Death as a Last Resort (15 page)

“You're a man of hidden talents,” Maggie whispered. There was only room for two cars and the other one, which they surmised was Stella's, was an ordinary green Ford. “Well, we could've been lucky. But somehow I didn't think Nancy would have been stashed here, not with a small child in the house. Come on, let's go!”

They were almost back at the gate when the dog burst out the front door of the house again, barking wildly. “Christ! He's let that monster out again,” Nat yelled. They made it through the gates moments before the enraged animal threw itself frenziedly against the wrought iron, and despite his size, Nat was not far behind Maggie as they sprinted for the safety of the Chevy.

Their next stop was the Smiths' Exotic Eastern Emporium, but there were no lights showing either downstairs in the shop or upstairs in the Smiths' apartment. And there wasn't a sound except for the passing traffic.

“There's nothing more we can do tonight, Nat,” Maggie said. “Let's go home and get some rest. We'll think better in the morning.”

• • •

THE NEXT DAY STARTED with a meeting of minds in Maggie's office.

“So how do we find your old wife, Mr. Nat?” Henny demanded, settling into one of the visitors' chairs. They had already brought her up to date on Nancy's kidnapping. “I can go to that junk shop and see if she is there.”

“Good grief, no!” Nat exclaimed in horror. “We have to approach this very carefully.”

“I am very good at detecting, Mr. Nat.”

“You know, Nat, Henny could be right,” Maggie said thoughtfully. “There was nothing to see there last night, but we've still got to nose around the Smiths' place in the daylight to see if they own a grey car, and neither of us can do it, because the Smiths know us.”

“No,” Nat said emphatically. “If they're as dangerous as we think they are, Henny's not going anywhere near them. Besides, she's needed in the office today. I have to be in Victoria by two thirty this afternoon for that meeting with Forestry.”

“Oh,” Maggie said, “I'd completely forgotten. What ferry are you catching?”

“I have to be in Tsawwassen in time for the
Sidney
's eleven thirty sailing. What are you doing today?”

“I'm going to call on Arnold Schaefer's wife.”

“Schaefer's wife? What would she have to do with Nancy's disappearance?”

“Maybe nothing. But I still think all the answers lie in Maurice Dubois's previous life.”

“Do you mean when he lived in Montreal?”

“No. It's just that Jacquelyn told us that Maurice was in the army and so were Mahaffy and Schaefer. Perhaps that's where they met up.”

“I see.” Henny nodded wisely. “Mrs. Schaefer could let the cats out of the sack.”

“Something like that, Henny,” Maggie said, smiling.

“Well, it's worth a try, I guess,” Nat said at last. “But we've got to find Nancy before any harm comes to her.”

“We'll find her, Nat,” Maggie said.

Sergeant George Sawasky's entrance brought their meeting to an end, and Henny immediately left to get him a cup of coffee and find him one of her specials.

“I need information fast,” he said, plonking himself in the chair that Henny had just vacated. “No more stalling. Why was Nancy snatched? And don't give me any more BS that you two have no idea.”

Maggie and Nat looked at each other and then Nat gave a sigh. “George, it's a bit embarrassing, considering she's my ex-wife. You remember the photos I showed you of the stolen Egyptian collection? Well, somehow Nancy's got her hands on one of the bracelets from that collection—and the long and the short of it is that the thieves want it back.”

“Where did she get it?”

“We're not sure, but she showed it to us and insisted that Jacquelyn Dubois had given it to her.” Then Nat went on to describe the bracelet turning up at the Smiths' Exotic Eastern Emporium, although he left out the fact that they were pretty sure that Nancy had stolen the bracelet from Edgeworthy's Real Estate office.

“So why tumble her house? What were they looking for?”

“I suspect the thieves think she has the rest of the stuff.”

“There's got to be more to this,” George frowned as he looked from Nat to Maggie. “How did this bracelet turn up at that junk shop?”

“Either Nancy sold it to them . . . or they took it from her. And thereby hangs another sad tale,” he said ruefully. “Rosie Smith is trying to sell it to me for two thousand bucks.”

