Death on a Short Leash Read online

  “You a cop?”

  “No. We’re just trying to find her.”

  “I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Better ask him up there.” She pointed to the stage. “He’s the manager.”

  “Give our Irish colleen a big hand,” the man boomed over the mike, “and welcome Mademoiselle Linnette from Gai Paree!”

  “Could you ask him to give us a few minutes?” Nat said, handing the waitress a fiver and one of his cards.

  They sat through Mademoiselle Linnette’s routine and then Gretel from Hamburg and then an act that brought on the most appreciative noise of the evening. “Pretty Paula with her Pouting Pigeons” walked onto the stage with a dove on each shoulder and immediately struck a pose. Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off the girl, who stood absolutely still while the two doves pecked at the ribbons on her shoulders until they had untied them. The doves flew into the air while the stripper’s sheer camisole floated gently to the ground, exposing two well-shaped breasts (with tassels, naturally). The doves then flew down to the girl’s hands, which rested on her hips, and pecked at the ties holding up the flimsy skirt. This, accompanied by more whistles and catcalls, floated down to join the camisole on the stage, leaving Pretty Paula completely naked except for a sparkling G-string.

  Maggie was still recovering from the act when the manager approached and threw Nat’s card down on the table. “What d’ya want?”

  “You know her?” Nat asked, showing the man Johanna’s photo.

  The man picked it up. “Maybe. Who’s asking?”

  “She’s missing,” Nat answered.

  “You the cops?”

  “No. We’ve been hired to find her.”

  “That little bitch has caused me a lot of trouble. I’ve got her billed as part of my International Revue —Heidi from Holland.”

  He sighed. “The clients loved her, with those long blonde braids and that innocent schoolgirl look . . . went over great with them.”

  “And she stripped?” Maggie asked, awed.

  “Why not?”

  “When did you see her last?” Nat asked.

  “Couple of weeks ago. Must’ve been around the second of September.”

  “Didn’t you wonder where she’d gone?” Nat asked.

  “Sure. I was steamed, but I figure she’d gone off to strut her stuff someplace else!”

  “Can we speak to some of the girls backstage?”

  “I dunno ’bout that.” But another folded bill changed hands, and the manager tilted his head for them to follow him backstage. Banging on the door of a dressing room, he flung it open to reveal several girls sitting in front of makeup mirrors. “This gent wants to talk to you about Heidi.” He turned to Nat. “Make it snappy. They’re due back on the stage in ten minutes.”

  “She’s gone for good, eh?” Gretel asked. “Can’t say I blame her. He’s a pig to work for.”

  “She didn’t say anything to you about leaving?” Maggie asked.

  “Heidi was very quiet.” Maggie turned to the speaker, a dark-haired girl dressed in a multicoloured Mexican skirt—and little else. “But she had a boyfriend,” she continued. “He usually picked her up as soon as the show was over.” She bent to stroke the chihuahua that sat shivering on a velvet cushion at her feet.

  “What a cute little dog,” Maggie exclaimed.

  “Chi-Chi. He’s part of my act,” the girl explained. Maggie couldn’t even imagine what part the poor little thing played.

  “Did any of you get to know her well?” Nat asked.

  “Not really,” the girl billed as Gretel answered. “She always acted like we wasn’t good enough for her.” Maggie noted that all the girls had Canadian accents. So much for international flavour.

  Just as they were about to leave the dressing room, Maggie asked, “What did the man who picked Johanna up look like?”

  “Never really got to see him, did we, Conchita?”

  “No. Always waited in his car out back.”

  “Do you think he could have been blond?”

  “Naw,” Gretel said. “He looked dark-haired to me.”

  After thanking the girls and leaving one of their cards, Maggie and Nat left the club and headed back to Kitsilano. “Well!” Nat remarked as he pulled up in front of Maggie’s house. “And to think her parents had no idea.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “So,” Nat asked the following morning, “did you sleep well after your night on the town?”

