Death as a Last Resort

by Gwendolyn Southin

  As Maggie left the house, she glanced toward the garage again. Jacquelyn was already climbing into the white sports car. I guess she really is going out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Barbara was surprised to see her mother at the front door. “What’s wrong?” There was no “how are you” or “it’s so nice to see you, Mom.”

  “I was visiting a client close by so I thought I’d call in to see how you are.” Maggie followed her elder daughter into the large, sunny kitchen at the rear of the house. “It’s been quite a while.”

  “That’s not my fault, Mother. You’re always so busy at that ridiculous job of yours. Have you spoken to Dad recently?”

  “A couple of days ago. Where’s Oliver?” Maggie’s three-year-old grandson was a source of joy to her, and she was still amazed that Barbara could have produced such a happy and contented baby.

  “He’s napping. I suppose you’re too busy to stay for lunch?”

  “I would love to stay for lunch,” Maggie answered. “Is it okay if I go up and get Oliver?” Maggie was determined that she was not going to react to the usual unpleasantness about her job or leaving Harry, dating her boss, and most of all, downgrading from the large Kerrisdale house she had shared with Harry to her small one-person house in Kitsilano. It was hard to skirt around these subjects, but Oliver was so demanding of Maggie’s attention that the next couple of hours went by very happily.

  • • •

  “THOUGHT YOU’D GOT LOST,” Nat greeted her later that afternoon. “Interview took longer than you thought?”

  “No. I went to see Jacquelyn after I met with the Smiths, which I will tell you about in a moment. Then since Barbara lives so close to the Dubois house, I decided to pop in and see her.”

  “How did that go?”

  “Very well. She’s much . . . I’m not sure how to put it . . . softer since she’s had Oliver.”

  “That’s what motherhood does for you,” Nat replied with a grin.

  “What would you know about that?”

  “Not much, I guess, but I often wonder if things would’ve been different if Nancy and I’d had kids. Anyway, tell me about the Smiths and our client.” He listened and made notes as Maggie filled him in on the interviews.

  “That man really gave me a scare, Nat. He’s huge and really menacing.” She paused for a moment, thinking back. “And something struck me as odd. The Smiths absolutely denied knowing Maurice Dubois before, but when I asked Jacquelyn if she knew the Smiths and their emporium, she said that Maurice had taken her there to ‘buy or pick up something.’”

  “Did she know what he’d bought?”

  Maggie laughed. “Well, I can tell you it couldn’t have been any of the Smiths’ treasures. I’ve never seen such junk! And you saw the wonderful antique furniture in Jacquelyn’s house. I’ll get Henny to type these notes up right away. You know,” she added, “we seem to be getting the same answers from everyone, and it makes me wonder if it’s worth going all that way to Delta to see that horse breeder. What’s the name of the place?”

  “Twin Maples Stud Farm. We might as well go, just to make sure we’ve seen everyone. Besides, it’s not so far now that the new tunnel is open under the river.”

  • • •

  LIAM MAHAFFY’S ACCENT WAS as Northern Irish as his name. “So what can I do for you?” he asked. Two of the biggest German shepherds that Maggie had ever seen stood beside him, daring Nat and Maggie to enter the office.

  “Beautiful animals,” she said, putting her hand out so each of them could sniff it. “What are their names?”

  “Black and Tan—what else?”

  “I have a dog of my own,” she said, but didn’t add that Oscar was less than half the size and was a complete wimp.

  When his dogs finally indicated their approval, Mahaffy ushered Nat and Maggie into his comfortable office, a separate building that stood between the main stable and the garage that housed his silver Jaguar. The warm scent of sweet hay and the sounds of a busy and lucrative business wafted through the partially open window to them as they sipped the coffee he provided.

  “You have quite a spread here,” Nat said, unbuttoning his jacket. “And you seem to have a lot of horses in those stables.” They had been thoroughly impressed with the massive stables as they drove through the farm’s gate.

  Mahaffy nodded. “I board as well as train horses for the track. But you haven’t come here to discuss horses.”

  “Mrs. Dubois has asked Mrs. Spencer and myself to look into her husband’s death,” Nat explained as he proffered a business card. “Could you tell us how long you had known him?” Nat leaned forward and accepted the cigarette that Mahaffy offered.

  Mahaffy glanced at Nat’s business card before answering. “Only just met the man.”

  “I see you were in the army, Mr. Mahaffy,” Maggie said, pointing to a photograph on the wall behind his desk.

  ”Yeah. Monty’s 8th Division.” Then he added proudly, “I was a lieutenant in the tank corps at El Alamein.” He got up from behind his desk and reached for the photograph of a group of soldiers standing in front of a Sherman tank. “Here’s my crew,” he said, placing it in front of them. “That’s me there.”

  “You all look so young,” Maggie remarked. “Have you kept in touch with any of them?”

  “Only Arnold Schaefer. We were two of the lucky ones.” He was silent for a moment.

  “What rank did Mr. Schaefer have?” Nat asked after a respectful moment.

  “He became our CO. Good bloke to have around, I can tell you.”

  “Did you live here before the war?” Maggie asked.

  “No. Schaefer persuaded me to immigrate.”

