Death in a Family Way

by Gwendolyn Southin

  “Stayed with a friend after he was discharged. The little shit was scared what I might do to him, I suppose.”

  “But he must have realized the police would’ve been looking for him.”

  Collins shrugged. “He does now.”

  The sharp voice of Violet Larkfield came from the doorway. “There you go again! Picking on the boy when he’s down!” She thrust the basket into Maggie’s arms. “Here’s the cat, and this’d better be the last time.”

  “I hope it is too, Mrs. Larkfield,” Maggie answered her sweetly. She turned back to Collins. “Goodbye, Mr. Collins, I’m glad . . .”

  “Don’t keep her in that thing too long,” Violet interrupted. “Cats hate to be cooped up.” And Maggie once again found herself outside the front door.

  By the time Maggie reached the office, Emily was thoroughly fed up with confinement and had set up a constant meowing and pawing at her wicker cage.

  “Can’t you shut that damn thing up?” Nat said, emerging from his office, looking irritated.

  Maggie didn’t answer. She just stood there with a wide grin on her face.

  “Okay, never mind. Tell me. What happened at Violet’s?”

  “Phillip Collins! That’s what happened.”

  “Not another fleeting glimpse of a silver car?”

  “In the flesh and sitting in Violet’s living room. She’s his wife’s aunt.”

  “Aunt!” he said slowly. “Maggie, it looks like I owe you an apology.”

  “You certainly do.” She smiled. “And in exchange, I’ll give you some more juicy news.” She paused dramatically. “Larry has been found—alive and not so well.”

  “Has he, by God?” He watched as Maggie released the frantic cat from the carrier. “Where was he found?”

  “Collins didn’t say where exactly. But he’s been in the Victoria General, recovering from concussion, a sprained wrist and a dislocated shoulder.”

  “Sounds as if Collins was quite talkative.”

  “I might have got more out of him if Violet hadn’t come back with the cat. She sure had me out of that front door in a hurry.”

  “This puts a different slant on things,” Nat said thoughtfully. He bent down, gave the cat a tentative pat, and returned to his office.

  An hour later, Emily, curled up in a fluffy white ball on the visitor’s chair, lazily opened one eye to look at Nat as he came from his office.

  “I’m off, Maggie,” he said, reaching for his coat. “Got an appointment to set up surveillance for Wong Industries at one.”

  “But what about Mrs. Read? She’s coming in at one to sign the agreement and collect the cat.”

  “Damn! I forgot.” He glanced at his watch. “You don’t mind waiting for her, do you?”

  “I hope she’s on time,” Maggie answered. “Harry came home yesterday and I’ve shopping to do.”

  “Come on! You know you’re curious to see what she looks like,” Nat said, and with a wicked grin, he sped through the door.

  But it was well after two o’clock before Mrs. Read, a thin, sour-faced woman, opened the door. Her resemblance to Ernie was uncanny.

  “It’s too hot in here,” she complained, sinking into the nearest chair, “and those stairs are a killer.”

  “Why don’t you take your coat off and I’ll . . .” Maggie began.

  “Haven’t time.” Dorothy Read fixed her pale grey eyes on Maggie. “Where’s that Southby fellow? He’s supposed to meet me and go over things.”

  “There’s only this agreement for you to sign at the moment,” Maggie answered smoothly, putting it in front of her. “He’ll be in touch with you later.” She passed a pen over to the woman. “Oh, and we do have your father’s cat here for you.” She pointed to the basket behind her desk, where Emily now resided quietly.

  “I’m not taking that animal!”

  “But Mrs. Read, you’ve got to take her.”

  “Out of the question! I hate all cats and that one in particular.” She set her mouth in a tight line. “Take it to the vets and have it done away with. Put it on my bill. Southby will overcharge me anyway, and a bit more won’t matter much.”

  Maggie opened the basket and revealed Emily daintily washing behind her ears. “You know, she’s quite a nice clean cat,” she pleaded. “And it seems a shame, when your father was so fond of her.”