  “I’ll never be able to look another dove in the face,” Maggie answered, laughing. “But that nightclub sure puts another face on Johanna Evans’ disappearance.” She paused as she looked down at the list in front of her. “I’ve been looking over the names that Marie left for us. I think the vet, Dr. Carl Williams, would be the one to start with. Then there’s a girlfriend, Sandra Owens, and a boyfriend, Hans Van Dyke.”

  “Give the vet a call,” Nat said, “and make an appointment for one of us to go around there.”

  Maggie nodded and reached for the telephone. “Little Pets Hospital,” a harried female voice answered. Maggie could hear the sound of yapping dogs in the background.

  “I’d like to speak to Dr. Williams.”

  “He’s busy with a patient,” the girl answered. “Can I help you?”

  “No. I need to speak to him myself. It’s quite urgent.”

  “Is it about a pet?”

  “No, it’s a personal matter.”

  “Oh. Well, you’d better give me your number and I’ll get him to call you as soon as he’s free.”

  The next two calls were more successful. Sandra Owens agreed to meet with Maggie the following lunchtime. And when Maggie explained to Hans Van Dyke who she was, he said, “I’ll do anything to help.” Though the young man was obviously foreign-born, his English was as good as Marie’s. He then volunteered the information that he was a student at the Vancouver Vocational Institute and could come to the agency’s office after classes the next day.

  “Fine,” she answered. “We’re located at 1687 Broadway. Suite 301.”

  She had just replaced the receiver when the phone rang.

  “Mrs. Spencer? This is Dr. Carl Williams. What’s this about?”

  “Thanks for returning my call,” Maggie answered brightly. “It’s about your assistant, Johanna Evans.”

  “My late assistant. If you’re phoning to get her job back, you’re wasting your time—and mine!”

  “Why do you say that, Dr. Williams?”

  “That girl left me in a helluva mess. Just didn’t turn up one day. Not a phone call or even a note. Nobody does that to me.”

  “Johanna’s missing, Dr. Williams. We’ve been asked to find her.”

  “I can’t help you. Don’t know what my assistants get up to outside of business hours.”

  “All the same, Dr. Williams, Mr. Southby would like to speak to you. When will it be convenient?”

  “It’s not convenient . . . oh, all right!” He sounded exasperated as he turned from the phone to yell, “Bring my appointment book . . . not that one, stupid!” Maggie could hear a girl’s voice murmuring, then Williams interrupted with, “Here, for God’s sake, give it to me . . . tomorrow one-thirty. I can give him ten minutes.”

  “And what is your address?” Maggie asked sweetly.

  “It’s in the Yellow Pages.” He slammed the phone down.

  “Pig!” she muttered as she pulled the Yellow Pages toward her.

  It was close to five when Maggie poked her head into Nat’s office. “You’ve got an appointment with Dr. Carl Williams—he’s the vet—at one-thirty tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Where?”

  “Richmond. Just off No. 3 Road.”

  “And what will you be doing?”

  “Sandra Owens works in Eaton’s lingerie, so I’m meeting her for lunch tomorrow.” Maggie struggled into her coat. “I get Sandra, you get the good doctor.”

  “What’s wrong with the good doctor?” Nat asked. “I hear something odd in your voice.” M
aggie grinned. “You’ll see when you meet him.”

  “Great!” He reached for his coat. “Do you want to go to a movie tonight?”

  Maggie shook her head. “Come over and see how nice the house looks now that I’ve put everything in its proper place. I’ll even feed you.”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” Nat said with a grin. “I’ll bring the wine.”

  • • •

  THE NEXT MORNING Maggie awoke to the sound of Nat whistling happily in the kitchen downstairs, and, looking out of the bedroom window, saw it was a perfect Indian summer day. “One never knows what to wear in this climate,” she mumbled, searching in the back of her closet. She took a quick glance at herself in the mirror as she pinned a blue silk scarf to the shoulder of her dress. “That’ll have to do.” The face that reflected back to her belied the fact that she would be fifty-two next March. Her English peaches-and-cream complexion and her sparkling blue eyes still caused a few hearts to flutter, the main one being that of her boss and lover, who was downstairs preparing breakfast.

