Death as a Last Resort (11 page)

“We haven't made a lot of progress on either her husband's death or the break-in,” Maggie explained. “I thought perhaps she wanted to call off the investigation.”

“What break-in?”

“She told us she was robbed of some very valuable old jewellery and antiques.”

“Did she go to the police?”

“No,” Nat answered. “She absolutely refused. So you can imagine we've been a bit stymied on that front.”

“Did you ever see any of this stuff?”

“It was stolen soon after she hired us to look into her husband's murder, but she did show us photographs of it.”

“Where'd she keep the photos?”

“In the library,” Nat said, getting to his feet. “On the other side of the hall.”

“Lead the way,” George replied. “There's not much I can do upstairs until the scene of crime officers are finished.”

The album was still on the library table and it took them only seconds to find the photos of the Egyptian objects. “I'm not much on these kind of antiques,” George said as he peered closely at each photo, “but these things look like the stuff you see in museums.”

“Exactly,” Maggie agreed. “Objects like this
are
only seen in museums, so if they
are
genuine, they would be priceless.” She paused to gaze more closely at one of the pictures, a worried look on her face. Then, quickly turning to George, she said, “Jacquelyn told us that most of these things were displayed in Maurice's den.” And she led the way down the hall. “She said most of them were on those shelves but some were kept in the safe over there. She figured that the thieves had got in through the French doors, but we couldn't find any sign of a break-in.”

“I'd better get the special crime guys in here, too,” George said before leading the way back to the living room.

“Is it okay for us to leave now?” Maggie asked, sliding up her coat zipper.

“Don't see why not. Of course, you'll have to come in and sign statements,” he added. “And you'd better be prepared for Farthing to get into the case once he hears who found the body.”

Nat groaned. Meetings with Farthing never did go well.

“I guess we're out of a job,” Maggie said once they were outside.

“Guess so. But,” he added, “now that we're out of the house, what was it you recognized in those photographs?”

“Didn't you see it, Nat? The bracelet. It's the one Nancy left in my car. I recognized the tiny beads threaded between the gems.”

He sat thinking for a moment. “Perhaps Jacquelyn really did give it to her.”

“Now you're dreaming,” Maggie answered. “Nancy dropped that bracelet in my car after I rescued her from Edgeworthy's real estate office, and I'm absolutely sure now that she found it in that file room. And she had more of the stuff in her pockets, because she acted evasive when I asked if she had taken anything. She probably just took all the small pieces that would fit in her pockets. ”

After a moment of silence, Nat said slowly, “If you're right, Maggie, she could be in real danger.”

“But Nat, it was my car that was seen outside the place, not Nancy's. And that's why it was my house that was trashed. Edgeworthy thinks I've got the stuff!”

Nat nodded. “Yes,” he said, “you're right. But Nancy won't be able to resist flashing that bracelet around, and sooner or later the wrong person is going to spot it,” Nat said vehemently. “We're going to find out exactly what she's up to.”

But Nancy didn't answer her phone when he called her from the office, and when they drove to her house on Grasmere Avenue in Burnaby later that evening, they found it was shut up tight.

“I wonder where she is?” Nat muttered as he pulled away from the curb.

• • •

“DO YOU WANT ME to follow you home and stay the night?” Nat asked Maggie when they arrived back at their office. “I don't put much faith in Oscar protecting you.”

Although Maggie was tempted, she knew they would keep rehashing everything over and over, and what she really wanted was to be on her own to think things out. “No, they won't come back, Nat. They know the stuff isn't at my house.” Then, after promising to lock all her doors, she headed home to her own quiet dinner with Emily and Oscar.

• • •

EVEN THOUGH THE NEXT day was a Saturday, Nat received a call from Inspector Farthing's office demanding that he and Mrs. Spencer come in to see him right away. It had been over eight years since Nat left the force, but he still felt a slight twinge of nostalgia when they entered Farthing's office, because at one time it had been his own domain.