  “That thing hates me. Here, I’ve signed this.” She pushed the paper back across the desk and got up from the chair. “Anyway, it got him killed, didn’t it?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He called me that night.”

  “Did he?”

  “He’d been looking for the thing all day and he said he was going out again.”

  “Can you remember what time he called you?”

  “Must’ve been after six. The old skinflint always waited for the cheap rate time to call me.”

  “Did he say where he was going to look?” Maggie asked hopefully.

  “Said something about going back to where it was found before.”

  “I see. Did your father carry large sums of money with him,

  Mrs. Read?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, starting for the door. “Kept it all in the bank, he did. And look where it got him—dead, with his head bashed in!”

  To Maggie’s surprise, there was a catch in Dorothy Read’s voice. “Mrs. Read,” she said, “won’t you reconsider taking Emily with you?”

  “No. You keep the damn thing if you like it so much.” She took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “He wasn’t all that bad, you know. You tell that Southby to find out who killed him.” And she stamped out the door.

  Maggie sat for a few minutes before picking Emily up in her arms. “Well, puss,” she said, stroking the soft fur, “it looks as if we’re stuck with each other.” She eased the squirming cat gently back into the basket. “God knows what Harry is going to say.”

  • • •

  ”YOU KNOW I’M allergic to cats,” Harry sulked.

  “Oh, now, Harry, how can you say you’re allergic to cats when we’ve never had one before?”

  “Mother always worried about my allergies and she never allowed a cat into the house.”

  “Your mother . . .” Margaret stopped herself in time. “It’s quite likely you’ve grown out of those childhood allergies by now.”

  In the end, Emily somehow sensed her fate was up to her. After dinner, when Harry was dozing in his armchair, she jumped gently onto his lap, turned around three times, blissfully closed her eyes and started to knead his leg. Margaret couldn’t help smiling when she came into the room with the coffee to see the two of them dozing by the fire, Harry’s fingers gently caressing Emily’s ears.

  The next day was the beginning of the Easter holiday weekend. Emily, now feeling one of the family, sat on the wide windowsill and preened herself in the sunshine, eyeing the birds longingly. Harry, pleased to have a few days off, had decided to tidy up the garden, rake leaves and then clean all the garden tools. Margaret was busy cooking, because Midge was coming home for the weekend. Although she tried hard not to show it when Barbara was around, there was a special bond between Midge and herself. The whole family would get together on Easter Sunday, when Barbara and her husband Charles came for dinner.

  Let’s hope Barbara’s not in one of her preachy moods. Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the slamming of a car door, and a few minutes later, Midge and a lanky, shaggy-haired young man bounced into the room. Midge was holding onto his arm.

  “Mum, this is Jason. Jason, meet my mum—the great detective.”

  Margaret laughed as she wiped her floury hands on a towel. “So glad to meet you at last, Jason. But a detective I’m not. Just a Girl Friday for one.”

  “I bet you solve all his cases for him anyway,” Midge said as she gave her mother a squeeze.

  “I hope it’s okay me coming with Midge,” Jason said, taking her hand firmly into his. “She insisted you wouldn’
t mind.”

  “I told you where I met Jason, didn’t I?”

  “When you were on duty in the emergency ward, wasn’t it?”

  Midge nodded. “The stupid dolt had sprained his knee playing football. He’s still having a bit of a problem with it, so I couldn’t leave him behind now, could I?”

  “Certainly not,” Margaret said, “as long as he doesn’t mind sleeping on the sofa bed in the guest room.” At that point Emily decided to let her presence be known, and jumping down from the sill, wound herself through Midge’s legs.

  “A cat! Mum, you’ve got a cat!”

  “Yes,” Harry said as he entered. “Against all my objections.”

  “But where did it . . . she . . . or whatever come from?”

  “Her name is Emily and it’s a long story. I’ll tell you later,” Margaret answered, giving her daughter a warning look.

