“Who’s Chandler?” Al demanded.
“One of Guthrie’s old partners,” Maggie answered.
“Must’ve been before my time,” Al replied.
“He’s just out of prison,” she explained. She turned to Nat. “How can you tell it’s Chandler? This man in your picture doesn’t have a beard.”
“See that scar through his left eyebrow? It’s quite visible in the photo.”
“But why would he kill himself? He’s only been out of prison for a few weeks.”
“Maybe he didn’t.” Nat put the photo into his wallet, then reached into the truck box to flip back the stained green tarpaulin that covered its contents. Aside from a few tools, there was only a suitcase. He lowered the tailgate, pulled himself up into the box, and opened the suitcase. It contained the man’s personal belongings—underwear, socks, a couple of shirts and an extra pair of jeans. But under the clothes, neatly folded, was a survey map. He took it out and spread it open. “Hmm.” Jumping down from the truck, with the map still in his hands, he opened it out again on the tailgate.
Maggie, looking over his shoulder, suddenly exclaimed, “Look, Nat. There’s Shadow Lake, where that mine was located.”
“According to this, it’s about eighty miles north of here,” Nat said as he measured off the distance with his thumb and forefinger. “This certainly bears looking into.” He folded the map carefully and put it in his jacket pocket. “We’d better get back and call Brossard. He’s going to be so happy!” Then he looked at Satan and realized that he had to get back up there. He took the horse’s reins, then stopped abruptly and stared thoughtfully at the ground.
“Now what?” Al asked, looking down, too.
“These tracks. They’re from new tires. Look at the clear tread marks.”
“So?” Maggie asked.
“That pickup’s tires are as bald as an eagle. Someone else has been here.”
“Soon as you’re up on Satan, we’ll follow them aways,” Al said.
Nat and Satan eyed each other again. He could almost see the animal sighing. He grabbed the saddle and made two unsuccessful attempts to get up. “Maybe I’ll walk back.”
“All that way?” Al answered, dismounting. “Here. Stand on this boulder and I’ll help you.” But it proved to be a struggle. Maggie held the horse’s head while Al heaved and pushed until eventually Nat’s rear end was in a position that enabled him to swing his right leg over. “I don’t think I’m meant to be a cowboy,” he gasped, as he manoeuvred himself into a sitting position. His backside was already sore, and he quailed at the thought of the journey back to the ranch.
A quarter of a mile farther on, the car tracks led to a small bridge spanning the narrow river.
“Where’s that go?” Nat asked.
“Harkness’ ranch,” Al replied. “But there’s no mystery there. It’s much shorter to come this way to visit the Guthries than go by the lake road.”
“Those tracks are fairly recent,” Maggie said. “It only stopped raining a couple of days ago.”
“So?” Al asked.
“Neither of the Harknesses have been over to see Kate this week.”
“They could’ve used the shortcut to go on to Williams Lake,” Al replied.
“You’re right,” Maggie answered. “Kate told me they often come this way.”
Al turned his horse around. “Come on, let’s get back to the house.”
• • •
“I WONDERED WHERE you’d got to,” Kate said.
“We went for a ride with Al,” Nat said, “and I’m afraid we found a man . . . ”
Kate’s face paled. “Not Doug?”
“No, not Doug. But another man. He’s been shot.”
“Shot! Is he . . . dead?”
“Afraid so,” Nat cut in. “Kate have you seen this man before?” He held out Chandler’s photo.
Kate gazed at the picture and then shook her head. “Is he the one that’s dead?”
“Yes.” He walked over to the telephone. “I’m calling Brossard.”
• • •
“YOU SEEM TO HAVE an unnatural habit of finding dead bodies, Mrs. Spencer,” Brossard said dryly when, later that afternoon, they all stood around the truck. He turned to Nat. “And you think he’s Chandler?” He peered once again into the driver’s window and compared the man to the photograph in his hand. “You may be right.”