  • • •

  SANDRA OWENS NERVOUSLY pushed her lank brown hair away from her face. “I don’t think I can help you very much,” she said, peering short-sightedly at Maggie through her thick glasses.

  “But you are Johanna’s friend?”

  “Well, kind of.” She reached for her cup of coffee. “Sometimes she asked me to go to the movies with her . . .” Her eyes misted over. “We went to see The King and I. Yul Brynner and Deborah Kerr. Did you see it? Wasn’t it marvellous?”

  “Yes. I saw it a couple of years ago. About Johanna . . .”

  “Well . . . it was a Saturday afternoon,” the girl continued, hitching her chair closer to Maggie. “We saw the show and then Johanna suggested we go have tea at the White Spot.”

  “Yes?” Maggie encouraged.

  “We were eating our cream puffs when she told me that she was going to Abbotsford the following Saturday.”

  “Who did she know in Abbotsford?”

  Sandra put her cup down and leaned across the table conspiratorially. “She said that she was going to see some dogs there. It was someplace that had a really weird name. Something about a light.”

  “A light?”

  “Something about a circle of light. Have you heard of anything like that?”

  Maggie shook her head. “Did she say why she was going there?”

  “No. Just that she needed to see this place.”

  “And did she get in touch with you afterwards?”

  “No. That was the last time I saw her.”

  “How long have you known Johanna?”

  “We were in high school together. Then her parents moved up the coast someplace . . . Gibsons, I think it is . . . but Johanna stayed in the city to take some courses at the vocational school for looking after animals. So we lost touch.”

  “Easy to do,” Maggie commented. “So what did you do after you left school?”

  “Me? Oh, my dad got me my job in Eaton’s. You can just imagine the surprise Johanna gave me when she walked into my department about six months ago.” She leaned toward Maggie to add in a whisper, “To buy a push-up bra!” Then she sat back in her chair. “We’ve seen each other a few times since.” Then she added as an afterthought, “I do hope you find her.”

  “If you hear from her,” Maggie said, picking up the tab, “please call me at this number.” And she handed over one of the agency’s cards. “I’ve written my home phone number on the back.” Then, gathering up her purse, she asked, “Have you ever met Johanna’s boyfriend, Hans?”

  “No. Didn’t know she had one.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” Maggie asked brightly.

  Sandra nodded, a faint blush rising up her thin neck. “Desmond. He’s in menswear.”

  • • •

  NAT WAS ACTUALY quite nervous around small dogs and cats—he tolerated Emily because she belonged to Maggie—so he was rather glad when he opened the door to the waiting room of Richmond Little Pets Hospital and found it devoid of pets, except for a black rabbit clutched in the arms of a small freckled-faced boy. A short man sporting a neat black goatee and dressed in an immaculate white coat stood behind the counter. “Dr. Williams?” Nat asked.

  “Be with you in a minute,” the man answered before turning back to the child. “Get your mother to give the rabbit these pills. Instructions are on the bottle.” The boy nodded and began trying to stuff the squirming animal back into its cardboard box.

  “Here,” Nat said, “let me help.” The animal put up quite a struggle, but eventually it was subdued and in the box, and with Nat holding the lid on firmly, the boy quickly tied it up with a piece of string.

  “Thanks, mister,” the boy said, making for the door.

  “Tell your mother she now owes me ten dollars, and don’t bring that animal back here without it,” Williams called out angrily. “And if the pills don’t work, eat the damn thing.” The boy gave the vet a terrified look and ran out the door. “It’s like getting blood out of a stone to get those people to pay up,” the doctor muttered before turning to Nat. “Now what can I do for you?”

  “Nat Southby. My assistant phoned. About Johanna.”

  The doctor turned away without replying.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Nat persisted. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  “I suppose you’d better come into my office,” the man replied grudgingly. “This better not take long—I only take a half-hour lunch break.”

