Death on a Short Leash (19 page)

There was a sharp knock on the door. “Gretel, you're up next.”

“Buy you a drink?” Nat said, following the manager out front.

“Don't mind.” He pointed over to the bar. “See ya in a couple of minutes. Make it a double bourbon.”

Nat ordered the drinks as he slid onto one of the high, red leather stools.

“What's on ya mind?” the manager asked, knocking back half of his drink. “You after dating one of the girls?”

“Still making enquiries about Johanna Evans,” Nat replied.

“Did you ever see who picked her up?”

“Too busy. You have ta keep at them girls all the time.”

“Johanna. Was she different?”

“Snooty little bitch. Only kept her on because of pressure from the top.” He raised his head heavenwards.

“You mean the owner of the place?”

“Yeah. Smiley Schultz.”

“But why would he be interested in Johanna?”

“He was pally with her sponsor . . .” He drained the rest of his drink. “Need I say more?”

“But who was her sponsor?”

The man touched the side of his nose as he slid off his stool. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Nat made his way back through the smoked-filled room where several girls were gyrating onstage to the thumping music that bellowed out of the loudspeakers.
Johanna's sponsor. Peterskill?

At least I have a partial description of the automobile.
Nat unlocked the door of his car and slid behind the wheel.
But who has a long, black car with a shiny ornament on its hood?
“Masses of people,” he said out loud. “It's going to be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

• • •

WHILE MAGGIE FIXED
herself a light supper and did some necessary washing, she thought about Nat visiting Pandora's. As far as she was concerned, he was quite welcome to the smoke-filled nightclub. “Once is enough,” she said to Emily, who was preening herself beside the small fireplace. Emily only squinted her eyes and lazily rolled onto her back, feet in the air. The phone rang. “Nat can't be back already . . . ,” she said as she reached for the phone.

“Oh, mom! It's the puppies,” Midge cried. “They're gone.”

“Gone! How?”

“I've just got in from work and . . . and . . . my back window had been forced open,” Midge sobbed, “and Rosie and the puppies were gone . . . and the place is a mess.”

“Oh, Midge, no,” Maggie said. “They . . . they must have followed me. I should never have put you in this danger . . .”

“It's not your fault,” Midge answered shakily, “but they've wrecked my couch and thrown things on the floor. There's milk and flour and . . .” Her voice trailed off. “It's just such an awful mess.”

“I'm coming straight over,” Maggie said firmly.

“No. There's no need. I'll be okay.” She gave a little sob. “I'll get my friend Judy to come over.”

“You'll do no such thing. Make yourself a cup of tea and I'll be with you as soon as I can.”

“Tea!” Midge said with a shaky laugh. “Your cure for everything.” She paused for a moment, then said, “I'm so worried about the pups.”

“Me too. But I'll find them somehow.”

“Be careful, Mom. Those people are dangerous.”

Disconnecting, Maggie immediately dialed Nat's number, but there was no reply. “Drat! I'll have to call him from Midge's.”

The rain had let up, but the sky was still heavily overcast. The journey to New Westminster seemed endless, and even though she realized the hoodlums had got what they wanted, she couldn't help constantly looking into her rear-view mirror.
I was so sure that I wasn't followed
.
. .They must have been watching the house all the time
.
. . Supposing they had found Midge at home?

Her daughter's ground-floor apartment was on the left of the stairwell and as Maggie raised her hand to ring the bell, the door was suddenly yanked open. There stood Midge, and beside her an irate Harry.

“Harry?”

“How dare you put our daughter's life in jeopardy, Margaret!” he shouted.

“Not out here, Dad,” Midge cried, pulling on his arm. “Let's go inside.”

Still glaring at his wife, Harry reluctantly let Midge pull him inside the apartment.

“I told you that man was a dangerous lunatic,” he shouted as soon as Maggie had closed the door behind them. “It's up to you if you want to live a life mixed up with . . . with . . . gangsters, but you keep my daughter out of it!”

