“Henny, where have you been?” Maggie exploded.
“This is my friend Marie,” Henny answered, totally ignoring Maggie’s question. “She in a lot of trouble. We need Mr. Nat to help.”
“What trouble?” Nat asked suspiciously from the doorway to his office.
“It is Johanna, Marie’s daughter. She’s gone missing and we can’t get help from the police, and Marie has just come back from England.” She stopped for breath. “So we need Mr. Nat to find her.”
“Calm down and sit down, Henny.” He turned to the distraught woman beside Henny, who was literally wringing her hands. “Now . . . Marie, is it? Tell me what’s happened.”
“Marie Evans,” Henny interjected.
“So tell me what happened, Mrs. Evans,” Nat said again.
“I don’t like to bother you but, Henny insisted,” she began tearfully. “My daughter Johanna was supposed to have met me at the airport yesterday.”
“And she didn’t,” Maggie quietly prompted, turning one of the visitor chairs around from her desk. “Here, Mrs. Evans, sit down.”
The woman ignored the chair. “It is so unlike her, and . . . and . . . then I thought perhaps she got caught up in traffic.” She paused and looked toward Henny, who nodded encouragement. “So . . . so I waited for a long-time, then I found a telephone box and I phoned. But she didn’t answer.”
“Then what did you do?” Nat asked.
“I found a taxi and went to her apartment on No. 3 Road in Richmond. It’s not all that far from the airport, you see,” she explained. “But . . . but she wasn’t there.”
“You don’t have a key?” Maggie asked, motioning toward the chair.
“Thank you,” Marie said, “but I’m too upset to sit. No, I don’t have a key, but I knew her friend across the hall had one, so I knocked on her door, but she wasn’t there either.” She dabbed her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “I just didn’t know what to do.”
“So then you called me,” Henny chipped in.
“Yes. I walked to the corner drugstore and I called Henny and she very kindly picked me up.”
“Marie is like a sister to me,” Henny explained. “We went to school together in Holland.”
Ah, thought Maggie, that explains the slight accent I heard in Marie’s voice. “There isn’t a janitor in the building?” she asked.
She shook her head. “There are only six apartments. Anyway, I kept calling both the girls all evening and neither of them answered.”
“How did you get this other girl’s phone number?” Nat asked.
“I knew her name was Laura Pearson, and I found her in the telephone book,” she explained. “And then when I called again this morning, she answered. She said she’d been away for the weekend.”
“And Johanna?” Maggie asked.
“Laura said she hadn’t seen her for at least ten days.”
“Ten days? Wasn’t she worried?” Nat asked.
“They’re not close friends and she just thought Johanna had taken the ferry to Gibsons to see her papa and me. When I said how worried I was, she got me to hold on while she ran over to Johanna’s apartment.”
“And?”
“She said there was no sign of my little girl.” Her eyes were now brimming with tears and she sank into the chair.
“You called the police?”
“First I called Dr. Williams at the animal hospital. That’s where she works. He yelled at me. He said he hadn’t seen or heard from her for nearly two weeks. He was very mad because he had to hire someone to replace her.”
“Then you went to the police?” Nat asked.
Marie and Henny both nodded. “They took a description and told me not to worry, as she’s bound to turn up. How could they say that to a mother?” she asked tearfully. “And I’m very worried.”
“You’re married?” Nat asked.
“Yes, but my husband David is still in Wales.” Then, seeing the confused look on Nat’s face, she continued. “You see, my father-in-law died suddenly and we went to Wales for the funeral. My husband stayed on to help his mother.”
“I think we ought to have a look over your daughter’s apartment. Can you call this Laura for the key?”
“That is good idea,” Henny said, getting up from her chair.
“Hold it, Henny,” Nat said firmly. “We need you right here.”
“But I should go with Marie.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll bring her right back.”
“I told Laura that I would come back this morning,” Marie Evans said impatiently as she waited for Nat and Maggie to slip into their coats. “I told her to leave the key under the mat. But she said she would be in, as she doesn’t have to go to work till this evening.”
