Death as a Last Resort (14 page)

“I'll stack my life on it, Mr. Peacock. I know my antiques.”

Nat was sure she did. “Make it $2,000,” he said rashly, “and it's a deal.”

Rosie pondered for a few moments before holding out her hand. “Cash only. We don't take no cheques.”

“I don't keep that kind of money on me,” he said.
In fact, I don't even have that much in my bank account!
He opened his wallet and took out the two fifties he had withdrawn the day before. “Will this hold the bracelet?”

Rosie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well . . . it's not much. But seeing how you're wanting it for your wife, I'm willing to hold it for a couple of days.”

“She'll love it.” And he managed to exit the Exotic Eastern Emporium without actually running.

• • •

WHEN MAGGIE FINALY RETURNED from her afternoon appointment, Nat recounted his adventure with Rosie Smith.

“And you're sure it's the same bracelet?”

“Absolutely. She went into a long spiel explaining what the little blue-green beads are—Egyptian faience—it's some kind of ceramic.”

“I wonder how long it's going to be before they realize that you used a fake name and that Nancy is your ex-wife?”

“Might be a while, as she usually goes by her maiden name— Gladstone.” Nat was quiet for a moment. “But of course, if the Smiths are working closely with Robert Edgeworthy, they know perfectly well where she found that bracelet.”

“I'm sure they're in it together,” Maggie answered. “And with Nancy busy selling off the loot she stole, they'll soon be after her to find out where she's stashed the rest of the stuff.”

Nat reached for the phone. “I've got to warn her, Maggie.” He let the phone ring for at least two minutes before replacing the receiver. Then, glancing at the wall clock, he said, “We have to get over there.”

• • •

“PERHAPS SHE'S GONE SHOPPING.” They had rung the bell several times, walked around to the back of Nancy's house and banged on the rear door. Still there was no answer. “What about the neighbours?”

“Fat chance that anyone could see what's going on here,” Nat answered, indicating the tall cedar hedges growing on either side of the house. “Nancy always liked her privacy. But it's worth a try.”

The neighbour on the right was a woman with a very young family. “We're on our way to the park,” she explained to Maggie as she strapped the youngest of her three children into a stroller.

“We wondered if you'd seen your neighbour, Mrs. Gladstone, around?”

The woman shook her head. “I only know her just to say hello.” She gave a tight smile. “Don't think she's into kids.”

As Nat approached Nancy's other neighbour's house, the lace curtains in the front window twitched. Lifting up the horse's head door knocker, he gave a sharp rat-a-tat and waited. Eventually, a grey-haired woman cracked open the door and looked out enquiringly. “Yes?”

“Just wondered if you've seen your neighbour, Mrs. Gladstone, around lately?”

“You mean that woman next door?” She nodded toward Nancy's house.

“I've tried several times and there's no answer. Did you happen to see her go out?”

“She's always going out.”

“I mean, today?”

“No. You the cops?”

“No. A friend.” Nat tried not to show his irritation as he turned to go back down the steps.

“There were two men parked outside in a big grey car early this morning.”

Nat swivelled around to face the woman. “How early?”

“It was still dark. Maybe around five o'clock.”

“Did they go into the house?”

“Yeah!”

“How do you know the car was grey?”

She looked witheringly at him. “It was parked under the street light. Then I saw one of the men get back into the car and drive off.” She lowered her voice and whispered, “Don't know what happened to the other man, but that woman's no better than she ought to be . . . if you know what I mean. Comings and goings all night.”

“But you didn't see Nancy, Miss . . . ?”

“Mrs. Mable Maggs. My Albert crossed to the other side fifteen years ago. And I'm not a busybody like some people.” She shut the door, but as Nat started down the front path, he saw that she had taken up her vigil behind the curtains once again.

“We have to get into Nancy's house,” Nat said when he rejoined Maggie and told her about the grey car. “Suppose she's in there hurt or something?”

