Death on a Short Leash

by Gwendolyn Southin

Maggie heard the barn door scrape open. At least we’ve picked the right barn. Giving the two men time to enter the building, she quietly crept around to the back. Nat was waiting for her.

  “That was one close call,” he breathed. “I think I’ve found a way in, but we’ll have to wait until they’ve fed the dogs.” Twenty minutes later, the lights in the farmyard were extinguished.

  Maggie followed Nat through a door obviously used for easy access for farm equipment. “They’re bringing in the guard dogs,” she whispered.

  “How do you know?”

  “I heard them say. But they’re waiting until the little dogs have quieted down. Oh, look!” And she beamed her flashlight on a double tier of cages.

  “We’re not here to rescue Rosie,” Nat said firmly. “Just to look.”

  But Maggie, flashlight in hand, was hurrying along the row, shining her flashlight into each cage. “Here she is, Nat.” She bent to a cage on the bottom tier.

  “Doesn’t matter which one she’s in,” Nat hissed. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Come over here and help me.”

  “No, Maggie!”

  “I’ll do it myself, then.” She knelt on the muddy floor and tried to undo the door to Rosie’s cage, but once again the butting head of the excited little dog hindered rather than helped in her rescue. “Quick, Nat, help.”

  “Damn you, Maggie,” Nat replied, “we don’t have time for this.” But he knelt beside her just as Maggie got the door open and Rosie pushed herself into her arms.

  “Here, take Rosie.” Then, slipping her hand inside the cage, she felt for the puppies. “Stand up and I’ll put a pup in each of your pockets, and you get out of here fast.” Not waiting to see if he’d gone, she lifted the three remaining pups out of the cage and stuffed one in each of her pockets before putting the other one inside the front of her jacket. Trying to use her flashlight to see the way out, she stumbled after Nat, now accompanied by the yips and barks of all the other dogs.

  “We’ve got to get to the car,” Nat said grimly as they shut the outside door. “They’re bound to have heard all that racket.”

  And suddenly the whole yard was flooded with light again.

  “That’s done it!” Nat muttered.

  “Oh, my God!” Maggie whispered. “I don’t think I shut the cage door.”

  “Maggie!” Nat hissed, pushing Rosie’s wet tongue away from his face. “If we get out of this in one piece, I’m going to kill you.”

  “Let’s get behind that old tractor over there.” Not waiting to see if Nat was behind her, she ran, holding the squirming puppies in place, and ducked down behind the rear wheel of the rusting piece of equipment. Nat hunkered down beside her.

  Peering around the broken front wheel of the tractor, she saw the two men silhouetted against the light coming through the open back door of the barn.

  “Something’s made ’em restless. Want me to search out here?”

  “No. Must’ve been a rat. Plenty of ’em about.”

  “The drug will kick in soon. That’ll quieten ’em down.”

  As if on cue, the little dog in Nat’s arms went limp. “We won’t risk making a move until the lights go out,” he whispered.

  “Just keep your fingers crossed they don’t take it into their heads to inspect the cages,” Maggie answered. She realized she was holding her breath in anticipation that there would be a yell from the barn. But the floodlight went out a few minutes later.

  “Okay. Let’s go.” Nat inched his way around the rusty vehicle.

  “Try to keep off the gravel.”

  Rosie and the pups seemed to get heavier and heavier as they crept out of the farmyard and trudged back up the hill to the parked car. Nat opened the rear door, placed Rosie on the back seat and tucked her five babies around her. “Now let’s get the hell out of here,” he said as he slid behind the wheel.

  “Are you going to phone the RCMP?” Maggie asked as they neared the main road.

  “I’ll call George and let him take all the glory.”

  It was well after ten o’clock when they finally reached Maggie’s house and, to the utter disgust of Emily, the dogs were once again placed in a blanketed cardboard box. She circled it, hissing and arching her back, ready for a fight. But they just slept on.

  “Do you think it’s too late to phone George?” Maggie asked.

  “No. I’ll call him while you make us a sandwich and a hot drink—preferably something with a little something in it.”

