“Henny Vandermeer,” the woman said. “Here for job.” She dumped a huge, bulging tapestry bag beside the visitor’s chair and sat down heavily.
Maggie eyed this new applicant with trepidation. “You do understand that we are only offering part-time employment?” she said tentatively.
The woman nodded. “Ja. I understand,” she said in a thick accent. “Suit me fine. I haff two kids at home.”
Maggie hesitated before asking the next question. “Are you a single mother, Mrs. Vandermeer?”
Henny Vandermeer drew herself up. “I haff you know, I am respectable married woman, Mrs. . . ?”
“Spencer,” Maggie answered, then quickly went on to her next question. “You’ve worked in an office before?”
“I haff my references,” the woman replied. She dug into the bag and hauled out a ball of thick natural wool and a length of knitting speared with two wooden knitting needles, which she placed on Maggie’s desk. A packet of wrapped sandwiches, a Thermos, and finally several sheets of wrinkled paper followed. “See!”
Maggie took the proffered papers, and, quickly glancing through them, saw that indeed each one sang the praises of Henny Vandermeer. And all said how sorry they were to lose her. “You have worked in a number of places, I see.”
“Ja. Never fails. No sooner I get an office going right, then that office close down or they haff to cut back on staff.” She sat back in the chair and surveyed the room. “I see you haff good typewriter?”
“Yes. You can type?” Maggie said, half hoping the answer would be “no.”
“Oh ja. Got top A in typing school.”
Maggie’s heart sank. “But English is not your mother tongue.”
“But I speak English just fine. Ja?” She looked toward Nat’s door. “The boss, he is in there?”
“Mr. Southby’s out at the moment, Mrs. Vandermeer, and in any case, you would be working principally for me.” That should be enough to scare her off.
“You call me Henny. I should see boss I work for.”
“I’m sure he’ll be sorry he’s missed you.” Maggie stood up. “We’ll get in touch with y—”
“When do I start?” Henny reached down to pick up her bag.
“Start?”
“Tomorrow is Thursday,” Henny said. “You show me around now, and I come to start in morning.”
“But you said you needed to see the . . . the boss . . . ”
“Change my mind. You’ll do fine.”
Oh my God! What will Nat say? “Mrs. . . . I mean, Henny, are you sure you want to work here?” Maggie handed the woman’s papers back to her. “It can be very hectic. You see, Mr.Southby and I have some very unusual clients. We are an investigating firm . . . detectives, you know . . . ”
“You keep those to show boss,” Henny answered, thrusting the papers back into Maggie’s hands. “I know you a detective agency. I look you up. I be good investigating.”
“But you wouldn’t be doing any investigating,” Maggie explained, keeping her voice calm. “What we are looking for is someone to do all the office work—typing, filing, answering the phone, that kind of thing. So you see . . . ” Her voice trailed off.
“Ja. That’s why I’m here. Now show me what I haff to do.”
Maggie stood up. Oh, what the hell! There’s no more applicants, so he’ll just have to put up with her until I get back from Williams Lake. Anyway, all those recommendations must mean something, I suppose.
• • •
“I’VE HIRED OUR NEW Girl Friday,” Maggie told Nat when he arrived later that afternoon. “Her name is Henny Vandermeer and she starts tomorrow,” she finished with a rush.
“Tomorrow! That’s soon, isn’t it?” He looked closely at Maggie. “What’s up? You seem a bit nervous. You didn’t hire one of those kids you interviewed, did you?”
“No, no. She’s about forty-ish and married with two kids at home.” Maggie took a deep breath.
“Vandermeer? That’s Dutch, isn’t it?”
“I don’t really know. She has a thick accent.” Among other things.
“Well, if you’re satisfied with her, she must be okay.”
“I’ll give her a week’s training before I go,” she answered.
“You can’t wait to get away from me, can you?” Nat asked sadly.
“It’s not you and you know it, Nat,” and she slipped an arm around his waist. “I don’t want to leave you—just my blasted family.” But Maggie wasn’t being exactly honest—Nat’s love for her was part of the problem.
That evening, Maggie phoned Harry.
“What do you want, Margaret?” he asked stiffly.
“I wondered if you would do something for me, Harry.” Then, before he could answer, she said, “Could you look after Emily while I go away for a couple of weeks?”
“The cat! Is that all you want me for? A cat sitter?”
“I need to get a way for awhile,” she explained.
“At long last you see my point.”
Maggie could picture him gloating. “It’s not that at all, Harry . . . ”
“You’ve made your bed, Margaret Spencer, and as my grandmother would say, you can now lie in it. Goodnight.”
Fuming, Maggie replaced the receiver. Why did I ever think he’d understand?And what the devil am I going to do with Emily?
• • •
THE NEXT MORNING, when Maggie looked out of her bedroom window, she saw the sun was shining. A beautiful day! But there was something nagging at the back of her mind. What was it? The feeling persisted right through her breakfast. What’s wrong? As she showered, she couldn’t shrug off the feeling of impending doom. It wasn’t until she was towelling that it came to her. Oh my God. Henny! She raced back into the bedroom, slipped into the skirt and blouse she had worn the day before, and after making sure Emily had food and water, ran to her car.