CHAPTER TWO
Johanna Evans’ place was in one of the small apartment blocks that had sprung up along No. 3 Road in Richmond since the war. It consisted of six apartments, two to a floor, separated by a central staircase. “Naturally,” Nat muttered as he struggled up the last flight, “she would live on the top floor.”
Laura, a striking redhead, was waiting for them when they reached the landing.
“Here’s the key,” she said, handing it to Marie Evans. “I do hope Johanna’s okay. I feel real bad not checking up on her.”
Marie took the key and slowly opened the door to her daughter’s apartment, then stopped suddenly, blocking the way.
“There must be some mistake,” she gasped, backing out. “This isn’t Johanna’s place.”
“What do you mean?” Maggie asked, gently pushing past the woman. “But this is really lovely.”
“That is what I mean. My Johanna can’t afford furniture like this!” The three of them surveyed the bright, cheerful room. It looked like something out of the Hudson Bay’s Heritage showrooms.
“She only works part-time. She can’t afford furniture like this,” she repeated. She turned to leave. “I will ask Laura.”
“Let’s have a look around first,” Nat said quickly. “Perhaps you’ll recognize something belonging to your daughter.”
Marie Evans shook her head as she took in the matching green and rose three-piece suite, the long glass-topped coffee table, the two highly polished walnut end tables and the ceramic table lamps. The rest of the furniture was made up of a record player, a sixteen-inch TV and a bookcase, and the polished wooden floor was covered in an area rug of rose and green. “Where would she get the money for such things?” she asked.
“Perhaps she’s paying for it on time,” Maggie suggested.
“All this?” Marie said, waving her arms to encompass the large room.
“But you’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Maggie asked.
“Only when Johanna first moved in. But that was two years ago. We don’t come to the city very much. She likes to take the ferry to come and see us in Gibsons.”
“Do you see anything that you recognize?” Nat insisted.
Marie started to shake her head and then, stopping in front of a watercolour depicting a sailboat heeling in the wind, she said, “Oh, this one was painted by my husband!” Gently she touched the canvas. “Johanna especially loves this one.”
“Why don’t you two look in the kitchen,” Nat said as he opened the closet door, “while I go through all these outer clothes.”
“Good idea,” Maggie said, shepherding Marie toward the kitchen door, “and then we’ll look in the bedroom. Perhaps you’ll recognize something else.”
Marie, her eyes full with unshed tears, gave another look at the painting and then allowed herself to be ushered into the up-to-date kitchen. Except for a row of well-used cookbooks, it was clinically clean, with a shining tiled floor that reflected fairly new appliances. The modern twin aluminum sinks and faucets shone like the floor.
“Your daughter obviously likes to cook,” Maggie said, indicating the books.
“I gave her most of those,” Marie said, taking down a Fanny Farmer. “See, I wrote in it.” She was quiet for a m
oment. “I still don’t understand . . .” Maggie moved her gently out of the kitchen and into the large master bedroom at the back of the apartment.
The bedroom had been painted a light beige and had bright yellow pull-back curtains. “This is so pretty,” Maggie said, going over to the window and drawing back one of the drapes, “but I can see why she keeps the drapes pulled.” The room looked over a dismal bit of scrubby grass, several battered garbage cans and a high fence shielding the yard from several rundown houses. She let the drapes fall into place again and turned back into the room. A poster of a black cat hung over a double bed that was covered in a gold satin spread. The photographs on the walnut dressing table seemed to be mostly of Johanna and her family. Marie picked them up one by one and looked fondly at them. “This is Johanna with her father,” she said, showing Maggie a picture of a fresh-faced girl, her braided, flaxen hair coiled neatly around her head, and a slim, dark-haired, handsome man in his forties, both laughing for the camera. Still holding the photo, Marie opened the top drawer of the dressing table. “Such beautiful underclothes,” she breathed.
