Death in a Family Way (12 page)

“Your mother . . .” Margaret stopped herself in time. “It's quite likely you've grown out of those childhood allergies by now.”

In the end, Emily somehow sensed her fate was up to her. After dinner, when Harry was dozing in his armchair, she jumped gently onto his lap, turned around three times, blissfully closed her eyes and started to knead his leg. Margaret couldn't help smiling when she came into the room with the coffee to see the two of them dozing by the fire, Harry's fingers gently caressing Emily's ears.

The next day was the beginning of the Easter holiday weekend.
Emily, now feeling one of the family, sat on the wide windowsill and preened herself in the sunshine, eyeing the birds longingly. Harry, pleased to have a few days off, had decided to tidy up the garden, rake leaves and then clean all the garden tools. Margaret was busy cooking, because Midge was coming home for the weekend. Although she tried hard not to show it when Barbara was around, there was a special bond between Midge and herself. The whole family would get together on Easter Sunday, when Barbara and her husband Charles came for dinner.

Let's hope Barbara's not in one of her preachy moods.
Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the slamming of a car door, and a few minutes later, Midge and a lanky, shaggy-haired young man bounced into the room. Midge was holding onto his arm.

“Mum, this is Jason. Jason, meet my mum—the great detective.”

Margaret laughed as she wiped her floury hands on a towel. “So glad to meet you at last, Jason. But a detective I'm not. Just a Girl Friday for one.”

“I bet you solve all his cases for him anyway,” Midge said as she gave her mother a squeeze.

“I hope it's okay me coming with Midge,” Jason said, taking her hand firmly into his. “She insisted you wouldn't mind.”

“I told you where I met Jason, didn't I?”

“When you were on duty in the emergency ward, wasn't it?”

Midge nodded. “The stupid dolt had sprained his knee playing football. He's still having a bit of a problem with it, so I couldn't leave him behind now, could I?”

“Certainly not,” Margaret said, “as long as he doesn't mind sleeping on the sofa bed in the guest room.” At that point Emily decided to let her presence be known, and jumping down from the sill, wound herself through Midge's legs.

“A cat! Mum, you've got a cat!”

“Yes,” Harry said as he entered. “Against all my objections.”

“But where did it . . . she . . . or whatever come from?”

“Her name is Emily and it's a long story. I'll tell you later,” Margaret answered, giving her daughter a warning look.

“Well, she's beautiful,” Midge said, scooping Emily up in her arms. The cat rubbed her head under Midge's chin. “Come on, Jason,” Midge said, as she reluctantly put the cat down on the floor, “let's get our stuff from the car, and then I'll show you the rest of the house.”

“Hold on a minute, Mildred,” Harry interrupted. “You haven't said a proper hello to your father yet.”

“Mildred?” Jason exclaimed.

Midge laughed, and going over to her father, gave him a hug. “Yes, Jase, that's the name on my birth certificate.”

“And a good solid name it is, too,” Harry said primly. “It's my mother's second name. But for some obscure reason, my daughter prefers Midge.”

“Mildred's a very nice name,” Jason said gallantly.

Sunday dinner was quite successful. Margaret thought how nice it was to see the two young couples laughing and talking together. The only sour note was overhearing Barbara and Midge talking as they set the table.

“I hope you've talked to her about her working in that awful place,” Barbara said.

“Certainly not,” Midge had replied. “I think it's the best thing that ever happened for her.”

“But it's humiliating for Father. And it's not as if they need the money.”

“For God's sake, Barbara,” Midge answered, “this is the fifties! Why shouldn't Mum work if she wants to? Anyway, it's really none of our business.”

“But it's not fair to Father! And then she brings that dreadful
cat into the house, knowing that Dad and I are allergic to cats.”

“Emily and Dad are getting on just fine,” Midge answered her. “He just doesn't want to admit it.”

Barbara sniffed. “I should have known you'd be on Mum's side.”

“Yes, and so should you. Come on, Barbara, don't spoil the weekend.”

