In the Shadow of Death (2 page)

“What's wrong with his housekeeper?”

“He fired her.”

Casually, Maggie twisted the wedding band she had worn for twenty-eight years. “Well, Barbara, he'll have to find another one. In any case, it really is no concern of mine.”

“For goodness sake, Mother, people like you and Father don't break up after being married all those years. Don't you care what you're doing to the family? Charles and I find it very embarrassing. None of our friends' parents are separated. Your place is with Daddy.”

“You mean I'm ruining your image? Barbara dear, I'll call you back later.” Maggie replaced the phone with a sigh.

Nat fiddled with his coffee cup.

“Why can't they leave me alone?” Maggie demanded. Her happy mood gone, she started to stack the plates, crashing them into the sink with a little more vigour than necessary. Despite her protest, Nat helped her by drying the dishes, but sensing that she needed to be alone, left soon after.

Before getting ready for bed, Maggie let Emily out into the garden and stood for awhile at the kitchen window, watching the cat chase imaginary somethings under the bushes. Then, feeling completely exhausted, she sank down in her armchair, closed her eyes and thought back to how stagnant her life had been before she went to work for Nat Southby. But here was Harry still doing his best to bully her back to that life, Barbara loading her with guilt, and Nat wanting their relationship to be closer.
I have to get away. I'm being pulled in so many different directions that it's like a . . . a . . . tug-of-war, with me the rope.

• • •

THE NEXT MORNING
, Maggie pushed her key into the lock of the Southby's Investigation's door. She dumped her bag on her desk, flung open the window that overlooked Broadway, and leaned out to breathe the warm June air. She turned as Nat walked into the office and watched him throw his hat at the wicker stand, as he did every morning, and miss as usual. He waited for the usual reprimand from Maggie, but this morning she gave him only a fleeting smile.

“What's wrong?” he asked, bending to retrieve the hat.

Maggie sat on the edge of her desk. “I've got to get away, Nat . . . somewhere, anywhere.”

There was silence as he straightened up and placed the hat on the stand. “You want to leave?” he ventured at last.

“Just for awhile, a couple of weeks at most.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Is this to do with Harry turning up yesterday?”

She nodded. “That and the call from Barbara.”

“Can you wait until we're not so busy, so we could go away together?”

Maggie shook her head. “No, Nat. It isn't that. I need to get away on my own . . . and right now.”

“Where would you go?”

“Jodie, my landlady, has a sister living in the Cariboo. She and her husband run a dude ranch.”

“But who would run the office while you're away?”

“Nat Southby,” she said firmly, “sooner or later you're going to have to face the fact that we're going to have to get some extra office help anyway. The business has expanded and we can't do everything with just the two of us anymore.”

“I suppose you're right,” Nat replied gloomily. “I just hate the thought of having to go that route again.” He pretended to duck as he added, “With my luck, I'll end up hiring another bossy Maggie Spencer.”

Later that morning, he looked up to see her standing in his office doorway. “I've put an ad in the
Sun
for part-time help,” she said. “Okay?”

“You've what?” he exploded. “We've not talked this out, Maggie!”

“I knew you'd just keep putting it off. And I'm serious about having a couple of weeks vacation.”

“But where would we put the girl?”

“All we have to do is move a couple of the filing cabinets in here, then buy a second-hand desk for me . . . ”

“But . . . ” Nat began.

“ . . . and a bit of shifting of the furniture in the outer office,” Maggie continued gaily. She stopped to think for a moment. “Yes, that should do the trick. Put my new desk across that corner near the window, move the small table to the other wall . . . then there would be plenty of room.” She walked out of his office, then came back. “I'll leave you to find me a new desk. Okay, Mr. Private Eye?”

And she exited, leaving Nat staring glumly at the closed door.

That afternoon, Maggie called through the open doorway, “Nat, would you give me your schedule for the rest of the week so that I can confirm your appointments?”

