In the Shadow of Death (10 page)

“That's bothering me, too,” he answered. “I'll have a chat with Sawasky and see what he can dig up.”

“You realize this is quite spooky,” Maggie said. “There were six partners. First Fenwick gets blown up, Chandler goes to jail, Guthrie goes missing, and then Sarazine is found dead in the ravine. That's four out of the original six.”

“And Chandler has just been released from jail and is running around with a grudge,” Nat added. “Maggie, I'm worried stiff about you being up there on your own.”

“What alternative is there?”

There was a moment's silence on the line, then Nat said, “Oh, what the hell! I'm coming up there.”

“But what about the Robinson case?”

“They've postponed his court date until September. I'll catch the Monday morning train. You can book a cabin or something for me . . . say, for a week.”

“Can't stay away from me, eh?” Maggie laughed, relieved that he had decided to join her. “Oh, I almost forgot—Guthrie's son and daughter will be arriving tomorrow morning. Nordstrom's flying them in.”

“Son of a gun! Nordstrom! I wonder what prompted that? How's Kate taking it?”

“A bit nervous.”

As Maggie replaced the receiver, she heard a noise behind her and whirled to see Kate standing in the doorway. “Who was blown up? Who's out of jail? What were you talking about?”

“I didn't realize you were there, Kate,” she said, guiding the younger woman to a chair. “Sit down and I'll fill you in.”

“But . . . but . . . how did you find all this out?” she wept, when Maggie had finished relating the bizarre story.

“Nat went to see Nordstrom.”

“But why didn't Douglas tell me about the mine and it being blown up?”

“It happened a long time ago—way before he met you.”

“But he could have told me,” she blubbered.

Probably didn't because he couldn't face crying jags like this one.
“I suppose he thought you would worry.”

“Do you think Brossard knows about the explosion?”

“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.”

M
aggie 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.