  “Well, she’s beautiful,” Midge said, scooping Emily up in her arms. The cat rubbed her head under Midge’s chin. “Come on, Jason,” Midge said, as she reluctantly put the cat down on the floor, “let’s get our stuff from the car, and then I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

  “Hold on a minute, Mildred,” Harry interrupted. “You haven’t said a proper hello to your father yet.”

  “Mildred?” Jason exclaimed.

  Midge laughed, and going over to her father, gave him a hug. “Yes, Jase, that’s the name on my birth certificate.”

  “And a good solid name it is, too,” Harry said primly. “It’s my mother’s second name. But for some obscure reason, my daughter prefers Midge.”

  “Mildred’s a very nice name,” Jason said gallantly.

  Sunday dinner was quite successful. Margaret thought how nice it was to see the two young couples laughing and talking together. The only sour note was overhearing Barbara and Midge talking as they set the table.

  “I hope you’ve talked to her about her working in that awful place,” Barbara said.

  “Certainly not,” Midge had replied. “I think it’s the best thing that ever happened for her.”

  “But it’s humiliating for Father. And it’s not as if they need the money.”

  “For God’s sake, Barbara,” Midge answered, “this is the fifties! Why shouldn’t Mum work if she wants to? Anyway, it’s really none of our business.”

  “But it’s not fair to Father! And then she brings that dreadful cat into the house, knowing that Dad and I are allergic to cats.”

  “Emily and Dad are getting on just fine,” Midge answered her. “He just doesn’t want to admit it.”

  Barbara sniffed. “I should have known you’d be on Mum’s side.”

  “Yes, and so should you. Come on, Barbara, don’t spoil the weekend.”

  • • •

  TUESDAY MORNING BROUGHT Sergeant Farthing and his side-kick Haddock back to Southby’s office.

  “He in?” Farthing nodded toward the closed door.

  “Not yet, Sergeant. Is Mr. Southby expecting you?”

  “We won’t take up much of his valuable time.”

  “He is expecting a client.”

  “We expect to be brief, Mrs. Spencer.”

  Farthing sat staring into space while Haddock did his usual prowl, until Nat finally burst through the door, flinging his hat at the elusive stand. “Hi Maggie, how . . .” He stopped short. “What the hell do you two want?”

  “Just a chat.” Farthing nodded toward Nat’s room. “Shall we?” Nat led the way. “What do you know about Collins and his brother-in-law, Larry Longhurst?” Farthing said without preamble.

  “Only what I said before. Why?”

  “We’ve hauled Longhurst in for questioning.”

  “On what charge?”

  “We think he had a passenger.”

  “Yeah,” Nat said. “I read in the paper. Some pregnant girl found wearing a Seagull life jacket.”

  “How about some pooling of ideas?” Farthing suggested.

  Nat laughed. “Since when do you need me?” He leaned back into his chair. “You’re not getting anywhere with Longhurst, you mean.”

  “Did Collins ever mention a June Cosgrove?”

  “No. Is that the girl in the life jacket?”

  Farthing nodded.

  “So why come to me?”

  “Because I want you to tell your client, from me, that I’m sure as hell they’re both lying, and I’m going to get ’em yet.” He tipped his head toward Haddock and started for the outer office.

  “Hey, before you go,” Nat yelled after the departing pair, “what was that crack you made about taking over my old office?”

  “All in good time, Southby,” Farthing said, tapping the side of his nose with his finger as he pulled violently on the outer door. As he did so, a tall, pale, nervous-looking man practically fell into the room. Bewildered, he shrank back as the two men pushed by him and clattered down the stairs. Maggie, seeing the anxiety on the man’s face, managed to get to him before he turned and followed them. Gently, she took his arm.

  “Mr. Nielson?”

  The man nodded, blinking myopically through his thick lenses.

  “Mr. Southby is ready for you.” She led him into Nat’s room. “This is Mr. Nielson,” she said and went out quickly, closing the door behind her.

  Nat stood and leaned across his desk to shake Nielson’s hand. “You’re right on time, Mr. Nielson. Make yourself comfortable. If you’ll excuse me for just a moment.” And he followed Maggie to the outer office.