“So you two are still dabbling in police business,” Farthing greeted them, indicating the two visitors' chairs. “And,” he said, turning to Maggie, “you're back to your bad habit of finding dead bodies.”

“Seems to go with the territory,” she answered, smiling.

Farthing grunted.

“So what do you want to know?” Nat asked.

“For a start, how you two managed to be the first on another murder scene.”

“I explained all that to Sergeant Sawasky.”

“Well, you can just explain again,” he said, reaching for his telephone. “Constable Goodwin,” he barked, “I need you in here to take notes.” And a few minutes later, to the surprise of both Maggie and Nat, a smartly dressed female police officer walked in, pen and pad in hand, and sat down beside Farthing. He turned back to Nat and said, “Okay, let's hear your story.”

Nat began, “Jacquelyn Dubois engaged us to look into the death of her husband, Maurice . . .” And, being careful not to give too much of their investigation results away, he filled Farthing in.

“And what about this robbery?” Farthing asked when Nat had finished.

“We haven't been able to get too far on that either.”

“Good thing, since you've lost your client.” Farthing was smirking as he got to his feet. “We'll take it from here, so keep your noses out of it. And,” he added, nodding toward the officer taking notes, “you can go after you've both signed the typed statement.”

“Well that's one for the book,” Nat said an hour later as they were leaving the station. “Farthing is actually allowing a policewoman to do his office work for him!” He gave a chuckle. “There's hope for him yet.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

W
hen Monday morning rolled around, Maggie and Nat were both back in the office as usual.

“I guess we can put all the paperwork on Maurice Dubois's death away,” Maggie told Henny as she gathered up the files.

“No client, no money,” Nat commented. “But I'm still determined to have that talk with Nancy. I called her several times over the weekend without any luck. In fact,” he said, as Maggie followed him into his office, “I didn't have much luck with you either. Where were you?”

“I told you I was going to visit Midge,” she replied, closing the door so that Henny wouldn't hear. “I needed to get away for a bit.”

“From me, you mean?”

“You know better than that, Nat. No. Jacquelyn's murder really got to me—that and the break-in at my house. Midge and I did girl things, like painting our toenails and shopping. Did me the world of good.”

The Nancy problem was soon solved, too. It was getting toward noon when a very pale and frightened Nancy walked into the Southby and Spencer Agency.

“I can't believe Jacquelyn's dead,” Nancy announced as she flopped into a chair in Nat's office. “Who would do such a thing? Oh, Nat, I'm so frightened.”

“Surely there's no need for you to be frightened,” Nat said as he signalled Henny to bring coffee.

“But who killed her? Do you think it was the same people who killed Maurice?” she asked, tears and mascara streaking down her face. “Perhaps I'm next.”

“Why would you think that? You hardly knew the woman . . . unless there's something you haven't told me?”

“No, of course not.”

When Henny entered and placed two cups of coffee in front of him, Nat pushed one of the cups toward Nancy and told Henny, “Ask Maggie to join us, will you?”

“Why do you need
her
in here?” Nancy was getting back into form.

“There are things
we
need to know,” he answered, “such as where did you get that bracelet?”

“Why do you keep on about that? I told you it was a present.”

“It's an exact replica of one that was stolen from Jacquelyn's home,” Maggie said as she entered.

“Are you accusing me of stealing again?” Nancy demanded, jumping to her feet. “I come here for some comfort from my . . . my husband, and this so-called assistant of yours is accusing me of stealing.”

“Where did you get it, Nancy?” Nat demanded.

“Jacquelyn gave it to me,” Nancy blurted.

“Why would she give you something as valuable as that?” Maggie asked very calmly.

Nancy hesitated for a moment. “She said it was . . . it was just a fake. And . . . and it was too heavy for her to wear, anyhow.”

“But,” Maggie insisted, “you dropped it in my car after I rescued you from Edgeworthy's office. What was it doing in your pocket?”

“Oh, for God's sake,” she exploded. “It was too heavy for me to wear, too.” And flouncing out the door, she snarled, “A fat lot of help you are, Nat!” The door banged shut behind her.

