Death as a Last Resort (24 page)

Maggie dropped Oscar's leash and watched him scoot after Nat, then, rummaging in the drawers until she found a paring knife, grabbed it and raced after Nat, who was slashing his way through the thick underbrush. Oscar—dragging his leash and thinking this was a new kind of game—raced ahead of Maggie, jumping up and down as he tried to reach Nancy's bobbing head. When Maggie eventually caught up with them, she found Nat gasping for breath and leaning against a tree beside his ex-wife, whom he had unceremoniously dumped. Oscar, taking up his guard-dog stance, sat staring at her and growling deep in his throat.

“Get that animal away from me,” Nancy demanded fearfully as Maggie knelt to start hacking at the bindings. “Oh oh! My legs are numb.”

Maggie looked up at Nat. “We've got to get her to our room somehow.”

“I've a better idea,” he answered. “We'll get her into the back of the car.”

“I'm cold,” Nancy complained.

Maggie, taking no notice, hacked away until the ropes fell from Nancy's legs.

“There'll be a blanket on the back seat of the car. Come on,” Nat added, pulling Nancy to her feet, “we've got to keep moving.”

“What about my hands?”

“Here,” Maggie said, handing Nat the knife. “You free her hands while I work my way nearer to the road to see if the coast is clear. No, Oscar. Stay with Nat.” Nat and Nancy waited torturous minutes until Maggie returned with her finger to her mouth, indicating that they should be quiet.

“Mahaffy and the Smith brothers are marching down toward the cabin,” she whispered. “We've got to work our way up through the trees and then be prepared to run across the road to the parking lot.” And not waiting to see if they were following, she grabbed the dog's leash and moved as quickly as she could up the slope, pushing her way through the trees and bushes as she went, only stopping when she calculated she must be close to the parking lot.

“It's going to be tricky crossing the road without being seen,” Nat whispered when he had regained his breath.

“I'll go first,” Maggie answered, hoping that anybody seeing her would think she'd just been walking the dog. “I'll give you an okay signal if it's safe.”

“I'm freezing,” Nancy complained again.

“You'll be in a worse shape if the Smith brothers get you back,” Maggie snapped. Not waiting for any more of Nancy's complaints, she walked briskly across the road and into the parking lot. “Oh damn!” she muttered. They didn't want any witnesses seeing them sneaking Nancy into Nat's car, and there was a deliveryman unloading crates of milk, eggs and cream from a small van and stacking them onto a dolly right opposite to where the car was parked. She stood behind the woodshed for what seemed an age before he returned to his vehicle and drove away. Maggie, quickly slipping back to the edge of the parking lot, gave them the okay signal. Now all it needed was Mahaffy and the Smiths to return to the lodge via the gravel road as they crossed.

“Can't we go up to your room?” a shivering Nancy whispered. “Too risky,” Nat whispered back as they reached the car. “Get in and cover yourself with the blanket.” Then, turning to Maggie, he said, “Let's grab our bags and get out of here.”

• • •

AFTER DRAGING THEIR OVERNIGHT bags from the closet, they hurried to gather up items of clothing that had been left lying on chairs. They were just closing their bags when they heard a faint tapping on the door. Maggie looked at Nat inquiringly. “Who on earth can that be?”

“It can't be Mahaffy,” he whispered. “He'd hammer on it.”

They were still trying to decide whether they should answer it or not when there was another soft tap. Nat reached down and pulled the cord from the bedside lamp out of the wall plug, picked up the lamp and went to stand behind the door. Then he motioned for Maggie to open the door.

Stella Edgeworthy was standing uncertainly in the doorway. “I had to come and speak to you. I have to explain.” Maggie could see that she been crying, and she was sporting a fresh shiner.

“Does your husband know you're here?” Maggie asked.

“He's with all the others in Schaefer's cabin. But I have to get back before he misses me.”

“Come and sit down.”

But instead, Stella walked over to the window, looked out and then paced back toward the door. “I didn't know what they were up to. You've got to believe me.”

“But you must have realized something nasty was going on,” Nat replied, taking a quick glance at his watch. “Especially after both Maurice and Jacquelyn were murdered.”

