Death on a Short Leash (12 page)

“But why did you take that particular dog?”

“As I said, it's part of an ongoing investigation. And we'd appreciate you not letting on about me taking the dog.”

“I'll alert the RCMP in Abbotsford about the puppy mill. And I'll do my best to keep mum on your nefarious activities. But if you're right, and this commune is running a puppy mill, the Abbotsford police will want to talk to you.”

“Someone's got to rescue those dogs,” Maggie answered grimly. “Try and keep us in the picture, will you?”

• • •

IT WAS LATE
. Nat had returned to his peaceful apartment. Rosie, fed and warm, was snuggled down in a cardboard box in the kitchen, and Emily, still miffed, was curled up on Maggie's bed, her ears pricked in case that dog should try to come in. Maggie was about to slip into bed when she suddenly exclaimed out loud, “Oh! Damn! I forgot to call Barbara and apologize for losing my temper.” She looked at her bedside clock. “I'll call her in the morning.” She reached over and picked up her latest whodunit. Somebody else to be mad at her. “Join the club, Barbara,” she said, pushing the cat over. “Join the club.”

“S
he's in very poor condition, you know.” Dr. Kevin Follingsworth prodded Rosie's bulging stomach and looked over to Maggie on the opposite side of the examining table. “And you say she's a stray?”

Maggie nodded, keeping her fingers crossed. “When are the puppies due?”

“Just about anytime now. You could take her to the SPCA, but she's quite a valuable little dog. Perhaps you should advertise.” He ran his hands over the quivering body. “Someone must be very upset about losing her.”

“Does she need special medication or anything?”

“She's in need of TLC. Feed her up, keep her warm and calm. She's in a very nervous state.”

“Emily's not too keen on sharing the house with her.”

“I don't suppose she is. But she'll get used to it.” He lifted the dog down to the floor. “If you can't find her owner, she'd make a nice companion for you.”

“But what do I do when she gives birth?”

“She'll know what to do. Give me a buzz if you think there's a complication of some kind. But she should be okay.”

Maggie sat in her car outside the Kitsilano Animal Hospital and contemplated the dog sitting beside her. “Now what do I do with you?” Climbing into Maggie's lap, the dog gave her a wet kiss. “Sit, there's a good girl.” She caressed the little dog's head and thought of what the vet had said about someone being very upset about losing her.

• • •

A HALF AN
hour later, Maggie drew up in front of the Williams' house, opened the passenger door and slipped the new leash she had bought onto the matching collar. Any doubt that the dog belonged to Prudence vanished when she saw the dog's reaction. Rosie made little yips of excitement, jumping up and down on the sidewalk before pulling Maggie up to the front door. Maggie leaned on the bell a couple of times, but there was no answer. “Let's go around the back.” But no one came to her repeated knocking. She peered through the sliding glass windows into the familiar dining area where Prudence had entertained Nat and herself. She could see it was deserted. No carafe of orange juice on the table this time. The two of them wandered back to the front of the house.

“Is that Prudence's little dog?” Maggie whirled around at the sound of the voice coming from beyond a four-foot-high brick wall. “She's gained a lot of weight.” Maggie approached the wall and discovered that the voice belonged to a smartly dressed brunette about her own age. She was standing beside a grey car.

“There doesn't seem to be anyone in,” Maggie said.

“The two of them went off yesterday.”

“Any idea where?”

The woman shook her head. “Only thing I know is Prudence didn't want to go. You a relative or something?”

“No. I was . . . looking after her dog. You said that Mrs.

Williams didn't want to go . . . ?”

The woman leaned over the wall. “They were having one hell of a row. He practically pushed her into the car. Funny you've got the dog, though.”

“Why?”

“Pru said that mean son of a bitch had either put it down or sold it.”

Maggie moved closer. “You don't think much of him?”

The neighbour snorted. “Don't know why she married him. Second marriage, you know,” she added conspiratorially.

“Hers?”

