“He’s bound to piece it all together sooner or later,” Maggie answered.
• • •
WHEN MAGGIE WENT downstairs to the kitchen early the next morning, she found Kate starting breakfast preparations. “I’m ready for the terrible twos visit,” Kate said, but her haggard face said she was anything but ready.
“How did you sleep?” Maggie asked.
“Not well. I kept dreaming that Douglas was being blown up and I was being chased . . . you know the kind of dream . . . ”
Maggie nodded sympathetically. “You said that Jamie resents his father, but what about Christine?” Maggie filled her coffee cup. “Does she have a close relationship with him?”
“Sort of. She would like it to be closer, though. Doug told me that after the split, the kids moved back to Seattle with their mother.”
“They went to school there?”
Kate nodded. “They were up here a lot, though. Used to come up for summer vacations, Easter, Christmas, that sort of thing.” She sat thoughtfully for a few moments. “Doug says I imagine it, but Christine really does resent me.”
“I suppose it’s understandable,” Maggie answered.
“Apparently, she wanted to quit high school and come and look after her father. But he insisted that she study for a career.” Kate placed a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages in front of Maggie.
After breakfast, Kate went to feed her chickens and Maggie did the dishes. She was just putting the last plate in the cupboard when she heard a knock on the door and the now familiar heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Brossard and his sidekick had arrived.
“Mrs. Guthrie around?” he asked.
“Out back. I’ll get her for you.”
“No, wait. I’ve something to say to you first. I’ve got a suggestion for you, and I hope you’ll take it in the spirit that it’s given.”
“And what is this suggestion, Corporal, that you’re so worried about how I’ll take it?”
“I’m suggesting that you go back to your boss and his . . . ahem . . . investigating services nice and peacefully.” He peered down at her from his six-two height. “I’m sure there are enough errant spouses back there to keep you busy.”
Maggie felt her face redden. “That’s highly insulting, Corporal Brossard.” She looked witheringly at the officer. “I’ll stay as long as I’m needed. And by the way, where were you when Kate asked for help? You wouldn’t even give her the time of day, then suddenly there’s a dead body and all of a sudden you’re hot on the case and want to chase me off. I’ve every right to be here . . . ” Luckily, Kate’s appearance put a stop to what was assuredly going to be a rather nasty response.
“It’s about this mine,” he said, waving the file in his hand. “How come you say your husband never mentioned it to you before?”
“How can she answer a stupid question like that?” Maggie cut in, trying to remain calm.
“Let Mrs. Guthrie speak for herself.”
“I told you,” Kate said wearily, “I never heard of the place until yesterday.”
“And you don’t recognize any of the names on this contract?”
“Why do you keep asking the same questions? It was you who told me about Sarazine, and Maggie told me about the mine being blown up.”
He turned his steel grey eyes onto Maggie. “And where did you get that bit of information?”
Hell! If only Kate could keep her mouth shut. She realized she’d been neatly cornered. “From my boss. And,” she added, “where he got the information is privileged.” She wasn’t sure if it was or not, but the line sounded good.
“That will depend solely on what’s happened to Mr. Guthrie. Surely you know that, Mrs. Spencer, especially as you claim to be . . . uh . . . some kind of a detective.” He smirked at Dempster, who was trying his best to avoid looking at the two women. “What do you say, constable?” Luckily for Dempster, Brossard didn’t wait for an answer. “As it happens, I do know about the mine, the explosion and the subsequent death of a Mr. George Fenwick.” He turned back to Kate. “And I find it very hard to believe you know nothing.”
“What are you implying?” Kate answered furiously. “I’m the one who’s been asking you for help. I’m the one who’s sick with fear for my husband and all I get from you and Hendrix is telling me not to worry. Well, I am worried.” She buried her head in her hands, fresh tears flowing.
For once, Brossard seemed discomfited. “Mrs. Guthrie,” he said at last, “I’m sorry if we appear uncaring, but we have to satisfy ourselves that your husband didn’t just take off somewhere . . . perhaps with your knowledge.” He looked over to Dempster for corroboration, but the constable was staring fixedly out the window. “Look at it from our point of view, see . . . His disappearance could’ve been just the outcome of a quarrel between you . . . ” His voice trailed off. “I realize now we . . . I . . . was mistaken.”