After a few moments of looking at the closed door, Maggie sat in the chair Nancy had vacated. “Do you believe her?” she asked.

“Not in a million years,” Nat answered with a snort. Reaching over his desk, he took one of Maggie's hands. “You're wondering why I married her, aren't you?”

“It did sort of cross my mind,” she answered.

“I think I've told you that George Sawasky and I were rookies at the same station.”

Maggie nodded. “You've been friends for a very long time.”

“We were young, single and pretty impressed with ourselves in our uniforms. Nancy was a waitress at the greasy spoon where we used to have lunch. She was really quite pretty then—sort of cute, you know—and we both flirted with her, but for some reason she preferred me.”

“Must've been your charming personality,” Maggie said, smiling.

Nat shrugged. “Anyway, George wasn't really interested because he'd already met and fallen hard for Lucille. For a time we'd date as a foursome, but the two girls never really got on.” He let go of Maggie's hand and leaned back into his chair. “Then George and Lucille got married. And you can guess the rest.”

“Nancy wanted to get married, too.”

“Yep! She wanted the whole works, big church, white gown, bridesmaids and of course, me in uniform. I realize, looking back, that she loved the uniform more than she did me. But she soon found out that being a cop's wife was no bed of roses—late nights, me being called out at all hours, poor pay. She was always on to me to quit the force and go into business like my brother. Things just went from bad to worse . . .” He paused to see if Henny would pick up the jangling telephone in the outer office. And a few moments later, there was a tap on his door.

“That nice boy René on telephone. He and his sister want to come in to see you tomorrow. I told him two o'clock. Okay?”

• • •

“WE WANT YOU TO continue investigating Dad's death,” Isabelle said as soon as they arrived.

The last time Nat and Maggie had seen Isabelle Dubois, she had been hidden under a black veil at her father's funeral. It hadn't prepared them for the young woman they met now. Isabelle was tall and long limbed, her ash-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, today dressed in a blue suede miniskirt and jacket. She was candy-box pretty but had the most startlingly beautiful blue eyes that Maggie had ever seen. Her stepbrother, René, was a complete opposite. His hair was chestnut brown, his skin darker, he was at least a couple of inches shorter than his sister—and he was definitely the young man she had seen getting out of the Jeep in Bakhash's parking lot.

“We know that he'd got himself mixed up in some logging scam,” René began, “and maybe that could've been the reason he was killed.” He turned toward his sister.

“Do you know what this scam was?” Nat asked interestedly. “Anything to do with Hollyburn Mountain?”

“You know about it, then?” Isabelle exclaimed.

“Not everything. Perhaps you should tell us.”

René inched forward in his chair. “He got a legitimate licence to cut three ski runs on Hollyburn for this ski resort he was going to build, but he managed somehow to get somebody in the Forests Ministry to turn a blind eye while he logged half the mountain and a big chunk of Cyprus Mountain while he was at it. Made himself some big bucks.”

“I take it this ‘turning a blind eye' was the result of a bit of ready cash from your father,” Nat said.

“Afraid so,” René answered guiltily. “Actually,” he added, “I helped him do some of the clear-cutting on Hollyburn—it didn't work out. I found it impossible trying to work for him. I'm not defending him; I just can't see why anyone would kill him for it?”

“Perhaps that wasn't the reason,” Nat said, doing his usual doodling on the yellow scratch pad in front of him. “In any case, it wouldn't explain why your stepmother was killed a few days ago.”

“Maybe that had something to do with Dad's collection of Egyptian stuff that was pinched,” Isabelle said. “But who would want that old stuff anyway?”

“It's apparently extremely valuable,” Maggie explained. “Museum quality pieces, from what we've seen of it . . .”

“So we've come to you,” René butted in, “to find out who killed them. And Mr. Schaefer feels the same way.”

“Mr. Schaefer?” Maggie asked, mystified.

“You know, Arnold Schaefer,” Isabelle chimed in. “The man that Dad was in the lumber business with.”