The traffic seemed slower than ever. I must get to the office before Nat meets Henny. But she was too late! Even before she entered the outer office, she could hear the thick guttural voice.
“Mr. Nat. You in there?” The woman was banging on Nat’s door and then putting her ear against it to listen. When a muffled answer came through the connecting door, she turned to Maggie. “What he say?”
“I think he said yes,” she answered, trying not to smile. “You’ve met Mr. Southby, then?”
“Ja. He said fast hello and then went in office quick.” She waved a mug in the air. “He likes coffee, ja?”
“Ja . . . I mean yes,” Maggie answered, flustered. “That’s very kind of you to make it.”
“That my job, ja?” She turned back to Nat’s door.
“Never mind, Henny, I’ll take it.” Grabbing the mug from her new assistant’s hand, Maggie tapped lightly on the door. “It’s me, Nat.” The door opened just wide enough for her to slip through before Nat shut it again.
“Who’s that woman?” he hissed.
“Henny.” She smiled sweetly. “Our new Girl Friday.”
“Well, get rid of her.”
“You’ve got to give her a chance.” She reached for his in-tray and extracted the papers she had left for him. “Look, these are her references. Everyone praises her.”
“Does she understand English?”
“Yes. I’m sure she’ll be able to cope. After all, she only has to copy what you write,” Maggie answered, smiling. ”You’ll just have to watch your spelling a little. And besides,” she finished, turning to go out, “she was the best of the bunch.”
The next week was a nightmare as Henny tried her best to mother Nat. “Maggie, look what she’s brought me,” he said, pointing to a plate of large, lumpy oatmeal cookies. “You know how I hate oatmeal cookies.” He pushed the plate toward Maggie. “Here, you have them.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly deprive you.” She made a quick exit.
But Henny worked hard at mastering the office procedures Maggie had set up. The filing was up-to-date, so it was just a matter of keeping on top
of it. She even got the hang of typing up Nat and Maggie’s case notes. But answering the phone had its problems, as she tried to have a intimate conversation with every caller. However, two days before Maggie planned to leave for her trip, she felt that their new office help was as good as she would ever be. Simple rules had been established: the phone was to be answered as professionally as possible, she wasn’t to ask the caller personal questions, she would only type what Nat had actually written and not what she thought he meant, and she would stay out of the boss’ office—he didn’t want it dusted or even the ashtray emptied. She was the office help and not Maggie’s replacement. And finally, she would refrain from giving advice to the clients while they waited. They had already lost one prospective client who decided to follow Henny’s advice and solve his problem on his own rather than pay “good money” to see Mr. Southby.
“I’m going upstairs to Jodie’s tonight,” Maggie called out to Nat as she tidied up her desk before leaving the office. “She’s got a map of the Cariboo that will help me get my bearings.”
“Can I come?”
“Be my guest,” she answered smiling. “I’ll see you about seven.”
It was shortly after six-thirty that evening when the phone rang. “Oh damn! That will be Nat to say he’s going to be late getting here.”
“Harry here.”
She almost dropped the phone in surprise.
“When do you plan on leaving for your vacation?” he asked.
“Er . . . Friday. Why?” she asked nervously.
“What arrangements have you made about Emily, then?”
“Emily? Well, at this point I’m hoping my neighbour will . . .”
“I’ll take her,” he interrupted.
“But . . . ” Maggie hesitated. “Are you sure, Harry? You seemed so against the idea when I spoke to you on the phone And I’m . . . er . . . I’m sure my neighbour would . . . ”
“No, that’s all right. I’ve changed my mind. Can you bring her over tomorrow evening?”
“That’s very kind of you, Harry, but . . . ” Maggie was wary, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I think a vacation from that place is a good idea, Margaret,” he answered her curtly. “Where do you plan on going?”
“A dude ranch. It’s just outside Williams Lake.”
“Dude ranch! What’s it called?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s on Wild Rose Lake.”
“Why a dude ranch?” he went on, without waiting for her reply. “But I suppose that’s better than working for that man. I’ll see you around seven o’clock tomorrow evening, then.”
Now what’s he up to?
A short time later, Jodie, Nat and Maggie were poring over a map of central British Columbia. “See,” Jodie explained, pointing to a small dot next to a large lake. “That’s Williams Lake. And this,” she added, indicating a road that branched off to the right, “is the road to Horsefly.” She circled the road with a pen.
“What a crazy name.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Jodie agreed, and then continued. “But you’ll only take that road as far as Wild Rose Lake.” She drew another circle. “It’s about nine miles along.”
Maggie put her finger on Vancouver, then moved it up the map to the lake. “Whew!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t realize it would be so far.”
“Well over three hundred miles!” Nat commented, looking over her shoulder.
“You’re going up by train?” Jodie asked. Maggie nodded. “Well,” Jodie continued, “you know that it only travels north from Vancouver to Prince George on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and south on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.”
“I’m leaving at seven this Friday,” she answered, and then turned to Nat. “Yesterday, when I slipped over to buy my ticket, the station master told me that the line between Vancouver and Squamish was only completed three years ago.”