“It’ll be easy for you to find out,” Nat answered. “His prints will be on file.” Another police car bumped its way over the dirt road toward them. “Here come the rest of your gang.”
“Coroner from 100 Mile,” Brossard said, going to meet the new arrivals. “I’ll see you back at the house,” he added over his shoulder. Suitably dismissed, Nat nodded.
“What about the tracks?” Maggie asked as they walked toward the Jeep. “Shouldn’t you have mentioned them?”
“If he’s as good as he thinks he is,” Nat replied, “he’ll see them for himself.”
• • •
“YOU WEREN’T LONG,” Kate said when they entered the house. “What do you want, tea or a good stiff drink?” They opted for the latter and took their glasses out onto the patio. “What does it all mean?” she asked.
“As far as I can figure out,” Nat answered, “it’s all somehow connected to Leonard Smith. That’s the only logical explanation.”
“The man who was kidnapped?” Kate asked. “You can’t possibly think that Douglas was mixed up in that?”
Nat shot a look at Maggie. “Kate,” he said slowly, “I’m afraid we have to face some facts. Either Doug found out about Smith accidentally and was abducted to keep him quiet,” he paused to place his hand over Kate’s, “or he’s somehow mixed up in it.”
Kate pushed his hand away and jumped up from her chair. “He would never have done anything like that!” There was a note of hysteria in her voice. “I brought you here to find him, and all you’ve done is make things worse! You don’t know him, he’s . . . he’s . . . too kind . . . too honest.” She burst into tears and ran into the house. Maggie shook her head at Nat, then followed Kate in. Outside, Nat drained his glass as he listened to Maggie’s voice soothing the distraught young woman.
Later, once Kate had calmed down and the two women were preparing the evening meal together, Nat put in another call to Sawasky. As usual, it took nearly fifteen minutes before the operator managed to get a line through to Vancouver, but at least George was in.
“So how’s it going?” George greeted him.
“I rode a horse today,” Nat replied with a chuckle. “First time since I was a kid. And that was on the merry-go-round at Happyland.”
“That must’ve been quite a sight. I wish I’d been there with my camera,” Sawasky replied. “What else is up?”
“We found Chandler today—dead—with a gun beside him.”
“You sure it was Chandler?” He listened while Nat went through the events of the day. “I don’t like what’s happening up there,” he said when Nat had finished.
“We’re thinking about taking a trip up to one of the lakes tomorrow.”
“Good idea. Take a picnic and make a day of it.”
“That’s just what we’re planning.”
After a silent evening meal, Maggie and Nat walked to his cabin and sat outside. He spread the map on the picnic table and they leaned over to study it in the fading light. “There’s two things we’ve got to do tomorrow,” he said, straightening up. “First is to follow those tracks and see if they end up at the Harkness ranch, and the second is to take a run up to Shadow Lake.” He folded the map and stowed it in his jacket pocket.
• • •
THE NEXT MORNING, with a good breakfast in his stomach, Nat said, “We might as well follow the tracks right now. Let’s get the key for the Jeep.” And they went off to find Hendrix.
“Where are you off to this time?” Hendrix asked, handing him the key. “If you’re thinking of going back to see the truck, by the way, the cops took i
t and the body away yesterday.”
“We’re taking the bridge road to visit the Harknesses,” Maggie replied.
“The main road’s the best way. You won’t get lost on it.”
“Prettier the bridge way,” she answered. As they drove off, he watched them thoughtfully before he entered his own cabin.
They stopped at the scene of the latest shooting, and as Hendrix had said, all trace of the truck was gone, and the tread marks had been completely obliterated by the many vehicles that had been parked there. They drove slowly on until the heavy tread marks became visible again, then followed them over the bridge onto the Harknesses’ land. The trail ran close to the river for another five miles, then branched off, the river snaking its way north, while the trail turned south to where, in the distance, they could see the Harkness ranch buildings. But the tread marks didn’t turn in at the ranch. They continued on to be eventually lost on the gravel road that circled Wild Rose Lake. Nat reversed the Jeep and headed back onto the Harkness property.