•  •  •

TUESDAY MORNING BROUGHT
Sergeant Farthing and his side-kick Haddock back to Southby's office.

“He in?” Farthing nodded toward the closed door.

“Not yet, Sergeant. Is Mr. Southby expecting you?”

“We won't take up much of his valuable time.”

“He is expecting a client.”

“
We
expect to be brief, Mrs. Spencer.”

Farthing sat staring into space while Haddock did his usual prowl, until Nat finally burst through the door, flinging his hat at the elusive stand. “Hi Maggie, how . . .” He stopped short. “What the hell do you two want?”

“Just a chat.” Farthing nodded toward Nat's room. “Shall we?” Nat led the way. “What do you know about Collins and his brother-in-law, Larry Longhurst?” Farthing said without preamble.

“Only what I said before. Why?”

“We've hauled Longhurst in for questioning.”

“On what charge?”

“We think he had a passenger.”

“Yeah,” Nat said. “I read in the paper. Some pregnant girl found wearing a
Seagull
life jacket.”

“How about some pooling of ideas?” Farthing suggested.

Nat laughed. “Since when do you need me?” He leaned back into his chair. “You're not getting anywhere with Longhurst, you mean.”

“Did Collins ever mention a June Cosgrove?”

“No. Is that the girl in the life jacket?”

Farthing nodded.

“So why come to me?”

“Because I want you to tell your client, from me, that I'm sure as hell they're both lying, and I'm going to get 'em yet.” He tipped his head toward Haddock and started for the outer office.

“Hey, before you go,” Nat yelled after the departing pair, “what was that crack you made about taking over my old office?”

“All in good time, Southby,” Farthing said, tapping the side of his nose with his finger as he pulled violently on the outer door. As he did so, a tall, pale, nervous-looking man practically fell into the room. Bewildered, he shrank back as the two men pushed by him and clattered down the stairs. Maggie, seeing the anxiety on the man's face, managed to get to him before he turned and followed them. Gently, she took his arm.

“Mr. Nielson?”

The man nodded, blinking myopically through his thick lenses.

“Mr. Southby is ready for you.” She led him into Nat's room. “This is Mr. Nielson,” she said and went out quickly, closing the door behind her.

Nat stood and leaned across his desk to shake Nielson's hand. “You're right on time, Mr. Nielson. Make yourself comfortable. If you'll excuse me for just a moment.” And he followed Maggie to the outer office.

“Time to go sleuthing again, Maggie, old girl.”

“Where to this time?”

“I want you to find out where a June Cosgrove lived, what school she attended and when the funeral's to be held.” “June Cosgrove? Who's she?”

“The girl that was found drowned on Tumbo Island.”

“Where do I start?”

“The story's bound to be in today's
Sun
. Call them.”

After Maggie had taken coffee in for Nat and his client, she returned to her desk and reached for the phone. She soon learned that June's funeral would be held the following Thursday, ten o'clock, at Walter's Funeral Chapel in Richmond, that the deceased had attended Richmond High and that her parents lived on Francis Road just off No. 2 Road in Richmond.

“There will be two more mourners on Thursday,” Nat said when she gave him all the details after Nielson had left. “There's bound to be a crowd, and nobody will notice us.”

•  •  •

“
WHY DOES IT ALWAYS
rain at funerals?” Maggie asked, as she stepped out of Nat's car into a puddle. “And we're miles from the chapel,” she added as she struggled to put up her umbrella. “And I hate funerals!”

“Stop grumbling, woman,” Nat said, as he took her elbow and steered her around another muddy puddle.

During the ceremony, Maggie was very moved by the genuine grief of the students from June's school. Afterwards, as the crowd began to disperse, she saw one girl sobbing uncontrollably and being comforted by a boy about the same age. Remembering Nat's suggestion that she should try to talk to some of the girls, she made a sign to him and quickly followed the two teenagers as they crossed the road and entered a small café in the next block.

When she followed them inside and saw them sitting at the counter, she quietly slid onto the empty stool next to the girl. “You must've been very close to June,” she said.

