Death on a Short Leash

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Death on a Short Leash Page 15

by Gwendolyn Southin


  “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,” N
at 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.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Joan 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.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got the props.” She indicated the huge bunch of flowers on her lap.

  “Don’t attempt to go into Pru’s room if there’s a nurse nearby. And watch out for Williams.”

  “Quit worrying. I’ll meet you back in the car.”

  Maggie was lucky and found a spot in the car park. “You go in first,” she said to Joan. “And for God’s sake, remember you don’t know me.” She watched in trepidation until Joan, brandishing the bouquet of flowers in front of her, had disappeared through the front entrance. Then she too slipped into the building and mingled with the other visitors waiting for the elevator. The second-floor residents seemed a bit more cheerful than the last time Maggie had been there. Tea had been served and several of them were chatting to their visitors. I’ll start with him, she thought, seeing an elderly man sitting by himself. “I’m looking for someone whose first name is Hugh,” she said, sitting down next to him. “Don’t know his surname.”

  “Well, as it happens,” he replied with a grin, “you’ve hit the jackpot. I’m Hugh Wesel.”

  “Then you knew Mrs. Elsie Slater.”

  “Elsie! Of course. Great gal. She died a few months back.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  Maggie passed over a card. “Her son contacted us. Wanted to know if she was . . . uh . . . happy here.”

  “That great lump of lard! Why should he care?” He passed a plate of cookies over to Maggie and then turned his attention to the maid hovering over him. “Vera, be so kind as to give this young lady a cup of tea.”

  “This is a bit delicate,” Maggie said slowly, as she accepted the teacup. “But are the residents encouraged to leave money to Silver Springs?”

  “So that’s it,” he said, thumping his fist down on the table beside him. “Money! It’s because she left a little money to Silver Springs, isn’t it?”

  Maggie nodded. “Her son thought she might have been coerced.”

  “Coerced! That greedy son of hers and the rest of her goddamned family hardly ever visited her. She considered us,” he swept his arm around the room, “and the staff more her family.”

  “You’ve never been . . . uh . . . encouraged to leave money to the nursing home?”

  “No, dammit!” He took a sip of his tea. “Of course, you have to have money to afford to live here,” he said, “but I’ve never been asked for more than my monthly fees.”

  “Do you know if anyone else has left money to Silver Springs?”

  He shrugged. “Not something one talks about, you know.”

  “What about Elsie? Did she mention that she was going to?”

  “Yes.” He sat in thought for a moment. “But why not? The bulk of the estate had already been left in trust to that son of hers, and as you know, there are Slater Restaurants all over the province.”

  Maggie finished her tea and stood. “So nice chatting to you,” she said, buttoning up her coat, “but I’d better go.”

  “Here, hold on for a minute.” Hugh beckoned to a plump, silver-haired lady. “I want you to meet Rosemarie. Great friend of Elsie’s. Rosemarie, this lady’s enquiring about Elsie,” he said, introducing Maggie. “Wants to know if she was happy here?”

  “She was as happy here as any of us can be under the circumstances. Not like your own home, you understand, but we have each other.”

  “I believe Elsie had a little dog here,” Maggie said.

  “Yes. She just loved that little Peke.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “That Dr. Williams took her away. Shame, really, as I was quite willing to have her.”

  “Why didn’t you ask for her?”

  “Didn’t have a chance. The dog was gone as soon as Elsie was.”

  “Ah! Mrs. Spencer.” Maggie turned at the sound of the dreaded voice. “Talking to our residents here, I see.” Mrs. Truebody beamed at Maggie. “This lady is thinking of bringing her mother to live with us here.”

  “I see . . .” Hugh’s voice trailed off and he gave a slight wink to Maggie.

  “Mother just can’t make up her mind,” Maggie cut in. “Well, have to run. So nice meeting you,” she told Hugh and Rosemarie, and she escaped out the door, hoping that they would keep quiet about the real motive for her visit.

  As Maggie slid into the driver’s seat, she checked her watch. Joan still wasn’t back. God! I hope she hasn’t got caught. She would wait for another five minutes, and then she would have to go looking for her.

  • • •

  UNFORTUNATELY, THE VISITORS had thinned out by the time Maggie made her second foray into the building, and she just prayed that she wouldn’t bump into Mrs. Truebody again.

  “Can I help you, madam?” the receptionist asked, looking at the large clock on the wall. “You realize that visiting hours are over.”

  “I won’t be a sec,” Maggie improvised. “I . . . uh . . . I left somethin
g in my aunt’s room.”

  “One of the staff would gladly get it for you.”

  “No. I’ll be quick.”

  There was no sign of Joan. Maggie pushed open the glass doors leading into the ward and waited a few moments until the two nurses who were dispensing medicines had disappeared into rooms on either side of the corridor. Then she skittered down the hall and slipped into Pru’s room.

  Prudence, propped up with pillows, looked at her with glazed eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Where’s Joan?”

  “Where’s who?” Pru closed her eyes.

  “Psst! Maggie, in here,” Joan whispered from the bathroom.

  “What are you doing in there, for God’s sake?”

  “Williams nearly caught me, and I’ve been too scared to move.”

  “We’ve got to get out of here now!” Then she too made a dive for the bathroom. “It’s the nurse with the medicine cart,” she whispered.

  “Suppose they come in here?” Joan whispered back.

  “Shh!”

  “So how are we feeling?” they heard the nurse say. “I’ll get some water and you can take your pill.” She yanked the bathroom door open and stared in amazement at the two women. “What are you doing in there?”

  “Getting some water for you,” Maggie said, turning on the tap. And, grabbing hold of Joan, she pulled her out of the bathroom and then out of the room and into the corridor, shutting the door behind her.

  “Hey! Stop!”

  “That’s torn it,” Maggie panted as they ran down the corridor and out through the glass doors. “Now just walk out calmly,” she hissed at Joan. “Thank you,” she called as they sailed by the receptionist. Once outside, they ran to the car and piled in. But looking into her rear-view mirror as they sped down the driveway, Maggie could see the receptionist and several white-garbed people excitedly waving their arms at them.

  Maggie parked a few blocks away and turned the engine off. “Okay! What happened?”

  “I got into Pru’s room without any trouble. She was really groggy, but I’m sure she knew me,” Joan answered. “She seemed to be trying to speak, so I propped her up with several pillows.”

  “So did she say anything?” Maggie asked.

 

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