“Thank you for that, at least,” Kate answered tearfully.
Maggie, not being a tearful person, was getting thoroughly fed up with Kate constantly bursting into tears. If she was like this when hubby was around, no wonder he’s disappeared. After the two policemen had departed, she moved toward the back door. “I’m going to talk to Hendrix.”
To her dismay, Kate decided to come along, and she led the way to the red barn, where they climbed the flight of rough wooden stairs to the loft where Hendrix had his office. They found him seated at an old wooden table, pecking away on a portable typewriter.
“Jamie, Christine and Nordstrom are on their way,” Kate informed him. “They want to ask you questions about the ranch.”
He nodded.
“I’ll need the Rover to pick them up from the dock.”
Hendrix nodded again and resumed his typing.
“The police have been here again,” she said.
“So what did they want this time?” he asked laconically.
“They questioned me about Douglas’ disappearance again,” Kate answered. “And the gold mine he used to own.”
His expression never changed.
“Why didn’t he tell me about it?” Kate demanded. When Hendrix didn’t answer, she continued. “Do you know where Douglas is, Brian?”
“Why ask me?” He turned back to his pecking.
“Damn it!” Kate said, beginning to cry again, though they were angry tears this time. “You’re supposed to be his manager. You know more about his business affairs than I do. Who else should I ask, the bloody horses?” She turned to stamp back down the stairs. Halfway down, she paused. “Coming, Maggie?”
“You go,” Maggie answered. “I have a few things to talk over with Mr. Hendrix.”
“I’m busy,” Hendrix said after Kate had left. “So if you’re playing detective, make it snappy.”
“You knew who the man in the Jeep was, didn’t you?” Maggie asked.
“What gave you that crazy idea?”
“I saw your face when the sheet was pulled down. You knew him.”
Hendrix shrugged. “I just thought he looked familiar. Now that the cops have identified him as Lewis Sarazine, sure, I realize that I’d seen the guy around.” He turned to his desk again. “Anything else?”
“Why did you discourage Kate from going to the police when Doug first disappeared?”
“I figured he was gonna be sore when he got back and found out she was carrying on like he’d been kidnapped or something. I told her a guy needs to go off on his own sometime.”
“But he’s a married man, Mr. Hendrix.”
“More fool him. You’d think he’d know better after the first one.”
“Have you any idea at all where he might be?”
Hendrix slumped in his chair. “No,” he said in a grumpy voice. “At first I was sure he’d just gone off to tie one on. But it’s been too long now for that.”
“You’ve been with Doug a long time?”
“Yep. I worked for his father before that.”
Maggie decided on another approach
. “Look, Mr. Hendrix, I know you don’t think too highly of women, especially one who is an investigator. But I’m good at my job and I intend to find Douglas Guthrie, with or without your help.” She moved toward the stairs.
“Don’t know what good you can do. But maybe Kate can do with a friend, anyhow.”
CHAPTER SIX
Maggie and Kate stood on the dock and watched the single-engined Otter float plane slowly circle the lake and then touch down on the calm waters. The pilot throttled back as he taxied toward them and then cut the engine as the small plane gently nosed the dock. A young man in a tweed sports jacket and grey flannels stepped down onto the float and reached over the wing for the mooring line. “Hi, Kate!” he called. With one quick jump, he was on the dock and had begun tying the plane up.
Maggie watched as someone inside the cabin handed three overnight bags down to him. Next out was a young blonde woman in pressed jeans, checkered shirt, and cowboy boots. She could be Vivienne’s daughter, Maggie thought. The auburn-haired man with the exaggerated moustache who followed her had to be Nordstrom, Maggie decided. After making sure the lines were secure, Nordstrom bent, picked up his bag, and the three of them walked up the dock. Jamie immediately put his arms around Kate and gave her a hug, but Christine merely nodded at her.