Nat walked out to stand beside her desk and gave an ostentatious sigh. “I suppose it's about time that I started doing my own phoning.” Then an impish grin lit up his face. “No, wait a minute. On second thought, you can carry on until we get ourselves this new Girl Friday you're hiring. And by the way,” he added, looking at Maggie's astonished face, “Murphy's Stationery over on West Fifth has a number of used desks. You just have to go in and pick one out. They'll deliver.” The smile on his face got broader as he tasted Maggie's lipstick that was now on his lips, too. “Wow! Maggie,” he said wonderingly, “what else would you like?”

• • •

A FEW DAYS LATER
Maggie, flipping up her day diary to Wednesday, June 10, saw that secretarial applicant number four was due in the office at ten o'clock. Applicants one and two had been fresh out of high school and were obviously looking for jobs to tide them over until something better would turn up, and number three's typing skills had left a lot to be desired.
Well, number four can't be much worse, I suppose.

Promptly at ten, she heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. The door banged open against the bamboo hat stand, making it wobble precariously. A woman in her forties stomped in, and Maggie's gaze travelled upward to the top of the visitor's head. She was at least five eleven, dressed completely in brown, from her felt hat that sported a small pheasant feather tucked in the grosgrain ribbon, to the serge, double-breasted suit, lisle stockings and brown oxfords. The only concession to colour was a no-nonsense white shirt. Maggie tried not to gasp as her small hand was crushed in a huge paw.

“Henny Vandermeer,” the woman said. “Here for job.” She dumped a huge, bulging tapestry bag beside the visitor's chair and sat down heavily.

Maggie eyed this new applicant with trepidation. “You do understand that we are only offering part-time employment?” she said tentatively.

The woman nodded. “Ja. I understand,” she said in a thick accent. “Suit me fine. I haff two kids at home.”

Maggie hesitated before asking the next question. “Are you a single mother, Mrs. Vandermeer?”

Henny Vandermeer drew herself up. “I haff you know, I am respectable married woman, Mrs. . . ?”

“Spencer,” Maggie answered, then quickly went on to her next question. “You've worked in an office before?”

“I haff my references,” the woman replied. She dug into the bag and hauled out a ball of thick natural wool and a length of knitting speared with two wooden knitting needles, which she placed on Maggie's desk. A packet of wrapped sandwiches, a Thermos, and finally several sheets of wrinkled paper followed. “See!”

Maggie took the proffered papers, and, quickly glancing through them, saw that indeed each one sang the praises of Henny Vandermeer. And all said how sorry they were to lose her. “You have worked in a number of places, I see.”

“Ja. Never fails. No sooner I get an office going right, then that office close down or they haff to cut back on staff.” She sat back in the chair and surveyed the room. “I see you haff good typewriter?”

“Yes. You
can
type?” Maggie said, half hoping the answer would be “no.”

“Oh ja. Got top A in typing school.”

Maggie's heart sank. “But English is not your mother tongue.”

“But I speak English just fine. Ja?” She looked toward Nat's door. “The boss, he is in there?”

“Mr. Southby's out at the moment, Mrs. Vandermeer, and in any case, you would be working principally for me.”
That should be enough to scare her off.

“You call me Henny. I
should
see boss I work for.”

“I'm sure he'll be sorry he's missed you.” Maggie stood up. “We'll get in touch with y—”

“When do I start?” Henny reached down to pick up her bag.

“Start?”

“Tomorrow is Thursday,” Henny said. “You show me around now, and I come to start in morning.”

“But you said you needed to see the . . . the boss . . . ”

“Change my mind. You'll do fine.”

Oh my God! What will Nat say?
“Mrs. . . . I mean, Henny, are you sure you want to work here?” Maggie handed the woman's papers back to her. “It can be very hectic. You see, Mr.Southby and I have some very unusual clients. We are an investigating firm . . . detectives, you know . . . ”

“You keep those to show boss,” Henny answered, thrusting the papers back into Maggie's hands. “I know you a detective agency. I look you up. I be good investigating.”

“But you wouldn't be doing any investigating,” Maggie explained, keeping her voice calm. “What we are looking for is someone to do all the office work—typing, filing, answering the phone, that kind of thing. So you see . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

“Ja. That's why I'm here. Now show me what I haff to do.”