“Williams' first wife up and left him shortly after their daughter was born.” The woman stopped suddenly. “You're not with the police, are you?”

“No.” Maggie started down the path toward her car, then turned back. “Mrs. . . .”

“Betteridge. Call me Joan.”

“Joan, has Carl Williams been back?”

“Late last night by himself.”

Maggie delved into her shoulder bag and handed the woman a card. “Do you think you could be quiet about my visit?”

Joan Betteridge read the card and then raised her eyebrows. “You investigating Williams?” She lowered her voice. “What's he been up to?”

Maggie leaned closer to Prudence's neighbour. “Can't discuss the case, but I would appreciate any help you can give me.” She bent down and picked up the dog. “And I'd really like to know where Prudence has gone. My home phone number's on the back.”

“I'll call you right away if I find out anything,” Joan Betteridge said, getting into the grey sedan.

• • •

“OH, MY,” Henney exclaimed when Maggie and Rosie walked into the office. “Where you get the poor thing?”

“Long story, Henny. Tell you later.”

“Office no place for a dog,” Henny said, looking down at Rosie in disgust. “What will boss say?”

“I've brought an old blanket from home.”

“She's having puppies, ja?”

“Hopefully not today,” Maggie answered shortly.

“Thought I heard you come in,” Nat said from his doorway.

Then he saw the dog. “Oh, no! You didn't bring the damned dog here!” Rosie, hearing his voice, struggled to her feet and padded over to him.

“What else could I do? Don't worry, I'll think of something,”

Maggie answered brightly, not having the slightest idea what.

“Have you heard from George?”

“Not yet.”

• • •

EDWIN SLATER ARIVED
on time. A man in his late fifties and of medium height, his brown hair tinged with aristocratic grey, he was dressed in a neat, blue pinstriped double-breasted suit. “Well,” he thundered, as soon as he sat down opposite Nat, “what did you find out about that money-grabbing place?”

Maggie placed a cup of coffee at his elbow before taking her own chair and flipping open her notebook.

“On first sight it seems to be very well run,” Nat said.

“I know that,” the man said testily, “but what about the way they get their patients to leave money to them?”

“As I explained to you on the phone,” Nat replied, “we need to get a lot more information from you before we can go any further.

For instance, how long did your mother live there? Did she complain of any ill-treatment? Was she pressured into leaving money to them?”

“Isn't that what I'm paying you for—to find out?”

“Yes,” Nat answered patiently, “but your mother can't provide us with this information. We need you to think back to when she was a resident at Silver Springs. So let's take one question at a time. How long did she reside there?”

Slater gave an audible sigh. “Three years. She was living in her own apartment in Kerrisdale, but things got out of hand. Kept forgetting to turn off the stove, things like that. She was also getting very deaf, and the neighbours complained about her radio being too loud. She got lost a couple of times—couldn't remember where she lived. Eventually, I insisted she sell her apartment and come and live with us. That didn't work out—she upset the wife.”

“Was she happy at the nursing home?” Maggie asked, looking up from her notepad.

He glared at Maggie before returning his attention to Nat. “At first she kept on to me to take her back to her old apartment, but then she seemed to settle in and even made friends with a couple of people there.”

“What makes you think she was pressured into leaving her money to the nursing home?”

“Well, it stands to reason, doesn't it? She left them ten thousand dollars.”

“What about contesting the will?” Maggie asked.

He ignored her, addressing his response to Nat. “My lawyer says the will is air-tight. I want you to prove that they got at her.”

“That'll be a bit hard at this late date,” Nat answered.

“Can't you talk to those other old biddies in the place? There must be some of them who still have their marbles.”

“Are you the only son?” Maggie asked, thinking that if he was, the poor woman hadn't done so well with this one.

Again he spoke directly to Nat. “I have two married sisters but they live on Vancouver Island.”

“Did they visit?” Nat asked.

“Not often. They said they couldn't afford the ferry. Just left me to do everything for Mother,” he added peevishly.