“Maggie,” Kate said nervously, “I’d like you to meet Christine and Jamie, and this is Albert Nordstrom. This . . . this is Maggie Spencer. She’s really a detective but is on vacation and . . . ”
“So you’re Southby’s little lady,” Nordstrom interrupted, placing his beefy hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “I met your boss yesterday.”
“So he told me.” She smiled and neatly slipped from under his hand.
“I thought we’d have lunch on the patio,” Kate said as they piled into the Rover and headed up the long gravel driveway to the house. “You’re both in your old rooms,” she added, nodding at her husband’s children, “and Albert, you’re in the guest bedroom on the ground floor.”
“Fine,” Nordstrom replied heartily. “Give us a few minutes to wash up and we’ll be right with you.” Maggie watched the brother and sister quickly disappear upstairs, their muted voices floating down as they talked together.
Lunch proved to be an uncomfortable affair, to say the least. Kate tried hard to keep the conversation going, but Christine seemed determined to answer only in monosyllables.
Nordstrom turned to Maggie, who was sitting at his right. “Your boss says he sent you up here to help Kate. Any leads so far?”
“It’s all got so complicated,” Kate cut in before Maggie could answer. “The police are looking for Douglas, there’s this man found dead in the ravine, and people keep telling me not to worry . . . ” Her petulant voice trailed off.
Nordstrom nodded sympathetically and reached across the table to place his hand over hers. “Did you know the dead man?”
Kate shook her head. “No, but Douglas apparently did. Brossard says his name was Lewis Sarazine.”
Maggie, watching Nordstrom’s face, asked, “Did you know him?”
“Vaguely. Only saw him once, I think. He was one of Doug’s old partners in the mine.”
“What was he doing on that road, anyway?” Jamie said. “I mean, it doesn’t go anywhere.”
“And what has any of this to do with Father’s disappearance?” Christine asked angrily.
“I think it was just a coincidence,” Nordstrom said, still holding Kate’s hand. “But we’re here anyway, Kate, to give you our support.”
“Maggie’s been a great help,” Kate answered, drawing her hand away.
“But there’s nothing like family at a time like this,” Nordstrom said.
Maggie looked at them sitting there en famille and wondered if a nest of vipers wouldn’t be cosier. “What do you all plan to do while you’re here?” she asked.
“We’ll go over to see Vivienne and Jerry this afternoon, of course,” Nordstrom answered. “Old friends,” he continued, turning to Maggie. “Have you met them?”
“Just Vivienne,” Maggie replied.
“Good people,” he replied. “Known them for years.” He looked over to Kate.“Why don’t you and Maggie . . . ” His gaze came back to Maggie. “It’s all right to call you Maggie, isn’t it?” He carried on without an answer. “As I was saying, why don’t we all go?”
“Oh, I don’t think so . . . ,” Kate rushed in.
“Actually,” Maggie interrupted her, “I think that’s a darn good idea. I’d love to see their ranch.”
“I’ll phone them, then.” Nordstrom rose from the table. “Be good to see old Jerry again.”
“I really don’t want to go,” Kate protested.
“Nonsense. Take you out of yourself,” he called back as he went into the house.
“But if Kate doesn’t want to go . . .” Christine began hopefully.
Kate got up and cleared the table noisily while Christine sat grim-faced watching her. Jamie, who had hardly said a word through the whole meal, stared moodily at the lake.
What a happy bunch, thought Maggie.
Vivienne was only too glad to see them. They had all squeezed into the Rover again and bumped over the dusty, potholed back road that led to the Shaking Aspen ranch. Their hostess was waiting at the door, and Christine immediately ran over and flung her arms around the woman. “Oh, Aunt Vivienne,” she sobbed, “it’s just . . . just . . . so frightening. What could have happened to Daddy?”
Maggie, seeing Kate’s tense face, slipped her arm around her as they watched Vivienne patting the girl’s shaking shoulders.
