“I want to go home.”
“So do I,” Maggie laughed. “Look, there’s Mr. Wilkes’ boat coming in. Let’s go down and meet them.”
“Maggie!” That’s all Nat had to say as he drew her close to him.
“I want to go home,” Jenny said again.
“And so you shall.” George, who had followed Nat out of the boat, took the little girl’s hand in his large one. “Let’s go and phone your mother.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“So Cadbury was in time to nab those two?” It was a week after their seafaring adventures and George had arrived at the agency to bring Maggie, Nat, and Henny up to speed on the latest development.
“Yes,” George answered. “But only just! Sheldon White had managed to get the little Seagull motor going on the owner’s dinghy, and they had almost reached the mouth of the cove when Cadbury and the Coast Guard arrived.”
“Did Alice shoot at them, too?” Maggie asked.
George shook his head. “She’d run out of bullets firing at you.”
“That lady shoot at you?” Henny gasped. “You could have been killed!”
“She missed, Henny.” Maggie patted Henny’s hand comfortingly, but she had vivid memories of how scared she had been as the bullets flew.
“And the little girl was in the boat with you,” Henny persisted. “She could have been shot, too.”
“We were lucky,” Maggie answered. “And it was wonderful to see Jenny reunited with her mother,” she added wistfully.
“Who arranged for the helicopter?” Nat asked.
“You’ll never guess—your old friend Inspector Farthing!”
“Do you mean to say that he actually has a soft heart?” Nat laughed. “Earning Brownie points, more like it.”
“Have you spoken to Judith since the kidnapping?” George asked.
“She came in Tuesday morning to thank us for our part in the rescue.”
“She had a lot to thank you for,” George commented. “I don’t know what would have happened to that little girl if it hadn’t been for you two.” He reached for the coffee that Henny had put on the desk. “Still don’t know where Alice Standish got the idea that Doctor Sloan had $25,000 that belonged to her.”
“Alice told me that was the amount that was missing from the gallery assets,” Maggie said, “so she decided that Jonathan had given it to Judith. But Judith was totally mystified, so she called Jonathan’s lawyer, Humphrey Crumbie, and asked him about it. He was reluctant to tell her at first but quickly changed his mind when told of the kidnapping. Apparently, Jonathan, already unhappy with his marriage, had put the money into trust funds for his daughter Jenny and his two grandchildren—Aaron’s daughters, for when they reached the age of eighteen—for their education.”
“So why hadn’t Standish told her about it himself?”
“He was waiting until after the divorce. But then, of course, he was killed.”
“But how did Alice Standish know her husband had money?” Henny asked, pushing the plate of her famous cookies closer to George.
“I asked Jane Weatherby the same question when she came in to see us yesterday,” Maggie answered. “She said her sister knew how much he was worth because he had hired her to do his bookkeeping before they were married. Jane was quite honest about her sister—told me that all she ever thought about was money.”
“You know Alice Standish has been charged with her husband’s murder, don’t you?” George asked.
“Jane told us. She is terribly upset, but I think deep down she knew her sister had killed him—and probably husband number two as well, although we’ll never be able to prove that. He supposedly tripped and fell down the basement stairs.”
“Poor man,” Henny said sadly. “To think she marry him for his money and then kill him to get it.”
“There was a bit more to it than that, Henny,” George answered. “Jonathan had discovered that Alice and the Forbes woman were using his gallery for fraud and a front for stolen art. He had demanded that they stop immediately and he wanted Alice out of his life permanently. She couldn’t let that happen because she had quite a ring going and it had become a very lucrative business. So, Jonathan had to go. She tried to make it look like suicide, and if it hadn’t been for your keen eye, Nat,” George added, “she would have got away with it.”
“And then to find out there was no money,” Nat added.
George nodded. “She knew that her late husband had been involved with some woman and, putting two and two together, came to the conclusion that the money had gone to his lady friend.”
“And that’s why she was so anxious for Nat and me to find Judith.”
George nodded. “Jonathan had managed to keep her identity a close secret.”
“I guess she killed that poor boy, Alex Donitz, too,” Maggie said sadly.
“Sheldon White helped us with that one,” George answered. “Alex was just what he seemed, a poor immigrant artist from Poland, out of work and hungry but also light-fingered. Sheldon introduced him to Alice and she immediately recruited him into her fraudulent scheme of copying and stealing. Sheldon rented him space in his studio to do the work, and that was where Alex found the three Krieghoffs that Sheldon had stolen and hidden away because he planned to copy them and sell the copies himself.”
“So Sheldon realized that Alex was the one who had taken them and he told Alice,” Nat commented as he absent-mindedly picked up one of Henny’s burnt offerings.
“Yes. Alice already suspected that Alex was two-timing her and was selling paintings on the side. And, I guess, by that time killing came easy to her.”