“Or it could be as the old girl said and the visitors are legit.” Then, seeing the look on Nat's face, she continued hurriedly, “How do you propose we get into the house?” Secretly, she thought that Nancy didn't deserve rescuing again.

“We'll try the back again. Maybe there's a window open.”

There was no open window. But while they were debating their next step, Maggie had a thought. “Nat, what about her car?”

“Right! Her car.” And not waiting for Maggie, he strode down the path to the wooden garage. The doors were firmly shut and locked, but by standing on tiptoe he managed to peer through a small dust-covered window to see that the car was still safely inside. “Yeah, it's there,” he called back to Maggie, “so something's happened to her—she wouldn't go anywhere without her car. We've got to get into the house.”

Maggie began expertly wrapping a large stone in her scarf. “I think we're going to have to break in.” But there was no need to break in, as the back door had been left unlocked. “This doesn't look good, Nat. You'd better go in first.”

The kitchen was a shambles of emptied canisters, cupboards and drawers. Apart from the torn sofa cushions, the living room had hardly been touched, but the upstairs was another matter—clothes in piles, drawers gaping open, closets emptied, the mattress tipped up on its side and the bedclothes in a heap. The bathroom had suffered a similar fate, as there were cosmetics strewn over the floor amid pills and lotions from the medicine cabinet. It was obviously the work of the same
artistes
who had worked over Maggie's house.

“I wonder if they found what they were looking for,” she said.

“They've got Nancy, by the look of it,” Nat answered gloomily, walking through the chaos. “I could wring her bloody neck for being so stupid. The old biddy next door said she only saw one man in the car when it was driven away,” he said thoughtfully. “My guess is that he drove around the back and they smuggled her out that way.”

“Let's go and have another look at the backyard.” Maggie moved toward the door. “And it wouldn't hurt to talk to a few more neighbours. And what about the police?”

“They'll only ask awkward questions.” And he followed Maggie out the back door.

It was obvious that Nancy was not a gardener. Trampled weeds surrounded an old birdbath and the sagging remains of a tool shed, and overgrown shrubs lined the cracked cement path that led to the garage and back alley. Freshly broken twigs on the bushes lining the path suggested her unwilling passage through them.

Later the two of them sat in Nat's Chevy, deciding what they should do next. “I think we should call George,” Maggie said at last. “There'll be hell to pay if we don't report her apparent kidnapping.”

“It's Nancy landing in jail for pinching that Egyptian stuff that I'm worried about.”

“Then,” Maggie answered slowly, “let's keep that to ourselves for a while. Tell George that Nancy asked you to call on her, and when there was no answer you got worried and we broke in.”

“George is not going to buy that,” Nat answered with a snort.

“He can suspect all he wants,” Maggie answered, “but we've got to really delve into this business between Smith and Edgeworthy, and we don't need the police getting in the way.” When Nat finally agreed with her strategy, they returned to Nancy's house to use the telephone.

Of course, George didn't buy their story. But when Nat insisted that whatever Nancy wanted to see him about was strictly private, he had to accept their version of events.

“But who would want to kidnap her?” George asked after the forensic team had arrived to thoroughly search the house. “Has she been getting herself into something nasty or illegal? You must have some idea.”

“The only thing she came to me about was to get me to help Jacquelyn Dubois find out who killed her husband.”

“It all seems very fishy,” George commented. “This doesn't have something to do with your house getting tossed, too, does it, Maggie?”

Before Maggie could answer, Nat cut in quickly with, “We don't know, George. We just don't know.”

“Okay,” George said. “You two can go now, but I'll be around to see you in the morning. And Nat,” he added, “I hope Nancy is not mixed up in something illegal and you're shielding her because she's your ex-wife.”

• • •

IT WAS VERY LATE in the afternoon when they returned to the agency. Henny had already left for the day, leaving a scrawled message on Maggie's desk.
That boy with funny French name called, said he needed to speak to you urgent. Henny.

“If it's urgent,” Maggie said,“I'd better call him right away.” She pulled René's file to look up his telephone number, but although she tried several times before they left the office, there was no answer. “Well, he'll call again if it's really urgent.”