“She was just looking after some puppies for me,” Maggie tried to explain.

“Midge burst into tears when I phoned her,” Harry continued, “and I insisted she tell me what was wrong.”

“Just let me explain . . .”

“Those men might come back anytime,” he continued. “I've called the police.”

“What can the police do? They've got what they wanted.”

“Margaret,” he said dramatically, “I'll never forgive you for this!”

“I'll never forgive
myself
, Harry,” she said quietly, putting an arm around Midge's shoulders. “Apart from the dogs, was anything else taken?”

“No. They slashed my new couch and left this mess, and Dad won't let me clear it up until the police arrive.”

Suddenly exhausted, Maggie sat down. “Then I guess we'll just have to wait until the police get here.”

Harry paced the floor. “What I don't understand,” he said finally, “is who do the dogs belong to? And,” he continued, “why ask Midge to look after them?”

Maggie took a quick look at Midge, who gave a tiny shake of her head.

“They belong to a client who is having marital problems,” Maggie improvised.

“That still doesn't explain why these . . . these . . . people have stolen them.”

“The mother of the pups has a pedigree.” Maggie had never been very good at lying, especially to Harry.

“Pedigree? They must be valuable.” This was something he could understand. “I suppose it's a divorce settlement,” Harry said, as usual jumping to conclusions. “The kind of dirty business your so-called agency would get mixed up in. A messy divorce. When will you ever learn, Margaret?”

She was saved from giving him an answer by a loud knock on the front door, followed by the entrance of two burly police officers.

“Constable Walker,” the first one said. “And this is Constable McKenna.” He surveyed the room. “You called about a break-in.

How did they get in?” he asked, examining the front door.

“The window in the back bedroom,” Midge answered. “I'll show you.”

“You go,” Walker said, turning to McKenna. “So what did they get?” Walker asked as he carefully sidestepped the mess on the floor.

Harry followed him as he walked into the kitchen. “A valuable dog and five pups.”

“Is this your apartment, sir?”

“No. It's my daughter's.” He led the way back into the living room, to which Midge and McKenna had returned. “Her name is Miss Spencer.”

“Miss Spencer,” Walker asked, turning to her. “What's missing apart from the mutts?”

“As far as I can tell, nothing.”

“Just the mutts,” McKenna jotted this bit of information down in his notebook.

“How much are they worth?” Walker asked, bending down to examine the slashed sofa.

Midge looked to her mother. “I'm not quite sure . . .”

“The mother is a pedigreed Sealyham,” Maggie answered.

“And you are . . . ?”

“I'm Midge's mother.”

“So someone knew you had valuable dogs?” McKenna asked, pencil poised.

“They don't belong to her,” Harry interrupted. “My . . . uh . . . my wife asked my daughter to look after them.”

“So they belong to you?” McKenna turned to Maggie.

“Not exactly.” Maggie did her best to explain about her rescuing the pregnant bitch from a puppy farm, and the two officers tried their best to follow her explanation.

“So, let's get this straight. You rescued a dog, she has pups and now the owners have taken her back.”

“No, the puppy farm people stole the dog from its rightful owner . . .”

“You told me they belonged to a client,” Harry said accusingly.

“They do,” Maggie said. “These people stole them . . .”

“Do you know the names of these people you say stole them?” Walker asked.

“No,” Maggie answered. “I just rescued the dog from a barn, and there was no one about.”

Walker shook his head. “You could come and make a formal complaint, but it could get very messy if these people charged you with theft of the dog . . .”

“But what about all this mess and the broken window?” Harry yelled. “Isn't that against the law?”

“As I said, you can come down to the station and file a complaint if you like.”

“But aren't you going to take fingerprints or something?” Harry stormed.

“No. I suggest you get the window fixed and help your daughter clear up this mess. And you, madam,” he said, turning to Margaret, “I suggest that you don't take things into your own hands. Go to the police; that's what we are there for.”