“So Sheldon suspected Alice had killed Alex?”
“Oh, he knew darned well she had done it. That was why he was so scared. He thought he would be next.”
“Was Tricia Forbes in on Alex’s murder?” Maggie asked.
“She admits to art fraud but absolutely denies having anything to do with either of the murders,” George answered.
“But Forbes must have been the one who grabbed the paintings from Alex’s apartment,” Maggie mused. “Gloria said the person who bashed her in the mouth and took the paintings was tall and slim and left behind a slight trace of perfume.”
“Gloria didn’t see the person’s face?”
“It was well hidden behind a scarf.”
George pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. “It’s early days, so I know I don’t have to ask you to keep all this quiet. Farthing would have my badge if he found out I’d given you all this info.”
“You don’t have to ask, George. Our lips are sealed.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.” Maggie followed George out of Nat’s office.
“So when’s the big day?” he asked as he opened the outside door.
“This coming Saturday.”
“You know, you had us very worried, Maggie.” He put his arm around her and gave a gentle squeeze. “So glad to have you back with us safe and sound. I hope you enjoy every minute of Midge’s wedding.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The wedding was set for eleven that morning, and Maggie made sure that she arrived at Harry’s house a good two hours beforehand. She wanted, more than anything else, for this day to be one of the most cherished memories for her daughter.
“So glad you made it in good time.” Harry, already impeccably dressed in his black morning suit, opened the door, gave her a peck on the cheek, and then took the garment bag containing her dress from her hands. “Midge is getting dressed in our bedroom,” he said, leading the way inside, “and you can dress in the adjacent spare room. Is that all right with you?”
“That is so thoughtful of you, Harry.” She was determined to be as nice as possible. “The connecting bathroom will make it so much easier for me to help Midge get dressed. And all that giggling must be the bridesmaids?”
“They’re in the back bedroom. Why does Midge need four of them?”
“They’re her friends. Flowers arrived?”
“Yes, and the hairdresser.” Maggie could detect a little hysteria in his voice. “Thank God, Mother decided to go straight to the church.”
Maggie also thanked God.
As she put her foot on the first stair, she was immediately taken back four years—it had been her fiftieth birthday and she had climbed these self-same stairs to the bedroom she had shared with Harry, looked in the mirror, and knew she needed more out of life. That fateful decision changed her life forever. She walked along the landing to the familiar room and pushed the door open.
“You’re just in time to help me into my dress.” Midge, her chestnut hair piled high, smiled at her mother. “Isn’t it a wonderful day?”
• • •
CHRIST CHURCH CATHEDRAL never looked lovelier. Sunshine flooded through the stained glass windows to bathe the interior of the church, masses of spring flowers overflowed their vases to decorate the sanctuary, and white ribbons had been tied to each of the pews. Maggie, escorted by her son-in-law Charles, walked proudly up the aisle to slip into the pew beside Honoria. She had to admit that Harry’s mother looked regal in her soft rose silk dress with matching hat and shoes.
“I must say, Margaret,” her mother-in-law said, leaning close to whisper in Maggie’s ear, “that your blue lace complements my ensemble.”
Maggie smiled and then leaned over to speak to her daughter Barbara, who was sitting on the other side of her grandmother. “You okay, dear?”
Barbara gave her mother a wan smile. “As well as can be expected, considering that this child,” she patted her bulging stomach, “is continuingly kicking my insides out. Must be a girl!”
Honoria straightened her back and glared at her granddaughter. “Barbara, lower you voice. People will hear you.” She shook her head in disapproval. “There’s a time and place for everything.”
“Look, Mom, Jason and the best man have arrived,” Barbara said, completely ignoring her grandmother. “Midge should be here any moment.”
The excitement in the church was palpable as the guests waited for the arrival of the bride. Maggie turned in her seat to glance toward the back of the church, and her heart beat a little faster when she saw a familiar, dear face. Nat, as promised, had arrived. Charles, finished with his ushering duties, came to claim his seat next to his wife. Maggie smiled at him as she stood to let him pass, but Honoria, still miffed, remained seated.
“Just watch your feet, young man.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled before sinking down onto the pew.
“Young people these days,” Honoria mumbled.
Then the music of the organ suddenly changed from a cantata to “Here Comes the Bride” and the congregation rose to its feet.
The procession began with the four bridesmaids dressed in lavender velvet and carrying bouquets of lilac and baby’s breath, and then came five-year-old Oliver, dressed in a white velvet suit and precariously carrying a white satin cushion with the wedding rings pinned firmly to it.