• • •

THE TWO OF THEM were sitting over a take-out chicken dinner in Maggie's kitchen.

“The problem is that we don't know which one of them took her,” Nat said.

Maggie could tell that, even though Nat was thoroughly exasperated with his ex-wife, he was still worried about her. “It has to be the Smiths,” she replied. “Nancy went to them with the bracelet, so they must realize she has the rest of the missing stuff. But we can't just go to the emporium and ask if they have her.”

“No.” He fidgeted with his fork. “Same thing goes for Edgeworthy. Where does he live, anyway?”

“Twin Oaks Drive, Gleneagles. I remember the address because it sounded so expensive,” she explained as she reached for the phone book to check the house number.

“You're right! It's where the money is,” he answered wryly. “It's in West Vancouver near that yacht club,” he said with a glance at the kitchen clock. “But it's after seven and it's already dark.”

“It's the dark we need,” Maggie replied, gathering up the plates. “Let's at least go and see if Edgeworthy owns a grey car.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

N
at drove cautiously along Marine Drive in West Vancouver as it twisted and turned in ever-tightening S-bends. Twice he pulled over close to the rock face to let another vehicle pass them, and it was with a sigh of relief that they eventually emerged at the turnoff to Gleneagles.

“Now to find Twin Oaks Drive,” he said as he pulled over and directed a flashlight onto the map that Maggie held.

“We're very close. Let's leave the car and walk the rest of the way.”

The house was situated halfway down a short, secluded and twisty road. It stood at least a hundred feet back from tall wrought iron palings and gates.

“Wow,” Maggie said quietly. “This is some place. It must have a fantastic view of the ocean.”

“It overlooks Batchelor Cove. I visited a client up this way a couple of years back,” he explained. He gave one of the double gates a trial push and it swung inward with a rusty squeak. Grabbing Maggie by the hand, he pulled her through, swung the gate shut and followed her into the shadow of the trees lining the wide drive.

Light from the uncurtained downstairs rooms lay across the driveway, where it made a wide sweep past the front of the house before ending at a double garage. A flagged stone path separated the house from the garage. To get there, they would have to cross the lighted area.

“Ready?” Nat whispered. But just as he was about to take the first step, he felt Maggie tug him back into the shadows. “What?” Then he, too, heard the car stopping and the creak of the gates. “Phew! That was close,” he breathed as they watched a black Buick purr past them, down the driveway and into the now open garage. The driver seemed to take forever to re-emerge, briefcase in hand.

“It's Edgeworthy.” The two of them watched him walk to the front door, which was immediately opened by a small girl with a large German shepherd by her side.

Edgeworthy stooped and picked the child up in his arms, but the dog shot out into the night, barking and snarling.

“Come on in, Prince,” the man called sternly. “He's after the damned squirrels again,” he said exasperatedly. He put the child down inside the door. “I've told your mother repeatedly that animal needs obedience school. She never listens.”

But the dog had caught the scent of humans, not squirrels, and to Nat and Maggie's dismay was making straight for them as they retreated backward into the densely wooded area.

“Prince!” Edgeworthy snarled as he followed the dog down the drive. “Get in here!”

The dog, hearing his master's voice, was in a dilemma— chase the engaging scent or obey. A further enraged yell from Edgeworthy and, to Maggie and Nat's relief, the dog turned and reluctantly went back to the house.

They didn't move a muscle until they saw Edgeworthy grab the animal by the neck and drag it inside. But even after the door was shut, they could still hear it barking.

“I'm glad it hasn't gone to school,” Maggie whispered after a few minutes. “It might have been trained as an attack dog.” A few minutes later, and breathing easier, they were on the other side of the garage. “At least we know he drives a black Buick.”

“Perhaps she drives a grey one. Let's take a look.” But unlike the gates, the garage doors front and back were firmly locked. It took Nat quite a few minutes to use his picklocks to get inside.