In the Shadow of Death (9 page)

Sitting tentatively on the edge of the chair, Nat was sure the thing was going to tip over and land him on the thick, piled carpet. “Guthrie's wife has engaged us to find him. He's an old friend of yours?”

“I don't know if you would exactly call him a friend, since he took our little Katie away.” He laughed in a deprecating way.

“Has Kate called you?” Nat Southby asked.

“No. Was she supposed to?”

“I just wondered.”

“I find it hard to believe that Doug Guthrie could be missing,” Teasdale mused. He pushed a cigarette into a gold holder, and after lighting it, took a long drag. “He's far too sensible. Mislaid, perhaps.” He laughed at his own joke.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Teasdale drew on the cigarette, the smoke wafting gently over to his visitor's nicotine-starved body, and leaned back into his chair. “Let me see. It would've been about a month ago. He was in town to see his mother and those two brats of his.”

“Was Kate with him?”

“No. Seemed to be one of those duty visits. We got together for dinner as we usually do when he's down this way.”

“Could you possibly give me the exact date?”

Teasdale leaned forward and punched a button on the speakerphone. “Yes, Mr. Teasdale?” the voice answered.

“Catherine, be a dear and look into my appointment book and see when Douglas Guthrie was here last. Sometime in May, I think.” He turned back to Nat. “How long has he been missing?”

“Over two weeks.”

“Mmm. That's not like old Doug. I suppose Katie's beside herself?”

“And he hasn't called you at all?”

“No.”

“Perhaps your secretary could have taken a call from him while you were out.”

“She'd have taken a message if he had.” The speakerphone buzzed. “Yes, Catherine?”

“Monday, May 12, Mr. Teasdale,” she answered. “I made reservations for you at Oscar's Steak House for dinner.”

“Yes. I remember now. Doug's favourite dining spot. And oh, by the way, Catherine, has Mister Guthrie called here during the past week or two?”

“No, Mr. Teasdale. I would have mentioned it if he had,” she replied.

“Thank you, dear.” He turned back to Nat. “Sorry I can't help you more than that.”

“Just a few more things—when you last met, did he seem worried? Tense? Anything unusual?”

“No, he seemed perfectly okay to me. Apart from being angry about his two kids being so anti-Kate—you know he was married before?—he was in a very happy frame of mind.”

“Do you know any of his other friends or acquaintances?”

“A few from the old days. Doug and I went to high school together. That was before he went to the States and made his pile. And then he went completely mad and took over his dad's ranch.”

“Have you been there?”

“I flew up a few times in my Cessna when Doug and Deb were still married,” he answered. “Wild Rose Lake has an easy approach, but I haven't been up there since he and Katie married.”

“His first wife didn't like the ranch, I take it.”

“She hated it. Deb's a real city girl.” He looked at his watch. “I'm sorry to have to hurry you along, Mr. Southby,” he said suddenly, “but I have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“When he was here last,” Nat asked, trying to get out of the chair without tipping it, “did he mention meeting with any of his old friends while he was in the city?”

“No. But he's been living in the Cariboo for at least twelve years, and most of his recent business dealings were up there.” He started tidying his already tidy desk. “In fact, I seem to recall he went into partnership with some guys in a gold mine up there.”

“A gold mine?”

Teasdale nodded. “And before you ask, I don't know who the other partners were.” He walked around his desk and held the door open.

“I'd appreciate a call if you think of anything.”

Teasdale nodded. “Tell Katie how sorry I am. Ask her to give me a buzz.”

As Nat exited the building, he drew in a deep breath of air. “Welcome back to the real world, Nat old son,” he said quietly. Stopping beside his car, he put another nickel in the parking metre. He would walk the few blocks to Nordstrom and Kraft's office.

Granville Street was lined at ground level with stores, cafés and office buildings. The owners of a couple of jewellery stores, obviously concerned by the rash of robberies that had broken out all over the city, had installed iron grills that covered both doors and plate-glass windows. But there was nothing to impede his view of the crazy gadgets in the Krak-a-Joke Shop, and Nat spent a happy ten minutes looking in the window, almost wishing he had kids. He quickly pushed that awful thought away.

