“Did he call her?”
“Yes, and then he left.”
“How long ago?”
“A few minutes ago. I’m really scared what he might do.”
“Did you warn Judith?”
“Aaron took her phone number and . . . and I don’t know her full name,” her voice trailed off.
Maggie glanced at the clock and did a quick calculation. “He left about six then?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call Judith and warn her. Anyway, stop worrying . . . after all, he is a pastor.”
There was a pause before Irma answered. “He’s not a happy pastor, Mrs. Spencer. In fact, he should never have become one.”
“I’m beginning to see that. Anyway, as I said, I’ll get in touch with Judith and warn her that he’s on his way.”
“Thank you,” Irma whispered.
But although Maggie tried several times, there was no answer at Doctor Sloan’s clinic, and to make matters worse, Nat’s phone went unanswered, too.
“There goes my leisurely supper and peaceful evening.” Quickly buttering two pieces of bread, she made herself a salmon sandwich to go.
• • •
A GUST OF wind and cold, slanting rain met Maggie when she opened her back door. “Blast!” Retracing her steps to the hall closet, she grabbed her hooded raincoat and prepared for the run down the garden path to the garage that faced onto the back alley. She tried to pull the hood over her face but the wind just snatched it from her hands, letting cold rain run in rivulets down her neck.
The door, wet and swollen with the endless rain, rasped as she pulled it open. “Thank God the garage doesn’t leak,” she muttered as she thrust the key into the lock of her car and then rammed it into gear. The little car was very reluctant to move. Maggie realized it was well down on the right front. Climbing out she walked around the back and then squeezed up the right side so that she could peer at the front wheel. “Damn and blast! Damn! Damn!” The tire was as flat as a pancake, and the car was such a tight fit for the garage there was absolutely no room to change it.
Walking back to the rear she lifted the trunk and found the spare—inflated, thank goodness—then the jack and the spider wrench. All she needed was someone, anyone to help push the car backward into the alley. Pulling her hood more tightly over her face, she made a dash for the house and telephone. But Nat still wasn’t home. She decided to call Judith again to warn her, but the answering service informed her to call again or if it was an emergency to go straight to the hospital. There was only one thing to do: call a taxi. She grabbed the directory.
“It’s the weather,” the dispatcher at the Ace Taxi Service explained. “All our vehicles are out.”
Yellow Taxi Service put her on hold, and then informed her it would be at least an hour’s wait.
“I guess I’ll have to fix it myself and hope to God I get to Judith in time.” Pulling her hood up once again, she prepared for the return run down the garden path. I’ll just have to try and back it out even if the blasted tire is flat.
Back in the garage, Maggie put the car into reverse and gave it a tentative spurt of gas. It lurched slowly backward until it was nearly out of the garage and across the narrow alleyway. Then, wrenching hard on the steering wheel, she began to manoeuvre the unresponsive vehicle. After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, a lot of swear words, and a completely ruined tire, she made it. Now came the hard part: changing the tire. Where are all the men when you need them?
She knelt in the muddy lane and after several attempts managed to get the jack to raise the car. Then the nuts on the wheel seemed to be welded on, the spider wrench had a mind of its own, and the tires were heavy. But by the time she had lifted the spare into place and had tightened the very last nut, a feeling of triumph took away the misery of being thoroughly soaked, caked in mud, and aching all over. She returned to the house to wash and change.
Nat still wasn’t answering his phone, and to her dismay she realized that the time was now seven forty-five. She would have to get a move on if she was going to get to Judith’s house before Aaron got there.
• • •
MAGGIE DREW UP behind the rusty pick-up and, wasting no time, ran up the path to Judith Sloan’s front door. Even before she pushed the doorbell she could hear the raised voices inside the house. Obviously, no one was going to answer the damned bell but she pushed it several times anyway. She waited a few seconds before turning to walk quickly toward the right side of the house to see if there was a way to the backyard. Tall lilac bushes barred her way. The other side then. Although bushes had been planted close to it, there was a narrow wooden gate that looked as if it hadn’t been opened for years. Using her shoulder, she pushed until she had enough room to squeeze through the gate, only to fall headlong over a large prickly bush. Blood oozing down her face, she struggled to her feet and staggered to the back of the house.