  “Don’t forget to tell him about the baby,” Maggie called as Nat talked to George. “I’m sure he’s Jasmine’s.”

  “George will get in touch with the Chilliwack branch right away and let Farthing know about the baby,” Nat said, returning to sit at the kitchen table. Then he gave a little chuckle. “I told him that to keep Farthing happy, there was no need to tell him where the info came from.” Then, as he bit into his ham sandwich, he asked, “What do you intend on doing with Rosie and family?”

  She could see he was too weary to be angry with her. “Tomorrow,” she said, “after they’ve had a good bath I thought we’d take them to their rightful owner.”

  “Did I hear you say we?”

  “Yes,” she said, flinging her arms around him. “And talking of baths,” she said, making a face, “we both stink of that farmyard. Care to join me in mine?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Maggie awoke to the heavenly smell of frying bacon and burning toast and the sound of a yapping dog. Slipping on her robe, she descended the stairs to the domestic scene. Nat waved the fork he was using to turn the bacon. “Your tea’s ready. Save that toast, will you?”

  “One of these days,” Maggie said as she scraped the burnt bread, “I’m going to buy myself one of those toasters that pop up.

  I’m fed up with this side-opening one. Where’s Emily?”

  “I kicked her out. She got too interested in the pups and Rosie was having a fit.”

  Maggie laughed. “Perhaps her maternal instinct got the better of her. Anyway, Emily won’t have to put up with these interlopers for long.”

  After breakfast they bathed Rosie and her pups. The pups were smelly but easy to wash, but Rosie was another matter. She had lost considerable weight through inadequate food and having to nurse the pups, her coat was matted, and like the pups, she stank, so it took a couple of baths to get her finally cleaned, dried and then groomed. Maggie kept the puppies apart from Rosie while she fed her on kibble and warm milk.

  “It shouldn’t take long for her strength to come back,” Maggie said, fondling the dog’s ears, “once she’s properly fed.”

  “I can’t wait to see Pru’s face,” Nat answered, laughing. “She won’t have time to think of that husband of hers.”

  They waited until after lunch before packing the now snowy-white dogs into the back of Nat’s car and driving them to West Vancouver.

  “You phoned and told them we’re coming?” Nat asked.

  “Yes. Pru’s mother answered. I just said we wanted to see how Pru’s getting on.”

  “Whew! What a view!” Nat breathed after parking in the Ball-Hardings’ circular driveway. It was a fairly new house built halfway up the mountain in the British Properties area, and it overlooked the Lions Gate Bridge, the City of Vancouver and Stanley Park, and along the waterfront they could see tankers and container ships waiting to be unloaded at the docks. Nat turned back to look at the house. “And the house goes with the view.”

  The front door was suddenly flung open, and Pru came running out to meet them. “I’m so glad to see you . . .”

  Then all hell broke loose. Rosie, hearing Pru’s voice, jumped into the front seat of the Chevy and started barking and pawing at the passenger seat window. Pru stopped short and looked in utter amazement at the little dog, now frantic with excitement. At the same time, a somewhat older look-alike, who had to be Pru’s mother, stood waving a drink in one hand and insisting they come inside.

  Pru opened the d
oor and scooped Rosie into her arms. “How did you find her? Oh, Rosie, Rosie, Rosie, I thought you were dead.” She turned to her mother. “It’s my little dog, Rosie.”

  “Pru,” Maggie said, opening the back door, “meet the rest of your family.”

  “The rest of . . . oh my God! Puppies!” She touched each one as Rosie squirmed to get out of her arms and back to her puppies.

  “Let’s go inside and we’ll explain,” Nat answered, picking up the box of squirming pups and leading the way into the house. But it took a lot of explaining, as Pru kept interrupting, her mother kept interrupting, and Rosie just got more and more excited.

  “I think this calls for a drink,” Grace Ball-Harding said suddenly, walking over to a trolley loaded with bottles and glasses. “Vodka and orange all around?” Not waiting for an answer, she poured generous amounts of vodka into four tall glasses. “Juice in the pitcher. Help yourself.”