“You told me the dogs belonged to a client,” Harry accused her again as soon as the officers had departed. “Why didn't you explain who the client was and your involvement in this mess?”

“Because I couldn't,” she answered defiantly. “It would have meant betraying a confidence. And,” she continued, “being a lawyer, you should know what that means.”

“But you're not a lawyer . . .”

“Let's call a truce,” Midge cut in tiredly. “Just help me clean this mess up.”

• • •

IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT
when Maggie drew up in front of her house and found Nat sitting in the driver's seat of his Chevy, sound asleep. Tired and upset, she had two minds whether to just leave him there, but he seemed to sense her looking at him and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Where the hell've you been?” It was the wrong question.

“Out!” she answered tersely, and turning away from him, marched up the path to the house, fumbling for her keys.

• • •

“YOU CAN'T BLAME YOURSELF,”
Nat said the following morning. They were sitting in his office, going over the previous day's events.

“Yes, I can,” Maggie answered angrily. “I should never have put Midge in that position.” She sat thinking for a moment. “But I guess the first thing to do is find those dogs again.”

“No, the first thing we do is find Johanna's murderer,” Nat countered.

“I still think her death is linked to that commune,” Maggie answered. “We should go back there, look for the dogs and confront Brother Francois again.” She paused for a moment. “I wonder if Jasmine has come around yet?”

“Let's find out,” Nat answered, pulling the telephone toward him. “And if she has, we'll make a visit to the General first thing after lunch. Have you spoken to Midge this morning?” he asked, his finger poised, ready to dial.

“First thing. She seemed much calmer, and apart from the mess those creeps left, there was little damage and nothing of hers is missing.”

“All the same,” Nat answered, “I can understand Harry being mad.”

“Yes,” she answered miserably. “He has every right to being mad at me.” As she watched Nat talking on the phone, she chastised herself for having caused Midge so much grief.

“No point in us traipsing to the General,” he reported. “There's a little improvement, but Jasmine's still unconscious.” The phone rang again, and Maggie took the opportunity to slip out of his office and back to her own desk.

“That was Slater,” Nat said, putting his head around the door. “Wants to know if we've made any progress.”

“I guess we should try and wrap things up for him,” Maggie answered. “What about me going back to Silver Springs and interviewing the inmates on the second floor?”

“Supposing you bump into Mrs. Truebody again?”

“I'll do my best to dodge her. Anyway, I could use the excuse that I'm still thinking about placing my aged mother there.”

“When are you thinking of going?”

Maggie looked at her day calendar. “Tomorrow afternoon's free.”

“Just be careful.” He went back into his office.

“You lose those little dogs?” Henny said, looking up from her filing.

Nothing misses our Henny.
“Yes,” Maggie answered.

“Did I hear you say you go back to that commune place where you think our Johanna was?”

“I think we'll have to,” Maggie answered. “Maybe Saturday.”

Henny shook her head. “You and Mr. Nat be careful. They might kill you, too.”

Maggie waited until after lunch when Nat was out of the office before she called Joan Betteridge. “I'm going to visit the Silver Spring Nursing Home tomorrow,” she said when Joan answered. “Do you want to come?”

“That's the place where he stashed her, isn't it?”

“Yes. But the last time I was there, she had been sedated.”

Maggie went on to describe Pru's condition to her. “And I have to make a visit to the upper floor.” Maggie continued.

“So you want me to try and see Pru.”

“Yes. Hopefully she'll be awake, and she knows you.”

“Count me in,” Joan answered. “I'm enjoying this investigation business.”

Maggie winced. Maybe Joan was enjoying it a little too much, but Maggie said, “I'll pick you up about two o'clock.”

J
oan could hardly contain her excitement, and Maggie wondered again if it was such a good idea asking for her help. “You've got to be careful,” she reminded Joan for the second time. “Just act like a regular visitor, and if she's awake, find out what we can do to help.”