Midge, her face covered in the veil Maggie had worn at her own wedding, was radiant as she walked down the aisle on the arm of a very proud Harry. The bouffant dress of creamy lace decorated with seed pearls had a heart-shaped neckline and, Maggie saw, provided a frame for the gold and diamond pendant Honoria had graciously lent her granddaughter for the occasion. Instead of a bouquet Midge carried a simple white prayer book with cascading purple orchids.
There were tears on Harry’s face when, after giving his daughter away, he joined Maggie in the front pew. She automatically reached out and patted his hand.
“Thank you for this day, Margaret,” he whispered. “We are a family.”
• • •
THE RECEPTION, HELD in the Hotel Vancouver just across the way, went without a hitch. The food was excellent and the speeches long. Maggie dutifully danced with Jason’s father—a doctor of the old school—and then was claimed by one of Harry’s business partners.
“You look very lovely, my dear,” Snodgrass said, and Maggie felt the old coot’s hand slipping down below her waist. “Harry should never have let you go.”
“Thank you.” She gently lifted his hand higher. “Ah, here is one of the bridesmaids, who, I’m sure, would love to dance with you.” And Maggie skillfully grabbed the startled girl and guided her into the man’s arms. She turned to make her escape only to find that Harry was waiting for her.
“What was Snodgrass saying to you?” he asked as he guided her onto the small dance area.
“He said I looked lovely.”
“And you do, Margaret. What a wonderful day, and we are back as a family again.”
“I’m glad Barbara is having a good time,” Maggie said as Charles and his very pregnant wife danced by.
“And that’s our next big family event,” Harry answered proudly. “Perhaps she’ll have another boy.”
“Harry, please go and dance with your mother.” Maggie could see her mother-in-law bearing down on them. “I must get a breath of fresh air.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No,” she answered, slipping out of his arms. “Your mother’s waiting for you.”
Maggie passed through the double doors of the reception room and out into the corridor. She walked up to the balustrade above the staircase leading down to the lobby. Leaning over, she gazed at the throng of people milling below, and she found herself smiling as the laughter from all these well-dressed people drifted up the staircase.
Then she saw him. Nat was sitting in one of the plush armchairs that were scattered around the huge reception area. As if he sensed her presence, he glanced up to where she was standing. He smiled and got to his feet. They met halfway down the sweeping staircase, and taking her by the hand, he led her gently down to the main floor and into a small alcove.
He drew her to him. “Midge made a beautiful bride—but nowhere as beautiful as her mother.” He paused for a moment. “I know how tough it must be for you not to be a real part of all that going on upstairs, Maggie. There’re your daughters, Harry’s business associates, friends of the family . . .” his voice trailed off.
She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. “Nat, you are my life. And,” she added, “I realize that I haven’t been fair to you. I am going to wait until the excitement of the wedding has worn off, then I am going to ask Harry for a divorce.”
GWENDOLYN SOUTHIN is the author of four previous Margaret Spencer mysteries. She was born in Essex, England, and launched her writing career after retiring to British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast in the 1980s. Her short stories and articles have appeared in Maturity, Pioneer News, and Sparks from the Forge, and she is co-editor of The Great Canadian Cookbook with Betty Keller. Gwen was a founding member of the SunCoast Writers’ Forge, the Festival of the Written Arts, and the region’s writers-in-residence program. She makes her home in Sechelt, BC, where she is at work on more Margaret Spencer adventures. Please visit quintessentialwriters.com/southin.html.
More in the Margaret Spencer Mystery Series
At age fifty, Margaret Spencer’s empty nest and empty marriage prompt her to answer an ad for part-time work at the office of private investigator Nat Southby. Suddenly, she is deep in the most unlikely of adventures for a woman in 1950s and ’60s Vancouver. Gwendolyn Southin blends the charm of gumshoe techniques with the fresh perspective of a developing female detective.
“The flow is smooth, the action well-paced.” —Quill & Quire
“This is a clever series, and puzzle-plot fans will adore it.” —The Globe and Mail
“Margaret Spencer is a smart and feisty woman to whom people open up. Original.” —The Saskatoon Star Phoenix
DEATH IN A FAMILY WAY
IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH
DEATH ON A SHORT LEASH
DEATH AS A LAST RESORT
Copyright © 2012 Gwendolyn Southin
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LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION
Southin, Gwendolyn
Death as a fine art [electronic resource] / Gwendolyn Southin.
(A Margaret Spencer Mystery)
Electronic monograph issued in multiple formats.
Also issued in print format.
ISBN 978-1-927129-43-2 (HTML).—ISBN 978-1-927129-44-9 (PDF)
I. Title. II. Series: Southin, Gwendolyn. Margaret Spencer mystery.
PS8587.O978D34 2012 C813'.6 C2012-902553-4
Editor: Linda L. Richards
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Cover design: Tobyn Manthorpe
We gratefully acknowledge the financial support for our publishing activities from the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund, Canada Council for the Arts, and the province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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