Lights were ablaze in the living area, showing a tableau of a frightened little girl sitting in a large armchair, clutching the spaniel, Rex, to her chest. Both child and dog were gazing in alarm at Judith, who was yelling at Aaron Standish. Maggie, completely forgetting what a sight she must look with her blood-streaked face and tangled hair, tapped on the glass of the French doors to get the girl’s attention. The child turned, saw the apparition, and screamed.
At least, Maggie realized, the two adults had stopped yelling at each other and turned to look at her instead. “Open the door,” she yelled. It took a few seconds before Judith finally recognized her and slid the door open.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Judith shouted at her, then looking more closely at the blood on Maggie’s face, asked, “Whatever’s happened to you?”
The dog, making the most of the confusion, managed to break away from Jenny’s tight embrace and made a mad dash for Maggie, sending her flying back into the wet garden. Maggie, beginning to feel like a yo-yo, struggled to her feet once again.
Judith grabbed the exuberant spaniel by his collar. “You’d better come in.”
“It’s that busybody detective woman,” Aaron sneered. “I suppose my stupid wife called you.”
Judith’s medical training took over. “Come with me and I’ll clean you up.” She turned back to Aaron, “You, sit down and keep that mouth shut. We’ll continue this discussion in a normal way when I return. Rex, you keep an eye on him.”
The dog obediently settled on the middle of the carpet, a low growl emanating from his throat.
Satisfied, Judith beckoned to her daughter. “Come with us, Jenny.”
“They’re only scratches,” Maggie said, as Judith led her into her surgery. “I’m so sorry I frightened you,” she said, turning to Jenny.
“I’m actually glad you did turn up,” Judith said, pointing to a chair. “He won’t listen to a thing I have to say. Just keeps calling me a whore.”
“Aren’t you worried he’ll hurt the dog?” Maggie asked, remembering Irma’s fear of her husband. “He can be very violent.”
“He won’t hurt Rex, will he?” Jenny cried, and turned to run back into the living room.
“Jenny, stay here,” her mother ordered. “Rex will be just fine.” But Maggie heard the doubt in Judith’s voice. “We’ll only be a minute.”
“At least my barging in stopped him yelling,” Maggie said as Judith applied some salve to the scratches.
Judith stood back and looked at her handiwork. “That should stop the bleeding. Now let’s go and talk some sense into that imbecile.”
“What’s an imbecile?” Jenny asked.
“Jenny,” her mother said, squatting down in front of the child. “I have to talk some adult stuff with that man in there. Do you think you and Rex could do me a great big favour and go up to your room for a while?”
“I don’t like him, Mommy. I’m scared he’ll hurt Rex.”
“I’m sure the dog can look after himself.”
“But suppose he hurts you and then . . . then he comes after me.”
Maggie, who had seen how scared his own family were of him, was of the same mind. “Don’t worry, Jenny.” She tried to put some confidence in her voice. “Your mommy and I will deal with him.”
“You promise? I’m really scared of him.”
“I’m sure he’s just a bit mixed up.” Judith stood up and took Jenny’s hand. “Let’s go and get Rex.”
“I’m glad you have a good watchdog,” Maggie said, following behind.
Judith laughed. “Little does he know that Rex is all bark and no bite. I’m sure he’d even welcome a burglar in.”
Aaron was sitting in an upright dining-room chair and the fearless dog Rex was still standing guard over him.
“Does he bite?” Aaron nodded fearfully toward the dog.
“He is very protective of us.” Judith took the dog by the collar and led him to the door. “You go upstairs with Jenny.” She shut the door firmly behind her daughter and the dog and returned to sit opposite Aaron. “All right, Aaron, what is wrong?” she continued. “Why all the anger?”