  “Time to go sleuthing again, Maggie, old girl.”

  “Where to this time?”

  “I want you to find out where a June Cosgrove lived, what school she attended and when the funeral’s to be held.” “June Cosgrove? Who’s she?”

  “The girl that was found drowned on Tumbo Island.”

  “Where do I start?”

  “The story’s bound to be in today’s Sun. Call them.”

  After Maggie had taken coffee in for Nat and his client, she returned to her desk and reached for the phone. She soon learned that June’s funeral would be held the following Thursday, ten o’clock, at Walter’s Funeral Chapel in Richmond, that the deceased had attended Richmond High and that her parents lived on Francis Road just off No. 2 Road in Richmond.

  “There will be two more mourners on Thursday,” Nat said when she gave him all the details after Nielson had left. “There’s bound to be a crowd, and nobody will notice us.”

  • • •

  “WHY DOES IT ALWAYS rain at funerals?” Maggie asked, as she stepped out of Nat’s car into a puddle. “And we’re miles from the chapel,” she added as she struggled to put up her umbrella. “And I hate funerals!”

  “Stop grumbling, woman,” Nat said, as he took her elbow and steered her around another muddy puddle.

  During the ceremony, Maggie was very moved by the genuine grief of the students from June’s school. Afterwards, as the crowd began to disperse, she saw one girl sobbing uncontrollably and being comforted by a boy about the same age. Remembering Nat’s suggestion that she should try to talk to some of the girls, she made a sign to him and quickly followed the two teenagers as they crossed the road and entered a small café in the next block.

  When she followed them inside and saw them sitting at the counter, she quietly slid onto the empty stool next to the girl. “You must’ve been very close to June,” she said.

  The girl turned to face her. “Yes,” she answered.

  The boy put a protective arm around the girl. “You a reporter or something?” he asked.

  “I was at the funeral,” she said, evading the question.

  “We can’t believe she’s dead,” the girl said, dabbing her eyes.

  “Could I get you a Coke, maybe?” Maggie said, touching the girl’s shoulder.

  “I’ve already ordered,” the boy said brusquely as the waitress set down two Cokes in front of them. “Who are you?”

  “Can I get you something?” the waitress asked Maggie.

 
; “Coffee will be fine,” she answered, and then turned to the boy. “To answer your question, I’m an investigator.” She now had the boy’s full attention.

  “So whatcha investigating?”

  “I was just wondering . . . when was the last time you saw June?”

  “How do we know you’re what you say you are?”

  “Cool it, Tom.” The girl touched his sleeve. “I haven’t seen June since she left school,” she said, nervously twisting a silver ring on her index finger.

  “How long ago was that?”

  The girl thought for a moment. “Must be at least a couple of months.”

  “You were her friend?”

  The girl nodded miserably. “Yes.”

  “You knew she was going away?”

  “You sure you’re not a cop?” the boy broke in.

  Maggie glanced at the boy. “No,” she answered him. “I’m trying to find out what happened.”

  “I’d like to know what happened, too,” the girl said slowly.

  “You knew she was pregnant?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Do you know who the father was?”

  “The guy she was going around with. A real jerk.”

  “Do you think she went away with him?”

  “Him? She told me they were through.”

  The boy stood up. “Come on, Val, we’d better go.”

  “When did she tell you that?” Maggie laid her hand on the girl’s arm. The girl slid off the stool.

  “Just before she disappeared. She called me.”

  “Did she say what she was going to do? Please, Val, this could be very important.”

  “She said everything was fixed up. She’d met up with someone who was going to help her.”

  “Did she say who?” Maggie felt a rush of excitement.

  “Some guy that used to go to our school. He was going to take her to meet someone. Some kinda private adoption place.”

  “And that’s where she went?”

  “I dunno.” The girl’s voice shook.

  “Come on, Val, let’s get outta here.” The boy pulled her toward him.

  “Just a minute,” Maggie said, fishing in her bag for a pen. “If you should think of anything else, please call me.”

  The girl nodded. “Okay, but I don’t know anything else.”