“And these,” she said, opening yet another drawer to reveal teddies, uplift bras, silk stockings, some still brand new. “And what is this?” she added, the agitation in her voice making her accent thicker.
“What have you found?” Nat said from the doorway.
“This thing,” she said, holding up a bright red, sequin-studded G-string.
Maggie, who was going through the clothes in the closet, popped her head out to see. “What is it?” she asked. “Oh!” She caught the look on Nat’s face and felt her own turning red. “It’s probably one of those things girls collect these days,” she said quickly.
“But what is it?” Marie insisted.
“I think it’s called a G-string,” Maggie answered. “Oh, look what I’ve found,” she said quickly to change the subject. “Looks like a dance outfit. Reminds me of when I was a kid and took dancing lessons.” Then, realizing her mistake as soon as she held up the diminutive costume, she turned to put it back.
“I have never seen that before,” Marie said, snatching the costume from Maggie’s hands. “What is it doing in my daughter’s . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence and pushed Maggie out of the doorway. “That . . . that . . . can’t be my Johanna!”
Maggie turned. Marie was pointing to a glossy six-by-ten photo that had been thumbtacked to the inside of the closet door. The posed girl was obviously Johanna, dressed in the very same costume that her mother held in her hands. Her long legs accentuated with black fishnet stockings and glittery shoes, Johanna was bending forward, smiling into the camera lens in a very provocative way. The abbreviated skirt was hiked up the back to show a glimpse of sheer panties, and the laced-up bodice of the costume pushed two full, overflowing breasts over a wisp of white chiffon. The costume was completed with puff sleeves and an authentic Dutch starched hat, and Johanna’s braided hair hung over her breasts in two long golden plaits.
Marie gave a long, shuddering sob. “That can’t be my Johanna?”
“What have you got there?” Nat asked from the doorway.
“You’d better come and see,” Maggie answered.
“Oh,” he said. “Well, there’s bound to be a perfectly good explanation,” he continued calmly, turning to the ashen-faced Marie. “Probably a costume party . . . or something.”
“Hi! I’ve brought coffee.” The voice had come from the living room.
“That’s Laura,” Marie said, moving quickly past Nat.
“I brought you some coffee,” Laura repeated, placing a tray on the glass coffee table.
But Marie Evans wasn’t interested in coffee. “What is going on here?” she demanded, waving the offending costume in Laura’s face. “Where did my Johanna get this . . . this . . . thing . . . and all this furniture?” As Marie burst into tears, Maggie took the costume from her and gently pushed her into a chair.
“You’re a good friend of Johanna’s?” Nat asked the girl, picking up one of the cups.
“We’re friends, yes, but we don’t live in each other’s pockets,” the girl explained. “That’s why I didn’t realize she was missing.” She turned away from Marie, who was now sobbing uncontrollably, and directed her next comment to Nat. “I really thought she’d gone to stay with her mom and dad for a few days.”
“Did anyone else know you had Johanna’s key?” he asked.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“She seemed okay last time you saw her?” Maggie asked.
“Tired, but that’s par for the course.”
“Tired? I didn’t think working in a animal hospital would be that strenuous, especially part-time,” Nat said as he stirred sugar into the tepid coffee and took a sip. He tried not to grimace.
Laura laughed. “No, but her second job took it out of her.”
“What second job?” Maggie asked.
“You don’t think any of us girls could afford to live in these apartments on one job, do you?”
“There are other single girls renting here?” Maggie asked as she reached for a cup of coffee and took it to Marie.
“All but one. The other’s rented to a fella.”
“Single?” Nat asked.
Laura laughed. “Yeah. He lives in the place below me. Loves parties and loud music.”
“Johanna never said anything about a second job,” Marie insisted. “Why didn’t she tell us?”
“She probably didn’t want to worry you,” Laura hedged.
“Lots of people have two jobs to make ends meet,” Maggie commented, “but why keep it a secret from her family?”
“At Pandora’s?”
“Pandora’s!” Nat said.