When he finally located Nordstrom and Kraft's office, he discovered it was located over a double-fronted furniture store displaying cheap but serviceable walnut- and pine-veneered bedroom and dining room suites and brightly coloured Arborite kitchen sets. The door to the upstairs offices was on the side of the building and opened directly into a small stone-tiled lobby. Next to the elevator was a glass-fronted board with a list of all the occupants. Nordstrom and Kraft were to be found on the third floor, number 303. As the elevator was in a worse condition than the one in his own building, he opted for the stairs. As he knocked and opened the door into the office, a small woman, her salt-and-pepper hair curled under in a dated pageboy style, looked up from her Royal typewriter.

“Yes?”

“Southby to see Mr. Nordstrom.”

Her hazel eyes peered through thick lenses, taking in Nat's appearance. “Oh . . . yes. The detective.”

“Investigator,” Nat corrected her.

“Please take a seat.” She rose from her wooden chair and tapped gently on the door behind her, opened it and disappeared inside. He could hear a muted conversation going on before she returned. “Mr. Nordstrom will see you shortly.” She resumed banging at the ancient machine.

While he waited, Nat prowled around the room, looking at the pictures depicting mines, freighters and docks. “This company been going long, Miss . . . ?”

“Agnes Agnew. Since 1916. Mr. Nordstrom took over from his father, Mr. Albert Nordstrom senior, twenty years ago.

“And Mr. Kraft?”

“Sadly, deceased,” she answered. “He passed over to the other side a dozen years back.”

Nat tried to look suitably sorry. Then, “I guess you've been with the firm a long time?”

“I joined Nordstrom and Kraft straight from secretarial school. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've work to do.”

Temporarily chastened, Nat turned back to the pictures, then swung around again. “Then you must know Douglas Guthrie?”

“He used to be in a lot. Before he got divorced, of course.” She hit the typewriter keys vigorously.

Nat opened his mouth to ask another question, but was forestalled by the inner door opening. A large auburn-haired man sporting a shaggy moustache came out, extending his hand. “Sorry to have kept you. Long phone call. Come in.”

Nordstrom returned to his massive leather armchair and placed his hands on the file-littered oak desk. The only incongruous note was a cut-glass vase holding two pink carnations.
A touch from the devoted Agnes, perhaps?
“Take a seat,” Albert Nordstrom said, indicating a chair. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I told your secretary over the phone that Douglas Guthrie hasn't been seen for quite awhile and that his wife's asked us to trace him.”

“Ah yes, yes. Agnes told me . . . Doug missing?” He gave a chuckle. “Hard to believe he would leave that new little wife of his behind. Quite a looker.” He nodded toward the door. “Agnes really disapproves.” He opened a desk drawer, withdrew a pouch of tobacco and proceeded to fill a Meerschaum. “Mind if I smoke?” He glanced briefly at Nat, then, without waiting for an answer, lit the tobacco. Nat drew in a lung full of smoke as a breeze from the slightly opened window swirled it toward him.

“When was the last time you heard from him?”

“About ten days ago, I guess. It was a phone call.”

Nat sat forward in his chair. “Can you be more exact?”

Nordstrom thought for a moment, tapping the stem of his pipe against his yellowed teeth. “It was a Sunday,” he said suddenly. “I know because I sleep in on Sundays and the phone woke me up. So it must've been . . .” he consulted his calendar. “June 7.”

“Could you tell me what the call was about? It could help our investigation.”

Nordstrom sat quietly for a moment, obviously trying to decide how much to tell Nat. “It was about an old gold mine he and some other guys worked nine or ten years ago,” he answered cautiously. “He asked for my advice.”

“Advice?”

Nordstrom nodded. “The mine went belly up after they'd worked it for four years. My investors were not happy.”

“I can understand that. But why bring it up now? Surely it's ancient history.”

“Well-l-l, there's more to it.” He seemed reluctant to enlighten the detective.

Nat waited.

Nordstrom fidgeted in his chair before finally answering. “One of his partners blew it up.”

“The mine?” Nat asked incredulously.

“Yep. Guess he was bloody mad at the time.”

“Mad at what?”

Nordstrom shrugged. “Who knows? The unfortunate thing was, he blew up another guy with it.”