“Why did you or your mother choose the Silver Springs?” Maggie asked.

Now he turned to Maggie, answering her as if this had been the stupidest question he'd ever heard. “Because they would let her keep her damned Pekinese there, of course. Wonton or some silly name like that. They have kennels for small dogs right on the premises, so my mother could have the animal up for a visit during the day and take it for walks on the grounds.”

“Somewhat unusual, isn't it?” Nat said.

“That's why the damned place is so expensive. But,” he sneered, “they only allow the best kind of dogs. Pedigreed, you know. No common or garden variety mutts.”

“What happened to the dog after your mother died?” Maggie asked.

“The resident vet found a home for it.”

“That was handy,” Nat answered wryly. He stood up and extended his hand across the desk. “Perhaps you would give my assistant the names and addresses of your sisters and your mother's friends in the nursing home.”

Pausing beside Maggie's desk on his way out, he told her disdainfully, “The only names I can remember from that place was a Dolly something-or-other and some old guy named Hugh.” And he started for the door.

“Did you visit your mother very often?” she asked.

“I'm a busy man.”

“What about your wife?”

He paused at the door. “No. I told you—they didn't get on.”

Then he added, “Ten thousand is a lot of money. I'd like it back.”

Maggie waited until she heard the elevator creak on its journey to the first floor before opening Nat's door. “Fancy having a loving son like that,” she said.

“Get onto the sisters and see if they're as anxious to get their hands on the money as he is,” Nat suggested. “And I guess we'll have to fit in another visit to Silver Springs.” Absentmindedly, he leaned down and patted Rosie's head, then, realizing what he was doing, he demanded, “How the hell did she get in here?” She had taken the opportunity to slip into his office as Slater was leaving. “Which reminds me, Maggie, where were you all morning?”

“The vet took longer than I thought,” she answered vaguely.

“Not that long.” He waited.

“Well, I took a drive over . . . hold it,” she said thankfully. “Let me get the phone.” It was George.

“You sure you gave us the right location?” he asked Maggie.

“Positive. Why?”

“That old barn stunk to high heaven of dogs, but there wasn't a sign of an animal or a cage or anything.”

“That can't be,” she wailed. “There were dozens of animals.” She thought for a moment. “Was the flatbed truck still out the back?”

“Flatbed? The guys didn't mention seeing one. Just some rusty farm equipment.”

“Could you find out?” Maggie asked.

“You mean they could've shipped the cages somewhere? I'll ask.”

“What about the commune?”

“The man in charge said the RCMP had been misinformed. Said that the old barn wasn't even on their land.”

“And Jasmine?”

“The intrepid leader told the guys that she'd run away. He even let Corporal Stone look over the house to see for himself, but all they found were three other women. Stone said they couldn't get out of there quick enough because of a screaming baby.”

“Baby!” Maggie said.

Mistaking the reason for the dismay in her voice, he laughed and said, “Must have belonged to one of the women. After all, those cults believe in free love, don't they?”

“George, the only baby in that place belonged to Jasmine,” Maggie protested, “and she wouldn't have run away and left him behind.”

“Oh,” George said, then continued after a pause, “Well, all we have to go on is what the guy at the commune said, and without the dogs or your little friend Jasmine, there's nothing more we can do.”

Maggie's shoulders slumped. “Okay, George. I understand.”

She spent the rest of the afternoon going through the piles of paperwork that plague all offices. She didn't remind Nat about their interrupted conversation.

That evening she had two phone calls. The first came just after she had washed her hair and settled down to watch
What's My Line
on her new TV. “Damn! Who could that be?” She turned down the volume and reached for the telephone.

“Mrs. Spencer? It's Joan Betteridge. We met this morning?”

Maggie sat upright in her chair. “Yes, that's right.”

“I found out where Pru's gone. I came right out and asked Carl Williams.”

“You did?”

“I told him that I'd promised to lend Pru a magazine.”