Maggie stood up.
Oh, what the hell! There's no more applicants, so he'll just have to put up with her until I get back from Williams Lake. Anyway, all those recommendations must mean something, I suppose.

• • •

“
I'VE HIRED OUR NEW
Girl Friday,” Maggie told Nat when he arrived later that afternoon. “Her name is Henny Vandermeer and she starts tomorrow,” she finished with a rush.

“Tomorrow! That's soon, isn't it?” He looked closely at Maggie. “What's up? You seem a bit nervous. You didn't hire one of those kids you interviewed, did you?”

“No, no. She's about forty-ish and married with two kids at home.” Maggie took a deep breath.

“Vandermeer? That's Dutch, isn't it?”

“I don't really know. She has a thick accent.”
Among other things.

“Well, if you're satisfied with her, she must be okay.”

“I'll give her a week's training before I go,” she answered.

“You can't wait to get away from me, can you?” Nat asked sadly.

“It's not you and you know it, Nat,” and she slipped an arm around his waist. “I don't want to leave you—just my blasted family.” But Maggie wasn't being exactly honest—Nat's love for her was part of the problem.

That evening, Maggie phoned Harry.

“What do you want, Margaret?” he asked stiffly.

“I wondered if you would do something for me, Harry.” Then, before he could answer, she said, “Could you look after Emily while I go away for a couple of weeks?”

“The cat! Is that all you want me for? A cat sitter?”

“I need to get a way for awhile,” she explained.

“At long last you see my point.”

Maggie could picture him gloating. “It's not that at all, Harry . . . ”

“You've made your bed, Margaret Spencer, and as my grandmother would say, you can now lie in it. Goodnight.”

Fuming, Maggie replaced the receiver.
Why did I ever think he'd understand?And what the devil am I going to do with Emily?

• • •

THE NEXT MORNING
, when Maggie looked out of her bedroom window, she saw the sun was shining. A beautiful day! But there was something nagging at the back of her mind. What was it? The feeling persisted right through her breakfast.
What's wrong?
As she showered, she couldn't shrug off the feeling of impending doom. It wasn't until she was towelling that it came to her.
Oh my God. Henny!
She raced back into the bedroom, slipped into the skirt and blouse she had worn the day before, and after making sure Emily had food and water, ran to her car.

The traffic seemed slower than ever.
I must get to the office before Nat meets Henny.
But she was too late! Even before she entered the outer office, she could hear the thick guttural voice.

“Mr. Nat. You in there?” The woman was banging on Nat's door and then putting her ear against it to listen. When a muffled answer came through the connecting door, she turned to Maggie. “What he say?”

“I think he said yes,” she answered, trying not to smile. “You've met Mr. Southby, then?”

“Ja. He said fast hello and then went in office quick.” She waved a mug in the air. “He likes coffee, ja?”

“Ja . . . I mean yes,” Maggie answered, flustered. “That's very kind of you to make it.”

“That my job, ja?” She turned back to Nat's door.

“Never mind, Henny, I'll take it.” Grabbing the mug from her new assistant's hand, Maggie tapped lightly on the door. “It's me, Nat.” The door opened just wide enough for her to slip through before Nat shut it again.

“Who's that woman?” he hissed.

“Henny.” She smiled sweetly. “Our new Girl Friday.”

“Well, get rid of her.”

“You've got to give her a chance.” She reached for his in-tray and extracted the papers she had left for him. “Look, these are her references. Everyone praises her.”

“Does she understand English?”

“Yes. I'm sure she'll be able to cope. After all, she only has to copy what you write,” Maggie answered, smiling. ”You'll just have to watch your spelling a little. And besides,” she finished, turning to go out, “she was the best of the bunch.”

The next week was a nightmare as Henny tried her best to mother Nat. “Maggie, look what she's brought me,” he said, pointing to a plate of large, lumpy oatmeal cookies. “You know how I hate oatmeal cookies.” He pushed the plate toward Maggie. “Here, you have them.”