“But that's what's so odd,” she said. “They all deny killing them. And somehow I believe them.”

“Then what was the object of them all meeting here at New Year's?”

“I'm such a fool. I really thought it was about buying a lot up here. But it turns out it was just a cover-up for a meeting of their smuggling ring.”

“And you've only just found that out?” Nat asked in a disbelieving voice.

Stella nodded miserably. “But what I came to tell you was that when Robert told me to come and see you, he said I wasn't to tell you who else I saw here.”

Nat frowned. “You mean besides your bunch?”

“Yes.” Stella nodded. “He said I must have imagined seeing them . . . but I know I did . . .”

“Saw who?” Maggie asked.

“Maurice's kids.”

“You saw René and Isabelle here at New Year's? Where?”

“Up near the entrance to the resort. There are some really old cabins up there.”

“And you're sure that's who you saw?”

“Yes, I'm sure,” Stella said, “even if Robert says I couldn't have.” She started for the door. “Anyhow, I just wanted you to know . . . I didn't mean to lie to you.”

“Let's get out of here,” Nat muttered as soon as the door closed behind Stella.

“If you can manage the bags and Oscar on your own,” Maggie said, grabbing up her handbag, “I'll go down and turn in the key and settle up the bill. See you at the car.”

• • •

“LEAVING US?” THE RECEPTIONIST asked, and then without waiting for a reply she continued, “We can sure use your room. I've already had to put a young couple who turned up this morning into one of the old cabins at the top of the property, and the only heat it's got is an ancient wood stove.” She smiled. “At least the road's been cleared.”

Thanking her, Maggie grabbed the receipt and headed for the door, then stopped. “How old did you say the couple were?”

“I didn't. But they're very young, especially the girl. Have a safe trip home.” She turned to pick up the phone. “St Clare's Resort,” she said into the receiver.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

J
ust as Maggie reached the Chevy, a sudden movement near the lodge caught her eye, and she saw Mahaffy, the two Smith brothers and Schaefer coming around the corner of the building. “Oh! Blast!” And she quickly ducked behind the woodshed. She counted to one hundred before she risked taking a peek to see where the men were, then slid out of sight again as she heard Mahaffy call out, “Southby's old wreck is still parked over there, so they can't have taken her far.”

“Do you want me to have a look?” one of the Smiths asked.

Please say no!

“Yeah! What the hell are you waiting for?”

Maggie held her breath and waited for them to discover Nancy in the car. But after a few minutes, she heard Noah Smith shout, “She's not here!” Finally, there was silence and she realized that the men must have gone into the lodge. Cautiously, Maggie emerged from her hiding place and opened the back door of the Chevy. No Nancy! Where the hell has she gone? “Nancy,” she called in a hoarse whisper. Quickly she checked around the other cars in the parking lot. Still no sign of her. She retreated back to the woodshed to think.
I wonder,
she thought.
Could it be?
Fishing into her purse for a pad, she scrawled a note for Nat and left it on the dashboard. “Meet me at the entrance to the resort.”

• • •

NAT PLACED BOTH BAGS in the hall, pulled the door closed and heard the lock snap behind him. Attaching the leash to the dog's collar, he asked, “Ready, Oscar?” The dog wagged his plume of a tail in answer.

At that moment, Mahaffy's voice floated up the main staircase. “We'll check their room first.”

Bending down, Nat slung the strap of Maggie's bag over his shoulder, picked up the dog, and then, grabbing his own bag, ran down the corridor, frenziedly trying each doorknob. He had only seconds to spare as he slid into a steamy bathroom, turning the lock behind himself as he closed the door. Leaning his head against the door, he heard Mahaffy banging his fist on the door down the hall.

“What do you want, young man?” He turned to see an elderly lady sitting in the bath, fearfully clutching a towel to her ample breasts. “And what is that dog doing in here?”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Nat answered. “I thought it was unoccupied.” “A person can't even get a bath in peace. And what's all that banging?”

Nat gave a little laugh. “Someone's trying to find me.”

“I'm trying to have a bath and you're playing silly games,” she said indignantly. “I'm going to complain to the management.”