“How would you feel if one of your father’s women turned up . . . with . . . with an illegitimate child?”
Maggie could see Judith taking a firm grip on herself before answering. “I was not one of your father’s women. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but we were very much in love. But your mother was dying and we parted.”
“How could you have had an affair when my mother was so ill? That’s what I can’t understand. And then you trapped him by getting pregnant.”
Judith laughed. “Trapped him! He only found out about Jenny a couple of years before his death.” She looked sadly at Aaron. “It’s a pity that you never really knew your father. He was a very kind and considerate man.”
“Kind! Considerate! He never loved either my mother or me.”
“Sometimes marriages don’t work.”
“So if he loved you so much, why did he marry that . . . Alice?”
“I guess he and Alice were both lonely.” She looked steadily at Aaron. “I had no idea he had remarried. I just came back to the Coast because I thought he should get to know his daughter.”
“There’s no money, if that’s what you’re after. She got all that.”
“I don’t need your money, Aaron. I had hoped we could be friends.” She shrugged. “There is just one other matter.”
“What’s that?” He stood up and reached for his raincoat.
“Don’t let Alice know our name or where we live.”
“Why not? You said you’re not after his money.”
She spoke very calmly. “Your father was murdered, Aaron. He didn’t commit suicide.” She walked him to the door leading into the hallway.
“But why are you afraid? His murder has nothing to do with you, has it?”
Without answering him, she opened the front door to let him out. “Look after those precious daughters of yours.”
“I’m sorry you’ve got caught up in this horrible mess,” Judith said to Maggie when she returned to the living room.
“That’s my job, so don’t worry about it. But,” Maggie added as she reached for her coat, “I feel very sorry for that man’s wife and kids.”
Judith nodded. “Me, too. But I mean to keep in touch with them.”
• • •
“NOW FOR MY belated supper.” Maggie let herself in the back door of her house and reached for the light switch. Oscar, sitting in his basket and looking very guilty, gave a few thuds with his tail, and Emily, in her usual place on the window sill, was fastidiously preening her whiskers. “Okay, what have you two been up to?”
The broken plate on the floor told her all. It still had bits of lettuce, cucumber, and tomato clinging to it, but the salmon had completely disappeared. There were only torn bits of wax paper left of the sandwich she had forgotten to take with her. She was too exhausted to scold.
She walked disconsolately to the hall closet to hang up her raincoat and caught sight of her bedraggled figure in the hall mirror. Wet, stringy hair, scratches on both cheeks and hands, and a wet and filthy raincoat. “You’re some detective, Maggie!” And she began to laugh.
• • •
“THAT CAT SCRATCH you?” Henny demanded on seeing Maggie’s face the next morning. “You have to take care, you could get that . . . that . . . tetsie-something.”
“Tetanus,” Maggie supplied. “This was a rosebush. I fell in it.” Not waiting for Henny to give dire warnings on the diseases that could be caught by falling into rosebushes, she asked, “Is Nat in?”
Henny nodded. “Mr. Nat come in early.”
• • •
“WHAT THE HELL happened to you?”
“And good morning to you, too, Nat. And where were you last night when I needed you?” she asked, ignoring his question.
“Had an urgent call from Nancy.”
“And what did she want this time?” Although Maggie had come to know Nat’s ex-wife, Nancy, on a case the previous year, she’d also come to know they could never be real buddies.
“The kitchen tap sprang a leak and flooded the place,” he explained with one of his lopsided grins.
“What’s wrong with calling a plumber?” Maggie’s face was sore and she was not feeling at all charitable toward mankind and Nancy in particular.
“On a Tuesday night? Anyway, what did happen to you?”
Maggie leaned against the doorjamb and told him.
Nat burst out laughing. “I can just see you changing a tire in that narrow alleyway.” The look on his partner’s face stopped him getting in any deeper. “Do you think Judith was scared by Aaron’s visit?”