“And did he tell you that there are still occasional rock slides on that line?” Jodie asked.
Maggie shook her head and laughed. “No. He kept that bit to himself.”
“Don’t worry. It’s been fairly dry lately, so there shouldn’t be any problem. The train gets into Williams around seven in the evening. It takes about twelve hours.” She started to refold the map. “But Kate will be there to meet you.”
“You been up to your sister’s?” Nat asked.
Jodie nodded. “Last fall. I must admit it’s beautiful, if you’re into space, cows and horses. I prefer the city myself.”
“What about your sister?” Nat asked. “How’s she coping with the great outdoors?”
Jodie laughed. “Quite well, considering . . . ”
“Considering what?”
“Considering she’s twenty-eight and still a bit of an airhead.”
“Airhead?”
“Being the youngest in our family, she was spoiled rotten. Then when she was barely out of high school, she ran off to Montreal and married this low-life loser. Thank God, my father managed to step in and have the marriage annulled.”
“How did Kate feel about that?”
“Relieved. He’d begun to knock her around. Put her right off marriage, for awhile, that is.” She picked up a silver-framed photograph and handed it to Maggie. “This is a recent one of her. You can see she’s very pretty.”
The photograph showed a young woman, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing jeans, a red plaid shirt, and western boots. She was holding the reins of a chestnut mare, but she was standing several feet away from it. “She doesn’t look twenty-eight,” Maggie commented, handing it back.
“No. And Doug, her new husband, is a good eighteen years older,” Jodie said ruefully. “She’s gone from one extreme to another.”
“You don’t like this one either?”
“Mmm. There’s something about him . . . ” She shrugged. “But I will say this, if you’re looking for a peaceful vacation, they can provide it.”
“That’s just what I want,” Maggie replied, picking up the map.
Later that evening in the downstairs suite, Nat drew Maggie toward him. “I’m really going to miss you. I just wish I was going with you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too,” she answered, kissing him. “But at least you’ve got Henny.”
• • •
IT WAS EARLY Thursday evening, and Maggie stood beside her bed and surveyed the pile of clothes that still had to be crammed into her suitcase. She reached down to pick up her slippers and saw one of Emily’s toys lying next to them. It squeaked as she picked it up, and she realized with a pang how much she was going to miss the independent, unpredictable creature. She glanced at her watch. Almost six thirty. She’d have to scoot if she was to make it over to Harry’s by seven. She had already prepared the cat carrier for the journey, so all she had to do was find the elusive animal, who naturally had disappeared as soon as she saw the carrier emerge from the closet. By the time the chase was over, both Maggie and Emily were completely frazzled, and the cat continued her protest right across town to Maggie’s old home on Kerrisdale’s Elm Street. If the cat’s protests were unnerving, so were the unwanted memories that came back to her while she waited for Harry to answer the doorbell.
She followed him along the familiar hallway and into the dining room, where she set the carrier down and released the frantic animal. Emily immediately ran into the kitchen and sat staring at the cupboard where her food used to be kept.
“You see, Margaret,” Harry said, pulling out a chair at the dining room table for her. “Emily is pleased to be home. Would you like some coffee?”
She was about to refuse when she saw the effort he’d made to welcome her. Her favourite coffee mugs were waiting on a tray. “Thanks. That would be nice.”
“I still don’t understand about this dude ranch,” Harry said, putting the coffee pot in front of her. “Couldn’t you have found a nice hotel in Victoria, perhaps?”
“I need to get right away somewhere new, Harry.”
He watched her as she looked around the room. “You know, Margaret, you could have all this back. Your home, your garden—all the things you loved. They’re all waiting for you.”
As she gazed around, she realized how much of her was in the room. It was still the same, the Wedgewood china she had chosen still in its walnut cabinet, the pictures they had chosen together, the drapes, even the carpet on the dining room floor was the same. Then she looked at Harry and realized that he hadn’t changed either. He would still be as demanding. He would still nag at her to give up the job she loved.
“Mother knows how much I want you back,” he continued blithely. “She said she would be willing to forgive and forget.”
“Forgive . . . ?” Her mind went back to the last time she had entertained her mother-in-law, Honoria Spencer, in this very dining room. It had not been a crashing success. Honoria had demanded she get rid of Emily or she would not darken their door again. Maggie had chosen Emily. That thought brought her mind back to the present. “I’m sorry, Harry, what did you say?”
“I said,” he replied, “she is willing to forgive your . . . er . . . unkind words to her.”
“That’s nice of her. But she needn’t worry, I’m not coming back.” Carefully, she put her mug of coffee down on the table. “This was not a good idea, Harry.” She picked up her purse and tried not to run to the front door. “You still can’t understand, can you?”
“No. I don’t understand,” he shouted. “I gave you everything you could possibly want.”
“Except the freedom to be myself.”
She was still shaking when she reached the safety of her own front door. She marched into her bedroom and stuffed the final things into her case. How could I be so stupid? I should have known what would happen. And how the hell do I get Emily back? “Damn! damn! damn!”
In the Shadow of Death Page 2