“What is this Pandora’s?” Marie demanded, rising from her chair. “What is so bad about this place?”
“It’s a kind of nightclub,” Nat explained. “She’s probably a waitress there.”
“Then,” Marie said firmly, “we will go there right now and see if they know where she is!”
“Uh . . . no,” Laura said hastily. “You can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“It’s a private club and . . . it’s not open during the day,” Nat cut in quickly.
“What do you mean, private?” Marie asked.
“You have to be a member to get in,” he explained. Then, picking up the coffee tray, he turned to Laura. “I’ll carry these back for you.”
“Thanks,” Laura said, happy to be escaping. “You can hold it while I open my door.”
“Okay,” Nat whispered as soon as they were outside, “is Johanna a stripper?”
Laura nodded. “You can’t let her mother go there.”
• • •
NAT WAS THANKFUL for the afternoon rush-hour traffic that met them as they made their way back to the office. He could sense the questions that both of the women wanted to ask him about Pandora’s, but made it clear he needed to concentrate on his driving.
“So how do I get to this nightclub place?” Marie demanded as they rode up in the elevator.
“Let’s talk about it in the office,” Nat replied.
“Did you find our Johanna?” Henny greeted them.
Marie shook her head. “But we found out that she has a night-time job at some place called Pandora’s, and tonight I will go there and make them say where she is!”
Nat shook his head. “Pandora’s is not the sort of place you would want to go to, Mrs. Evans,” Nat said.
“What do you mean? It can’t be that bad if my Johanna works there.”
Nat shook his head. “I’ll go there tonight and let you know first thing in the morning what I find out.” He motioned for Henny to get her coat from the rack. “I promise to call you if I find out anything. You’ll be at Henny’s?”
“Yes. Henny and Bernie insist I stay with them.”
“Good. Now before you go, please give Maggie a list of the people who would know Johanna—friends, family, boyfriends, the people at the
animal hospital. Anyone you can think of.”
“I’ve never heard of Pandora’s,” Maggie said as soon as the two women had left, “but apparently you have. Where is it?”
“East Hastings,” he answered.
“Oh, you mean it’s a strip joint?”
“Yup. A hard-core strip joint.”
• • •
“WHAT ARE YOU HAVING?” Nat asked as he sat scanning the menu in Monty’s Seafood Restaurant.
“I’m going all-out and having the fish and chips.” She closed the menu. “I can’t believe that a quiet, reserved girl from a good family like that is actually a stripper!”
“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions. She might be working behind the bar or waitressing.” Nat gave an exaggerated sigh. “So it is my sad and unpleasant duty to visit Pandora’s to find out.”
“Not without me, you don’t,” Maggie asserted.
“You can’t go there, Maggie!”
“It’s okay. I’ll change into something more suitable for a strip joint. What do you suggest?”
“You’re not going,” Nat said firmly. “And that’s that.”
Maggie smiled up at the waiter hovering over them. “I’ll have the fish and chips, please.”
• • •
IT WAS AFTER NINE when they arrived at the club entrance, where they were greeted by a burly man who demanded to know if they were members. Nat passed over some folded money, and they were let into the dimly lit interior. Maggie realized that it didn’t matter at all what she had chosen to wear, as all eyes were riveted on a small stage, where a red-headed girl, wearing only black fishnet stockings, a black garter belt and tassels on her nipples, was reclining on a chaise longue. As Maggie stared, the girl leaned forward and slowly began peeling off her stockings, to the accompaniment of thumping, whistles and catcalls.
Maggie and Nat followed the scantily dressed, high-heeled waitress to a back table, where, after seating them, the girl bent low over Nat’s shoulder, almost filling his ear with her left breast, which was struggling to get out of the strapless bodice. Nat ordered a beer for himself and a gin and tonic for Maggie, and they waited until the girl had returned with their drinks before he pulled out Johanna’s photograph. “Do you recognize her?” he asked.
Death on a Short Leash Page 2