“Could that wait for a few minutes?” Nat pleaded. “It's very important those people don't find me.”

She snorted. “You have a few minutes, young man. But please turn your back.”

Nat obliged by turning around and putting his ear against the door to listen. Mahaffy seemed to have given up on the banging.

“They've gone,” Job Smith called out.

“They can't have gone far,” Mahaffy replied. “Try every door.”

Watching the doorknob turning, Nat put his finger to his lips and mouthed a “please” to the elderly lady in the tub.

“It's locked,” Smith said, giving the door a few mighty bangs.

Oscar, still in Nat's arms, gave a low growl. Nat quickly closed his hand over the dog's muzzle. “Quiet, quiet,” he whispered. But the dog quivered when the second round of bangs resounded on the door and he gave a muffled bark. Then, to Nat's surprise, the old lady suddenly had a fit of exaggerated coughing.

“Open the door, you bastard!” Nat recognized Mahaffy's Irish drawl.

“Go away,” the old lady shouted. “And please refrain from using that terrible language. I came in here for a soothing bath. Please be gone!”

There was a moment of shocked silence, then Smith said, “It's some woman in there.”

“What's all this shouting?” an irate voice called out in the corridor. “What's going on?”

“I thought this was supposed to be a select resort,” another voice answered.

“Sorry,” Mahaffy answered. “Just a bit of fun.”

“Well, keep it down.”

Nat waited until everything was quiet, then, still keeping his eyes averted, said, “I would love to give you a great big kiss, but that would mean my turning around. Thank you.” And opening the door, he and Oscar ran along the passageway and down the back stairs.

Peeping around the corner of the lodge, he saw the Smiths and Mahaffy conferring at the other end of the building. Waiting until they had disappeared, and holding tightly onto Oscar, who insisted on licking his face, he made a dash for his car, where he threw the squirming animal onto the back seat before diving behind the wheel and scrunching down.

“Nancy,” he whispered. “Are you still there?”

There was no answer. He peeked over the back of the seat. No Nancy. It was only then that he noticed the note on the dashboard. “What the hell are they doing up at the gate?”

“FOR GOD'S SAKE! HOW much further is it to this damned lodge?” Patience was not Quentin De Meyer's strong point.

“Another three or four miles,” George answered, signalling to make a left turn at the Garden Bay turnoff. “Cheer up and enjoy the scenery. You might even see some bears as we pass the dump.”

“Bears! That's all I need.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

M
aggie shivered as she hurried up the steep road that led to the resort's main entrance. Near the gate she turned right onto the overgrown lane that led through scrub alders, clinging blackberry vines and salmonberry bushes that had grown unchecked for years. Looking down at her ruined stockings as she neared the cabin, she also wished she had taken the time to change from her tweed skirt into her warm wool slacks. The cabins, with their rusty corrugated roofs, cracked windows and broken porches, must have been the original buildings on the site. Parked outside the second one was an old army Jeep—a remnant of its camouflage paint still showing. She rapped on the door.

Isabelle opened the door. “I wondered how long it would be before you found us? You'd better come in.” She stepped aside so that Maggie could see past her. Nancy, tied to a wooden chair, lifted her woebegone face and gave a wan smile. Beside her stood René, clutching a pair of iron fire tongs.

Maggie stepped inside and Isabelle slammed the door behind her. “There's no point in kidnapping this woman,” Maggie said. “She doesn't know where the jewellery is!”

“She must know where it is,” Isabelle snapped. “She stole it from the house.”

Sadly, Nancy shook her head. “No, I didn't. I got it from Robert Edgeworthy's office. He stole it from Jacquelyn.”

“So where is it now?” René demanded.

“She buried it in her garden and somebody dug it up and took it,” Maggie explained.”

“I don't believe it,” Isabelle said, and then turned to Nancy. “You buried that priceless stuff in your garden?”

“It's true,” Nancy said sadly.

“Something is puzzling me,” Maggie said. “Why didn't you tell me you were here when your father disappeared?”

René turned away, opened the door of the pot-bellied stove behind him and began poking at the feeble flames. “That wasn't any of your business.”