“Yes, very. But she was even more scared that he would tell Alice about her and Jenny’s existence. But I can’t see that being a problem—he has very little to do with his stepmother.”
Nat leaned back in his swivel chair. “Depends how vindictive he wants to be. I have a feeling he would love to get one over on Alice.”
“You may be right,” she said, settling into the chair in front of his desk. “He’s a strange character, and I know that Irma is scared of him—she told me he has an awful temper.”
He leaned over the desk to touch her face very gently. “Will these be gone by Midge’s big day?”
“Hope so. I’ve got slightly over three weeks.”
“You still okay for our visit to Saul Wingate’s studio on Thursday?”
Maggie nodded. “I did have another appointment but changed it to Friday. Any idea what excuse we’re giving for us calling on them unannounced?”
Nat stared into space for a few moments. “You know, Maggie, I think that bunch knows more than they’re letting on. Perhaps we can shake them by just turning up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Maggie and Nat hesitated in front of the studio door, which stood wide open to the fine June afternoon sunshine.
“Do we ring the bell or just walk in?” Maggie asked.
“What are you doing here?” They turned to see Saul Wingate with his arms full of papers and sketchbooks and a leather satchel slung over one shoulder.
“We were in the neighbourhood and wondered if any of you had any new thoughts on Jonathan’s murder.”
“I haven’t. Don’t know about the rest of the gang. At least,” he continued, pushing the books into Nat’s arms, “you can help me with these.” And he went back to his car, parked at the curb, and emerged with another armload of supplies.
“Are the others here?” Maggie asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Saul answered as he led the way inside. “One never knows who’ll turn up.” But with the exception of Adele Rousseau, they were all in the studio. “Look who’s come to visit us,” he said, throwing his satchel onto the nearest scarred table.
“Hope you don’t mind us barging in like this,” Nat said as he placed the sketchbooks beside Saul’s satchel. “We’ve just a few things to ask.”
Nobody answered. The atmosphere seemed almost hostile to Maggie as she m
oved into the room and sat down on one of the stools.
“I guess you’ve heard by now that Maggie came across some original Cornelius Krieghoff paintings in Alex Donitz’s apartment?” Nat asked, moving to a position behind Maggie’s stool.
“Alice did mention something about it to me,” Saul Wingate answered, “but I don’t think anyone else here knows about it.”
“Alex Donitz?” Tricia Forbes asked in her lazy voice. “Do I know him?”
“For God’s sake,” Saul answered her. “The young man who was killed. You know . . . in Sheldon’s studio.”
“Oh, that young man.” She turned back to Maggie. “So what were you doing in his apartment?”
“The same as the police. Looking around.”
“Can’t see how finding some paintings has anything to do with Jonathan’s death,” she said.
“I’d like to see them, though,” Chris Barfield said.
“I don’t have them,” Maggie answered.
“That’s right.” Saul began unfastening the buckles on his satchel. “Alice mentioned that you were attacked and they were snatched from you.”
“Not me. I was using the phone downstairs when somebody snatched them from Gloria.” Maggie didn’t go into any other details.
“Who’s Gloria?”
“For God’s sake, Tricia, don’t you remember anything? She was Alex’s girl friend.”
“Oh, yes, that Gloria. What a ghastly name. Then he must have stolen them in the first place,” she added petulantly. “Stands to reason, Polish immigrant, no money, no prospects.”
So much for not knowing who Alex Donitz was, Maggie mused, thinking how she’d like to swipe the cat-like smile off the woman’s face.
“But how would he know where to steal them?” Chris asked. “Had to be from a private collection of some sort.”
“You’re all artists,” Nat said, looking around. “Perhaps one of you might have heard of an art theft—”
“Oh, come on,” Ian Buckle, who had been silent up to then, interrupted. “We make pots and sculptures, mostly for our own edification, I might add, and of course hoping we’re going to make it big one day. But none of us move in the circles of the rich collectors.”
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