  Thinking back to the first vodka and orange they’d had with Pru, Maggie filled her glass with orange juice and ice and smiled across at Nat. He must have been thinking of the same occasion, as he gave her a sly wink back.

  Pru, looking completely different than the wan figure in the Silver Springs hospital, sat on the floor, drink in hand, surrounded by Rosie and her pups. “Here’s mud in your eye,” she said, downing the liquid. “And,” she continued, “here’s to that bastard of a husband of mine getting what’s coming to him.”

  “It might be a good idea to put the pups back in the box,”

  Maggie suggested. “The carpet?” But it was obvious that it was far too late to worry about the expensive oriental carpet.

  “I seem to vaguely remember a German lady,” Pru said, mopping up one of the puppy piddles with a lace handkerchief, “getting me out of that room. A rather bossy woman.”

  Maggie laughed. “That was our office help, Henny,” she explained as she stood up to leave. “We hope everything turns out okay for you, Pru.”

  “We’ll make sure it does,” Mrs. Ball-Harding cut in. “Carl Williams will be sorry he ever tangled with this family!”

  As they were leaving, Nat turned to Pru and asked, “Do you remember the weekend that Johanna disappeared?”

  “Vaguely. Why?”

  “Do you remember if your husband went to the animal hospital that Saturday?”

  “Yes, he did. I remember he was in one foul mood when he came home. He said that bitch Johanna hadn’t turned up and he had no one to help him.” Then she turned to Maggie. “You must have one of the puppies.” And she pushed a wriggling little body into her arms. “I insist.”

  “Let’s wait until they’re old enough,” Maggie answered, handing the pup back. She wondered how Emily would take to one of these lively, yappy balls of fluff.

  • • •

  “FOR GOD’S SAKE, don’t light up one of your cigars,” Maggie warned.

  “Why’s that?” Nat asked, hoping the brakes of his car would hold as they hurtled down the steep hill.

  “The alcohol fumes in here will blow us up.”

  They both laughed and then were silent for a few minutes.

  Then Nat said suddenly, “I hate to admit it, Maggie, but you did a great but risky thing getting Pru out of Williams’ hands. Only don’t do anything like that again.”

  “Thank you, boss,” Maggie answered. “That’s praise indeed.”

  She was thoughtful as they crossed over the Lions Gate Bridge.

  “It’s still early,” she said suddenly. “Let’s go and visit Jasmine.”

  • • •

  THE ARMED POLICE GUARD outside Jasmine’s room barred the way until he had verified that their names were on his list. Nat waited in the corridor while Maggie went inside. Jasmine, though still very pale, was propped up with pillows, but her eyes were closed.

  Maggie sat down beside the bed and took one of the girl’s hands in hers. “Jasmine, can you hear me?”

  The girl’s eyes fluttered open and she looked fearfully at Maggie. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “I said I’d come back.”

  “Have you found Luke? My baby.”

  “Not yet. But the police know where the farm is now.” She squeezed the girl’s hand. “They should find him soon. Jasmine, do you remember anything about your attacker?”

  “No. I was walking and a car stopped.”

  “Did you get into the car?”

  “Can’t remember.”

  “That afternoon when Johanna came to the commune,” Maggie prodded, “what did the man look like?”

  The girl closed her eyes and Maggie thought she had lost her again. Then, “It was morning,” she whispered. “Early.”

  “Johanna was there in the morning?”

  “About eight. I’d just finished milking. The man . . .” She shut her eyes again.

  “What about the man?” Maggie asked. “Jasmine, what about the man?”

  “He stayed in his car.”

  “Was it the same car that picked you up?”

  Jasmine suddenly opened her eyes wide, gripping Maggie’s hand. “No. I remember now. The one at the farm was a black car.

  A long black car.”

  “And the one that stopped for you?”

  “It was a small car.” But now the girl started to shake, and Maggie reached for the bell beside her pillow. “Don’t let him get me,” Jasmine cried. “He’ll come here for me.” The door burst open and the same nurse that Maggie had seen before came bustling in.

  “She’s beginning to remember and she’s scared,” Maggie said.