“Serves you right,” George commented unsympathetically after he heard that his friend was out one hundred dollars. “I told you to keep me in the picture. And,” he continued, “you two are still holding something back. Thanks, Henny,” he said, taking the coffee and cookie from her, “you'll have to give my wife the recipe.” Henny beamed with pleasure as she refilled their cups.

The look that Nat shot at George should have ended their friendship right then and there.

As soon as George had gone and Nat left to catch the ferry, Maggie told Henny, “I'm going to call Thelma Schaefer. Maybe she'll see me this morning.”

• • •

MAGGIE TOOK THE SECOND Narrows Bridge to North Vancouver. Driving over the huge structure, she thought about the terrible tragedy only three years earlier when a large section of the bridge span had collapsed into the inlet, sending eighteen workers to their deaths. The new bridge had only been completed the previous year. Maggie still felt insecure each time she used it.

The Schaefers' door was opened by a comfortable-looking, middle-aged woman in a grey uniform, who showed Maggie into the perfectly appointed living room where Thelma Schaefer waited for her. Trim-figured, every hair in place and beautifully dressed—in fact, the perfect colonel's wife—she sat in her wheelchair beside a tea trolley.

“So you're Mrs. Spencer,” she said, smiling graciously and holding out her hand to Maggie. As Maggie's hand closed over it, she was aware how small and fragile the woman was, and she wondered what had put her into a wheelchair. An accident? Disease, perhaps?

“Maisie has already brought in the coffee.” She indicated the trolley laden with a Royal Albert service and a tiered cake stand with small cookies and petites fours. “Now what can I do to help with your enquiries?” And she began pouring coffee.

“You're English, too,” Maggie said, settling into a cretonne-covered chair on the other side of the trolley.

The woman nodded. “I guess you could call me one of the early war brides,” she said, smiling as she handed Maggie a cup of coffee. “I met Arnold about ten years before the war. He was in London on some kind of hush-hush military thing. He never told me what.”

“But he was in the tank corps during the war.”

“Yes,” she said sounding surprised. “The Middle East. How did you know that?”

“Liam Mahaffy. He seemed very proud to be part of your husband's outfit.”

“Oh, dear Liam.” She smiled. “Such a
nice
young officer.”

“You met him during the war, then?” Maggie asked, taking a bite out of a cookie.

Thelma nodded. “Arnold and I had a lovely little cottage in Ashford. Sometimes he would bring one or more of his men home for a weekend. They appreciated that, as most of them were so far from home.”

“Your husband obviously kept in touch with Liam. What about Maurice Dubois?”

“Maurice Dubois?” She looked puzzled. “Oh, Maurice wasn't in Arnold's unit. As far as I know, he was in a French Canadian regiment . . . the Van Doos.” She reached over to the trolley to offer Maggie a petit four. “No, Arnold's men were all British . . . although he did bring a couple of Canadian officers home once . . . they were on temporary duty with the 8th, although for the life of me I couldn't tell you their names anymore.”

“Was one of them Robert Edgeworthy?”

Thelma Schaefer paused in the middle of refilling Maggie's cup. “Of course, you're quite right. Robert was seconded to Arnold's company when they were in North Africa,” she said, passing Maggie the cup. “Do you know him?”

“We've met. He told me that he was at the lodge with your husband over New Year's.”

“Was he? My goodness, I didn't know that.”

“Was there a Henry Smith in your husband's company?”

“I don't know, dear. If he wasn't an officer, there was no way I would have met him.” Then she asked, “Was he a big man? A cockney, perhaps? Because now that I think about it, there could have been a Henry Smith in stores or something like that. Of course, it's such a common name.” She reached for the little bell on the tea trolley and rang it. When the housekeeper arrived a moment later, she asked, “Maisie, could you bring me the photo on the Colonel's desk in his den?” While they waited for it, she continued, “So many of them were either killed or missing in action.” She paused. “War is a terrible thing.”

The photo turned out to be the same one that Liam Mahaffy had shown them. “So did you get to meet any of these others?” Maggie asked, taking it into her hands.