Vivienne seemed delighted to see them. “Hope you don’t mind us dropping in on you,” Maggie said after she’d introduced Nat. “It was a spur of the moment idea.”
Nat felt himself sinking into the violet eyes. “So nice to meet someone new in this Godforsaken land,” she said, at last letting go of his hand. “Come in and meet Jerry.”
“How’s the investigation going?” Jerry asked, once they were settled on the patio. Vivienne had left them to make drinks, and catching a high sign from Nat, Maggie had gone to help her.
“You’ve heard about Chandler?” Nat asked.
“Just heard. The man had done his time. What would make him shoot himself now?”
Nat shrugged.
“Strange bird,” Harkness continued. “Didn’t fit in here.”
“You knew him, then?”
Harkness nodded. “Saw him at Guthrie’s from time to time.”
“But Maggie told me that you weren’t part of the Shadow Lake Mine venture.”
“No, thank God. I’d have lost my shirt on that goddamned mine.” He shifted in his wheelchair. “I was tempted, of course. Viv and I’d just got married, you see, and it looked like a golden opportunity to get in on it when they needed more financing.” He gave a tired smile. “But in the end, I decided it was too risky.”
“You’ve only been married about ten years, then?”
“Twelve. We’d both been married before. My wife died, and Viv’s first marriage was a disaster.”
“It must’ve hurt Guthrie—the mine having to close like that?”
“You bet. He’d used Wild Rose Ranch as collateral.”
“How did he get out of that?”
“Never quite knew. His wife Debra had a bit of money, but not enough to bail him out.”
“Your accident was sometime around then?”
“Yeah, a few months before Chandler blew up the mine and killed that Fenwick character. Those were mean times.” He turned at the sound of the two women chatting as they came through the door. “Ah . . . Here’s the girls with the drinks.” He smiled at his wife. “We were talking about my accident,” he said. “You were very close to being a rich widow, weren’t you?”
Vivienne stood behind his wheelchair and rested her hands on his shoulders. “You shouldn’t talk like that. Thank God we found you when we did.” She sat down and picked up her drink. “Well, cheers.”
“By the way, do you remember the Smith abduction affair?” Nat asked. “Must’ve been around the same time Guthrie’s mine went belly up.”
“Remember something about it in the papers,” Harkness answered. “He was never found, was he? Why do you ask?”
“There’s a possibility he was brought up here to the Cariboo.”
“How very exciting,” Vivienne said. “Of course, with all the hills, valleys and lakes up here, it could’ve been happening right here on our ranchlands and we’d never know it!”
• • •
“SO WHAT DID you two talk about in the kitchen?” Nat asked when they were driving back.
“She did most of the talking,” Maggie answered. “Telling me how totally bored she is. Apparently, his first wife died a couple of years before they met. I gather Vivienne thought she was onto a good thing, until Jerry got hurt.”
“Tell me again. How did it happen?”
“He was thrown from his horse when it was spooked by lightning, but he told me he thought he heard a gunshot just before it happened.”
“Wonder who’d remember the details?” he mused.
“Vivienne told me they’d only been married two years.”
“Yeah. Jerry said it was ten years ago,” he said, as they turned into the dirt road leading to the ranch. “It must have been around the time the mine failed . . . ”
“Which was just before the Smith abduction,” Maggie added.
• • •
“I’VE ONLY BEEN with the Guthries going on two years,” Al explained, when Nat tackled him after they returned to Wild Rose Ranch. “You’d have to talk to my dad.”
“What do you want to know?” A voice behind him enquired. It was Hendrix.
“Mr. Harkness’ accident,” Nat said, swinging around.
“Why do you want to know about that?”
“Just curious. Did you help find him?”