  Nat took in the man’s appearance. Roman nose, brown hair and eyes, the snowy-white lab coat making a perfect setting for the man’s bronze-tanned face. Looks as if he’s just returned from the Riviera, Nat thought, not a little envious, and he’s probably only in his thirties. “When was the last time you saw Johanna?” Nat asked, before they were even seated.

  “A couple of weeks now. I had to get temporary help.” He scowled as he munched on a sandwich while pouring himself a cup of coffee from a Thermos on his desk. He did not offer Nat any. “You know what they’re like.” Nat nodded. He’d been that route several times before Maggie came into his life. “I had to get rid of her,” Williams continued, “and hire another full-time assistant.”

  “How did Johanna seem when you last saw her?”

  “Same as usual.”

  “She didn’t seem worried about anything?”

  “I’m a vet. Not a bloody psychiatrist. How the hell would I know if she was worried about something?”

  “Did you meet any of her friends? Her boyfriend, for instance?”

  “I run this hospital on a strictly professional basis. What she did after hours was her business.” The man stood up. “Sorry I’m not much help.” There was no sorrow in his voice.

  As he got up, Nat reached into his pocket and handed over one of his business cards. “Perhaps you’d give me a call if you hear from her.”

  Williams nodded and threw the card onto the desk. “I’ll see you out.”

  Nat was surprised to see that the waiting room was now quite full. I hope the good doctor shows better manners with his clients than he showed me, he thought, as he skirted three blue-rinse matrons and their expensive-looking lapdogs. He reached down and tentatively patted a black spaniel huddled close to an elderly man. “Nice dog,” he said. He was lucky that he got his hand away before the ‘nice’ dog’s teeth sank into it.

  “Do come in with Peaches,” Nat heard Williams say. He looked back to see the vet leading one of the matrons and her tiny white poodle into his office. “How are you both feeling today?” he asked unctuously.

  “Bloody shyster,” Nat muttered, slipping his key into his elderly Chevy’s ignition.

  • • •

  MAGGIE, LOADED DOWN with shopping bags, risked using the ancient elevator up to their office on the second floor and had to wait for what seemed an eternity before it wheezed to a stop and the wrought-iron gate opened. As she put her key into the office door, the phone
that had been ringing stopped, but she made a lunge for it anyway. “Damn! Too late.” She saw that Henny had left for the day and Nat had not returned from his meeting with Dr. Carl Williams. She was busy filling the coffee carafe when the door opened and her winded partner-in-crime appeared. He still absolutely refused to put his life on the line by using the antiquated lift.

  “How did you get on with Sandra?” he asked, after he’d got his breath.

  “Tell you over lunch,” she replied, unwrapping a packet of sandwiches.

  “Food! I’m starved,” he said, making a grab for one of them.

  “Hey!” she laughed. “Get your own.”

  “Come on, Maggie,” he wheedled, “and I’ll tell you about Dr. Williams.”

  “Okay, but tomorrow you bring the lunch,” she answered.

  “Here’s yours,” she added, reaching into her bag for another packet.

  • • •

  HANS VAN DYKE WAS every mother’s dream of a match for her daughter, and Maggie could easily understand Marie hoping that he was. Tall, grey-blue eyes, light-brown wavy hair, looking more Nordic than Dutch, he was dressed in casual grey slacks, a blue shirt and a back-pleated, tweed sports jacket. He must be over six feet, Maggie thought as she escorted him to the visitor’s chair and then slid into her own seat.

  “You have no news about Johanna?” he said, leaning over the desk toward her.

  Maggie shook her head. “Not so far. You’ve known her how long?”

  “About six months. I met her through her cousin Kees —he’s taking the same courses I am. Johanna and I just seemed to hit it off right away, but you understand,” he added hastily, “we weren’t serious. I date a lot of girls.”

  I just bet you do, Maggie thought. “Did she confide in you at all?”

  “About her job, you mean?”

  “That and anything else she might have been worried about.”

  He was thoughtful for a few moments. “She mentioned a few times what a jerk her boss was, but,” he shrugged, “who doesn’t moan about one’s boss—or teacher, for that matter.”