“Some. That's Liam, the one laughing in the back row. Such a clown,” she added fondly. “And next to him is, of course, Robert. He was transferred shortly after that picture was taken. But we're so pleased that Liam came to BC to live,” she continued. “He tried his hand at farming on Lulu Island, but his real love was always horses.”

“He runs a stable in Delta now, doesn't he?”

“That's right. Arnold tells me that he boards and trains race horses there.”

Thelma leaned across the trolley and took the photo from Maggie's hands. “More than half of them didn't make it back.”

“I lost two of my cousins in the Battle of Britain,” Maggie said. “I've never stopped thinking of them.” They drank their coffee in silence for a few moments, then Maggie asked, “Was your husband in the lumber business before the war?”

“No. The lumberyard was Arnold's father's business. Arnold only went in with him after the war, and then his father died just a year later.”

“Is that when your husband took Maurice Dubois on as a partner?”

“Maurice? Well, he wasn't really a partner, you know, and the only reason he was involved with my husband at all was because he persuaded him to expand into logging. Worst mistake Arnold ever made.” She stopped abruptly, as if she had said too much.

“Then it was very thoughtful of him to finance René and Isabelle so that we can continue investigating the two murders.”

“I didn't know he had.” For a moment she looked almost shocked at this revelation, and then her usual mask of politeness returned and she added, “I'm a little surprised, as he wasn't exactly enamoured of Jacquelyn, but I guess he has a soft spot for René and Isabelle. Their father's many marriages have been difficult for them.”

“You knew both his previous wives?”

“Not Annette. She and Maurice had divorced and he was already married to Edith by the time I came here after the war. But I must say this of him, he was very fond of both of his children and took a great interest in their growing up.”

“I appreciate you seeing me,” Maggie said, folding her small linen napkin, “especially on such short notice.”

“I'm sorry I haven't been more helpful.”

Outside, Maggie sat in her car for a few minutes before reaching for the ignition. “Oh, but you have, Mrs. Schaefer,” she said quietly as she pulled away from the curb.

• • •

NANCY WAS TERIFIED. SHE had been tied up and her mouth duct taped before she was dragged through her backyard in her nightgown and then thrown into the trunk of a car. At the end of the journey, she had been blindfolded, hauled out of the car, dragged up a long flight of stairs and interrogated again by the two thugs. She told them in vain that Jacquelyn had given her the bracelet and she had no idea where the rest of the stuff was, but that had only led to them slapping her around some more. At last she had debated telling them that she had buried it in the back garden, but figuring they would kill her off once they had it in their possession, she had kept her mouth shut.

Now she was still tied up, but at least they had taken the blindfold off and left her alone in this small bedroom for a while. Tears coursed down her face at the indignity of still being in her torn nightgown with cold, bare feet and, worst of all, no makeup. She looked up fearfully as the door crashed open once again and a pile of clothes was thrown at her.

“One peep out of you and you get this,” one of the men said, pointing a gun at her. Then he walked over to her and untied her arms. “Get dressed.”

“Please let me go home,” she whimpered as she pulled the grey sweatsuit on over the nightgown. “I won't tell anyone!” She reached for the knitted wool socks. At least her feet would be warm. “Please.”

“Shut up,” he said as retied her hands behind her back and reached for the roll of duct tape.

“Not the tape, please. I promise I won't say a word.” But relentlessly he taped her mouth shut.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“I
t's all very embarrassing, Mr. Southby.” It was three fifteen on Thursday afternoon, and Nat was sitting opposite Jake Houston, a grey-haired, lean man in his mid-fifties. “It was your enquiries into that logging scam on Hollyburn that brought the subject to our attention . . . so we started to investigate ourselves.” The Forestry official looked acutely uncomfortable.

“And you found that there was definitely something fishy 130 going on?”

The man nodded, steepled his fingers and continued ponderously, “Yes, that clear-cut on Hollyburn was definitely illegal. And . . . it seems there are more large tracts of land—mostly in our wilderness parks on Vancouver Island and probably in the northern part of British Columbia—that may have been logged without our knowledge.”