“Yes, it’s awful, pet,” Vivienne said. “Simply awful.” She unloosened the girl’s arms and held them while looking intently into her eyes. “I’m sure Kate and the police are doing everything they can. I just know he’ll show up.” She turned to Nordstrom and held out her arms. “Albert dear,” she said, in her husky voice. “It’s been too long. And you too, Jamie. My, how you’ve grown.”
Kate and Maggie stood well back from the effusive welcome until Nordstrom said, “You’ve met Maggie Spencer.”
“Yes, Kate’s friend,” Vivienne replied. “How nice of you to bring her.”
“She’s an investigator,” he answered abruptly, “looking into Doug’s disappearance.”
“Yes, she told me.” She looked Maggie up and down. “How is your investigation going?”
“Progressing,” Maggie answered.
When they entered the house, Maggie’s eyes went immediately to the enormous stone fireplace with the requisite bear rug lying in front of it. This one, she was glad to see, was headless. The sliding door and window that overlooked the northern part of Wild Rose Lake was bereft of drapes, but coloured rugs of various textures were scattered on the highly polished wooden floors, giving a warm setting for the six cretonne-covered armchairs. The golden pine of a dining table, eight chairs and a massive sideboard at the far end of the room, all of which would have been overwhelming in any other setting, blended right into the decor.
“What a beautiful room,” Maggie breathed.
Vivienne acknowledged the compliment with a smile. “Come and meet my husband.” She led Maggie to where Albert Nordstrom was chatting with a man in a wheelchair. “Darling,” she drawled, “this is Maggie Spencer, a friend of Kate’s, but she’s actually a detective.”
Jerry Harkness must have been a big man at one time, but now his flesh hung loosely. Maggie looked into his pain-filled eyes as he lifted his hand to shake hers. “No,” he said gallantly, “you’re much too pretty to be a detective. Here, sit down next to Albert, and tell me what you’ve been detecting.”
Nordstrom got up and indicated his seat. “I’ll talk to the others.”
“I’m only a small cog in the agency,” Maggie explained as she sat down. Somehow she felt she could trust this man. “My boss, Nat Southby, is the real McCoy. I’m just the advance party to establish what’s happened to Kate’s husband. Any ideas?”
“’Fraid not, t
hough I’m sure he didn’t walk out on Kate.” He looked wistfully over at the girl, who was now talking to Nordstrom. “Wish I could help.”
“She’s just learned about the Shadow Lake Mine disaster.”
“But that’s history now. Who told her?”
“We discovered an old contract among Guthrie’s papers.”
He was quiet for a moment. “That certainly was an unpleasant business,” he said eventually.
“Did you know Jack Chandler’s out of jail?”
He looked startled. “No. When was this?”
“He was released about the same time that Guthrie disappeared.”
“And you’re thinking that’s too close to be a coincidence, aren’t you? What are the cops doing about it?”
“They’re beginning to take Kate seriously, especially since Sarazine was found murdered.”
“It wasn’t an accident, then?”
Maggie shrugged. “Not unless he shot himself before plunging over the cliff.”
“Shot himself?”
“Yes. But the police are being very quiet about that part of it.”
“Does Kate know about Chandler’s connection to the mine?” he asked.
Maggie nodded.
Jerry shook his head. “Doug should have told her. You see, they ran into financial trouble . . . that was about 1948, I think, just a year after Viv and I were married . . . and Viv wanted me to invest in that mine. Am I glad I didn’t!”
“You mean, money-wise?”
“Yes. I’d have been in a hell of a fix financially, especially after my accident.”
“When did that happen?”
He shifted the upper part of his body in the chair and gazed at the lake. “About ten years ago,” he began. “I rode out early that morning to locate some strays. We have over three thousand acres, so you can understand that it took me quite some time to locate them. Anyway, I was on my way back in the early afternoon when one of those freak storms moved in.” He paused, as if to gather the strength to finish. “I was making for a stand of trees when there was a tremendous crack of thunder, and my horse bucked and sent me flying. You’d have thought old Warrior’d been stung by a swarm of bees.” His hands clenched the arms of the chair. “He’d never been spooked by a storm before. It was hours before they found me. My back was broken.”
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