The girl turned to face her. “Yes,” she answered.

The boy put a protective arm around the girl. “You a reporter or something?” he asked.

“I was at the funeral,” she said, evading the question.

“We can't believe she's dead,” the girl said, dabbing her eyes.

“Could I get you a Coke, maybe?” Maggie said, touching the girl's shoulder.

“I've already ordered,” the boy said brusquely as the waitress set down two Cokes in front of them. “Who are you?”

“Can I get you something?” the waitress asked Maggie.

“Coffee will be fine,” she answered, and then turned to the boy. “To answer your question, I'm an investigator.” She now had the boy's full attention.

“So whatcha investigating?”

“I was just wondering . . . when was the last time you saw June?”

“How do we know you're what you say you are?”

“Cool it, Tom.” The girl touched his sleeve. “I haven't seen June since she left school,” she said, nervously twisting a silver ring on her index finger.

“How long ago was that?”

The girl thought for a moment. “Must be at least a couple of months.”

“You were her friend?”

The girl nodded miserably. “Yes.”

“You knew she was going away?”

“You sure you're not a cop?” the boy broke in.

Maggie glanced at the boy. “No,” she answered him. “I'm trying to find out what happened.”

“I'd like to know what happened, too,” the girl said slowly.

“You knew she was pregnant?”

The girl nodded.

“Do you know who the father was?”

“The guy she was going around with. A real jerk.”

“Do you think she went away with him?”

“Him? She told me they were through.”

The boy stood up. “Come on, Val, we'd better go.”

“When did she tell you that?” Maggie laid her hand on the girl's arm. The girl slid off the stool.

“Just before she disappeared. She called me.”

“Did she say what she was going to do? Please, Val, this could be very important.”

“She said everything was fixed up. She'd met up with someone who was going to help her.”

“Did she say who?” Maggie felt a rush of excitement.

“Some guy that used to go to our school. He was going to take her to meet someone. Some kinda private adoption place.”

“And that's where she went?”

“I dunno.” The girl's voice shook.

“Come on, Val, let's get outta here.” The boy pulled her toward him.

“Just a minute,” Maggie said, fishing in her bag for a pen. “If you should think of anything else, please call me.”

The girl nodded. “Okay, but I don't know anything else.”

After Maggie had written her name on the back of one of Nat's cards, she handed it over to the girl. “Anything,” she said urgently. “Doesn't matter what.”

Outside, Nat was waiting beside his car, and he quickly opened the passenger door. “Thought you were never coming. Everyone has left for the cemetery.”

“Do we have to go? I hate intruding on their grief like this.”

“It's the only time we'll see so many people who knew her.”

On the way, Maggie filled Nat in on her conversation with the two teens in the café. “I didn't learn much, I'm afraid,” she concluded.

“On the contrary. Not so bad for an amateur.”

By the time they reached the cemetery, the brief service was nearly over. Standing well back, they surveyed the mourners.
The parents were easy to pick out. The woman was sobbing at the graveside with a boy of twelve or so and a young girl, who held onto her mother's coat, looking completely bewildered by the event. Beside them a stern-featured man stared fixedly into the open grave.

“Look, Nat, over there,” Maggie said, tugging his arm. “Isn't that Sergeant Farthing?”

“Yep. And I expect Haddock is lurking around somewhere too. Come on, Maggie, let's go before they see us.”

Monday morning the sky was that perfect luminescent blue that May sometimes brings to the British Columbia coast. The air was warm, and the people hurrying to work seemed to be defying the old warning that Maggie's Scottish grandmother used to quote—
ne'er cast a clout 'til May is out
—and were baring their limbs to the gentle breezes.

She hummed to herself as she slipped the key into the door of the office just in time to hear the telephone. “Oh damn,” she said as she lunged for the instrument, but the caller had already hung up.

There was a note on her desk from Nat.
Won't be in this morning. Leave messages on my desk. Nat.

Then this is the perfect day to sort the rest of the files,
she thought, and was well into the loathsome task when the phone rang again.