nodded, beckoned to the waiter for the bill and then helped her on with her coat. “You can tell Harry from me that he's a very lucky man.”

“That's kind. Thank you,” she replied with a wry smile.

Back at home, Maggie took one look at the house and realized that she had better clean it up before Harry returned. By six o'clock, she stopped working and made herself a quick sandwich, which she ate while watching the news on the television set. But her mind kept slipping back to the afternoon.
Stop, Maggie,
she scolded herself.
It was only a business lunch.
Tired after the full day, she went to bed early, but as she was reaching to put out the light, the phone rang.

“Is that you, Margaret? Where have you been? I've been trying to get you all afternoon.”

“I went out for lunch, Harry.”

“Oh!”

“Is anything the matter?”

“Yes. I can't get home until Monday.”

“That's too bad. But don't fret about it. Do you want me to meet you at the airport?”

“No, I'll have to go straight to the office. I'll get a cab.”

“Fine, Harry. See you Monday night, then.” She replaced the receiver and snuggled down in bed, smiling at the prospect of a weekend of peace.

•  •  •

A LITTLE APPREHENSIVE
of what to expect, Maggie made sure to arrive at the office before her employer. She needn't have worried.
He just gave her one of his huge grins as he waltzed in, threw his hat at the stand and, missing it as usual, headed into his own office.

“Nat,” she said, leaning on the doorpost, his hat in her hand. “What made you go back to Ernie's yesterday? Was it just Farthing's visit?”

“Partly. But the real reason was this.” And he handed a cheque to her.

“What's this for?”

“It's a retainer from Bradshaw's lawyer.”

“But why? How is he involved?”

“Apparently, Bradshaw's daughter wants me to look into the murder. She doesn't like the way the cops are handling it.”

“That's quite a sum. She must have no shortage of money.” Maggie handed the cheque back to him.

“So did the old man, from what her lawyer told me.”

“How did she hear about you?”

“Maybe Ernie had told her about the number of times I found that wretched cat for him.”

“So. What do we do now?”

Nat smiled at the
we.
“We, Maggie old girl, have to get that damn cat back.”

“Get it back! From Violet?” She looked at Nat in disbelief. “Oh, no,” she said as it dawned on her who would be the getter. “Not me. I'm not going back there. Just let it stay with Violet. It's very happy there.”

“Ernie's daughter is the rightful owner, and it's our job to get it back for her.”

“Have you called Violet?”

“No, my dear. I was waiting for you!”

The day after her baby was born, Sally Fielding was sent back to the farmhouse annex. Exhausted from the birth and still crying, she could put up very little fight when the nurse jabbed a needle into her hip and oblivion took over. She awoke to find Debbie gently sponging her face and realized that she was back in the attic bedroom they had shared before her baby's birth. As she felt the warm, hard swelling of Debbie's stomach brush against her, she had a fierce longing for her own baby. She buried her face into the pillow as the hot tears started to run down her cheeks again. “I've got to find out where they've taken my baby.”