Hendrix nodded. “His wife called here for help, so we all turned out. It took us several hours.”
“What about the horse?”
“Our first thought was for Jerry Harkness,” Hendrix answered tersely. “We could see he was in a real bad way, so we strapped him onto a board and got him to the hospital.”
“And the horse?” Nat persisted.
“His wife found Warrior next day. Broken leg. She shot him.”
“Mrs. Harkness?”
“Yep. Not squeamish, that one.” He turned to walk away.
“Before you go,” Nat called, “would it be possible to have one of the Jeeps gassed up right after lunch? And perhaps a spare can of gas,” he added.
“Spare can! We’re getting low, with all your running around. Tanker doesn’t come in till Friday.” He was still grumbling as he went off.
“Where do you plan on going?” Al asked.
“To Williams Lake early this afternoon and then Horsefly tomorrow morning.”
“That road to Horsefly’s pretty bad. I’ll check the spare.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was close to four o’clock before Maggie and Nat rolled into Williams Lake, headed for the town’s one and only public phone booth to call George Sawasky.
“Must be telepathy,” George said on hearing Nat’s voice. “Got a little something on your missing person.”
“Guthrie?”
“Yep. He’s not the innocent that your client thinks he is. First off, did you know that his first wife’s an American citizen?”
“Yes. I spoke to her on the phone. She’s living in Seattle with her second. But last time I checked, marrying an American was still legal.”
“Sure it is, but get this: she and Guthrie were married in 1934, just after his thriving rum-running business came to an end.”
“Rum-running! Well, I’ll be damned!”
“Yep. Worked for Archie Gillis. You know, the guy who owned the Malahat?”
“The Malahat! She was one beauty of a schooner. I remember being told that she could carry something like fifty thousand cases of liquor at a time.” Nat chuckled. “Must’ve made some thirsty Americans very happy.”
“Our boy Guthrie didn’t do any of the dirty work of actually hauling the booze ashore from the mother ship, but he was one of Gillis’ receivers and arranged sales around the Seattle area.”
“So that explains what he was doing over the border,” Nat said.
“He was back in BC shortly after his second kid was born. That’s when his father died and left him Wild Rose Ranch.” There were nearly thirty seconds of crackling sounds on the line before Nat heard George say, �
�One more thing, Nat. My pal on the Seattle force tells me the timing for Guthrie’s homecoming had less to do with the old man’s death than with the fact that they were closing in on him for some other racket.”
“Did he say what?”
“He didn’t have all the information at hand, but he’s sending me the details by mail. I’ll have them in a day or so and get back to you on it.”
“Does Guthrie have a record here?”
“If he does, I haven’t been able to find it so far.”
“What about Nordstrom and Teasdale?” Nat asked over a fresh outburst of crackling.
“Nothing on Teasdale, but Nordstrom’s another kettle of fish. The more I dig into his business, the more nasty whiffs of investment fraud come over. His father was a regular upright citizen, but little Albert . . . let’s just say he’s not exactly following in his father’s footsteps. There’s nothing solid I can pin down yet. But I’ll keep looking.”
“Does Brossard know any of this?”
“We’ve been in touch by phone, and a report’s on its way to him.” He paused for a moment. “You and Maggie seem to have really stumbled onto something nasty, Nat. Just watch your backs.”
“We will. But I think we’ll pay another little visit to Brossard while we’re here.”
“Go easy. Don’t want any more complaints about you from him, do we?”
“I’ll be the soul of discretion, George. You know me.”
“Yeah! That’s the problem.”
Brossard wasn’t happy to see them. “Have you received the latest report on Guthrie?” Nat asked when they entered his office.
“How do you know about that?”
“Puts a completely different light on his disappearance, doesn’t it?” Nat continued, ignoring Brossard’s question.
“I have to admit it does. But it’s all the more reason for you two to keep completely out of this investigation.”
“We’re still under obligation to Kate Guthrie to find her husband.”
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