  “Outside please,” the nurse said sternly. “I’ll see to her.” She closed the door on them.

  “She’s remembering things,” Maggie told Nat when they walked to the car. “But she said that Johanna was there in the morning, not the afternoon.” And she explained what Jasmine had said about having just milked the cows when Johanna arrived.

  “And she insists it was a long black car. But how could that be?”

  “Why not?” he answered.

  “She was last seen leaving Pandora’s around two Saturday morning. If Peterskill is telling the truth, he had her picked up there and taken straight home, so she would have been home by three, maybe three-thirty at the latest. And he says his car was back in his garage in time for him to take the first ferry to Gibsons, and that’s around seven, right? So how did she get from Richmond to Abbotsford by eight that morning if she didn’t get there in Peterskill’s car?”

  • • •

  “LET’S GO OVER everything bit by bit,” Maggie suggested as they sat drinking their after-dinner coffees. “I’d still like to pin Johanna’s murder on Peterskill, but he seems to have an alibi, and according to Pru, our good Dr. Williams was at his clinic all day. That leaves us with Brother Francois, but why would he kill her?”

  “I have the distinct feeling we’re missing something important.” Nat got up from the table and started stacking the dishes. “Let’s leave it till tomorrow and we’ll drag the files out and really go into everything.”

  By noon on Monday they were no closer to a breakthrough when Maggie announced resignedly, “I think you should go back and have another talk with the manager and the showgirls in Pandora’s. You never know, perhaps they might come up with something new.”

  Nat nodded. “I guess it’s the only thing to do.” He closed each of the files and handed them to Maggie to be put back into the cabinet. “Maybe we should have another talk with Laura, too.” The telephone on his desk gave a jingle and he reached over to answer before Henny did. “Oh, it’s you, George.” He gave Maggie the high sign. “They got the lot red-handed,” he said jubilantly. “The SPCA have been called in and are dealing with the dogs, and the whole gang are in jail.”

  Maggie rushed out of his office to her own desk to pick up her phone. “And Marigold and the baby?” she asked George.

  “Sorry, Maggie,” George said. “Neither Marigold nor the baby were found, and the bunch from the commune insist they’ve no idea where
she’s gone.”

  “That’s going to be so hard for Jasmine.” After she put the phone down, she stood at her desk for a few minutes, thinking. When Nat appeared in his doorway, she said, “You know, I keep thinking about Jasmine saying Johanna arrived there in a long black car that Saturday morning.”

  “Which could be either Peterskill or Williams,” Nat said.

  “But what if it’s neither of them? What if it’s somebody entirely different?”

  “Some stranger who owns a long black car?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t own it. Maybe he rented it.”

  “A limosine,” Nat said. “Okay, it’s worth a try. Get on the phone to the car rentals and find out who rented limos that weekend.”

  After spending most of the afternoon calling the listed car rentals, Maggie opened Nat’s door and leaned against the jamb. “Only five of them have limos to rent, and it took a lot of persuasion for them to look up that particular weekend.”

  “And?” Nat asked impatiently.

  “Three didn’t have any bookings for September 5, one limo was rented to pick up clients from the airport, three were for afternoon weddings and one for a late morning wedding.”

  “Perhaps the car came from out of town,” Nat remarked.

  “I thought of that,” Maggie replied. “Anyway, I’ll look further afield in the morning.” She turned to leave his office. “I’m going to look in on Jasmine before heading for home tonight. Do you want to come?”

  “Have you forgotten that I’m off to Bellingham tonight for that dinner and seminar on forensics?”

  Maggie laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of coming between you and a seminar. Is George going, too?”

  “Yes. And a few of my other old buddies.”

  “Have fun,” she said. “But you and George watch out for those women cops.”

  “We’re going to be too busy for that sort of thing,” he replied, laughing. “Anyway, we should be back by about four tomorrow.”

  “I bet!” Maggie laughed.

  • • •

  AS MAGGIE OPENED the door to Jasmine’s room that evening, a shabbily dressed woman, probably in her forties, looked up enquiringly from the chair beside Jasmine’s bed.