“Bloody hell!”

“Guy named Fenwick.” He sucked on his pipe and blew another cloud of smoke over Nat's head. “A real rough character, drunk most of the time.”

“So what happened?”

“Chandler, he's the son of a bitch that set the fuse, got eight years for manslaughter.”

“I would think so.”

Nordstrom leaned back in his chair and drew on the now bubbling pipe. “And now he's out.”

“Out of jail?”

“You've got it. Called Doug Guthrie and said he was going to get even.”

“Even?”

“Yep. Said he was framed.”

“Why did Guthrie call you?”

“Been friends for years. Heck, Guthrie's boy even works for me.” He stood up behind his desk. “So between you and me, I think Doug's probably just made himself scarce for awhile, waiting till Chandler calms down.”

“Did you invest in this mine?” Nat said, getting up.

“As I said, a few of my clients did.” Nordstrom drew in another lung full of smoke. “They weren't at all happy about the way things turned out.”

“Is this the mine located near Guthrie's ranch?”

“No, no. That shaft was sunk before my father's time. Far as I know, it never produced a thing. Doug's mine was near Mirror Lake . . . no . . . that's not it.” Nordstrom thought for a moment. “It's been a long time . . . I've got it. Shadow . . . Shadow Lake Mine. But as I said, it was dynamited ten years ago. There's nothing left of it.”

“I see. Thanks for your help.”

“You said Kate's brought you in on this?”

Nat nodded. “My assistant, Margaret Spencer, is up at the ranch with her now.”

“Is that so?”

After making sure that Nat was safely out of the office and pounding down the stairs, Nordstrom closed his door firmly, then returned to his desk and reached for the telephone.

• • •

WHILE NAT HAD BEEN
having his uplifting experience in Ray Teasdale's electric blue world, Maggie had been out on the range for another riding lesson with Hendrix.

“Thought you'd shy off having another go on Angel,” he said.

“Why is that, Mr. Hendrix?”

“Figured you'd be chicken after she threw you. Most women would.”

“Well,” Maggie replied, “perhaps I'm not like most women.”

He grinned. “I guess not. That how come you're a private dick?”

“Who told you that?”

“Brossard. He figures you should mind your own business.”

“And what do you figure, Mr. Hendrix?”

“I figure we should see how you and Angel do at a trot.” And he led the way out of the yard.

When Maggie returned to the house at noon, her face glowing with the clear air and the unaccustomed exercise, she found Kate near tears again. “What's wrong?” Maggie asked.

“I had a phone call from Jamie,” Kate answered. “Albert Nordstrom's flying both him and Christine up in the morning.”

“Oh?”

“That's all I need,” Kate said miserably. “Apparently, they have decided to take Douglas' disappearance seriously, so they're coming to talk to Brossard and Hendrix.”

“Why Hendrix?”

“Christine told Jamie that it's obvious I can't manage the ranch on my own, and the family should see how Hendrix is coping.” She sighed. “They're staying overnight. I've got to prepare their rooms.”

“Give me a few minutes to change, Kate, and I'll help.” She paused at the hall entrance. “Has Nordstrom been here before?”

“Not since Douglas and I got married. He was a very good friend of both Douglas and Debra.”

“I can see how that could be awkward.” Maggie moved into the hall, then came back. “Kate, can Hendrix be trusted?”

“Douglas never makes a move without him.”

“But how do you feel about him?” Maggie insisted.

Kate was silent for a minute, then she said, “He scares me.” She added bitterly, “In his opinion, I'm only good enough to look after the chickens.”

• • •

THAT NIGHT, AS MAGGIE
was drifting off to sleep, Kate knocked at her door to say that Nat was on the line.

She took the call in the den. “Hello, boss. What's up?”

“I interviewed Ray Teasdale and Albert Nordstrom today. Get your notebook, Maggie, and I'll fill you in.”

“Well,” Maggie said when he'd finished. “Things are getting a little clearer. That early morning phone call Guthrie received could be the reason why he's done a disappearing act.” She was quiet a few moments, letting the facts sink in. “But Nat,” she continued, “why did Chandler blow the mine up in the first place, and why threaten Guthrie now that he's out on parole?”