  “And you went straight into the horse breeding business?”

  “Good Lord, no. I had just enough money to buy a small farm on Lulu Island.”

  “Oh? Whereabouts?” Nat asked. “I used to live out there.”

  “Woodhead Road. Do you know the area? It’s just off No. 5 Road.”

  “Not very well. We lived over by Railway and Williams.”

  “I was no good at farming. Sold the acreage off a few years ago but kept the old house. Nice house, but it needs doing up . . .”

  “Going back to Pender Harbour,” Nat interrupted, “were you interested in buying one of those lots?”

  “I have enough on my plate here. Schaefer invited me up and I needed a break. I was rather interested in Dubois’s other venture, though.”

  “The ski lodge?” Maggie asked.

  “You’ve heard about it?”

  “Secret Valley. I hear Dubois staged some kind of an introductory lunch?”

  “Yeah! He had a good turnout.” He laughed. “Perhaps because it was free food. I hope Dubois’s death doesn’t put the kibosh on it, but I expect his partner will carry on.”

  “And who was his partner?”

  He hesitated for a fraction of a minute. “Some guy in real estate, I think.” He looked up as a girl in jodhpurs opened the door.

  “The vet’s here, Liam.”

  “Sorry, folks, gotta go.” He glanced casually at Nat’s card as he arose from behind his desk. “And it was Dubois’s widow that called you in?” He raised his eyebrows. “Why isn’t she letting the police get on with it?”

  “She wasn’t happy with the way they were handling it,” Nat answered, standing up. He reached across the desk and shook Mahaffy’s hand. “Thanks for seeing us.”

  After they left, Mahaffy slowly tapped the card on his teeth and watched the two of them climb into Maggie’s red Morris Minor.

  • • •

  “SO WHAT DO YOU think of our Irish boy?” Maggie asked as she swung the car out of the gate. “And did you see that silver Jag in the garage next to his office?”

  “I was more interested in the fact that he and Arnold Schaefer were in the army together.”

  “Yes, isn’t that something? I’m glad you didn’t tell him that Nancy was at that lunch. I think we should keep that to our
selves for a bit.”

  “I almost did mention it,” he admitted. “I get so steamed up when I think of her investing money she doesn’t have.”

  “It’s her money, Nat.”

  “That’s the point. It isn’t,” he growled.

  To change the subject, Maggie said as lightly as she could, “It’s such a beautiful day, why don’t we have lunch somewhere and then call on Midge and see how she’s making out with that puppy of hers?” Maggie knew that her younger daughter, Midge, an operating room nurse at the Royal Columbian Hospital, had Saturday afternoons off, and the puppy she was referring to was Snowball, a beautiful white Sealyham that a grateful client had insisted on giving to Maggie after their last case. But Emily and Oscar had been enough for Maggie to cope with in her small house, and Midge and Snowball were made for each other.

  “Great idea,” Nat answered. “Let’s call Midge and get her to meet us at that new Italian restaurant, Angelo’s, I think it was called. You remember? It’s just a stone’s throw from her place.”

  Maggie readily agreed and an hour later the three of them were sitting in a booth, sipping red wine and waiting in anticipation for their Pasta Primavera to arrive. The meal was wonderful and the talk just flowed between them as they ate and then had a leisurely coffee.

  “Thanks for a lovely lunch,” Midge said finally, getting to her feet. “l’d better get home and find out what Snowball has chewed up this time.”

  Later, when Maggie and Nat arrived at her house, she was very glad that Oscar’s puppy days were well behind him. The place was just as she had left it early that morning.

  • • •

  SUNDAY WAS A TYPICAL February day in Vancouver. It had turned from warm and sunny to cold, wet and windy. Maggie had just settled down to a late supper by the fireside when the phone gave an unwelcome ring.

  “Damn!” She glanced at her watch; it was eight fifteen. Nat, she knew, was on a stakeout on an arson case, and she’d spoken to both of her daughters that morning. Reluctantly, she reached for the offending instrument.

  “Sorry to interrupt your evening, Mrs. Spencer. It’s Julie from your answering service. A woman has called twice for Mr. Southby, but I can’t reach him. She insists it’s a matter of life or death . . . so I thought I’d better call you.”

  “Did she give you a name?”

  “That’s what’s odd. She’s quite distraught and she seems to be whispering, but I think she said that her name is Southby.”

  “You’d better patch her through.”

  “I’ve been trying to get Nat for hours!” Nancy was whispering, but the urgency in her voice still came through loud and clear. “Is he there with you?”

  “No. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m locked in this office and I can’t get out.”

  “What office?”

  “It’s a real estate office on Hastings.”

  “Call the owners.”

  “They don’t know I’m here.”

  “Then what in God’s name are you doing there?” Maggie snapped.

  “I came to get my money back.”

  “What money?” Maggie insisted.

  “Oh! For God’s sake. The deposit I made on that ski lodge. Just get hold of that husband of mine. He must be able to pick locks or something.”

  It was on the tip of Maggie’s tongue to point out that Nat wasn’t Nancy’s husband and that he was a detective, not a burglar, but she decided this wasn’t the time. She debated hanging up on the woman, but decided against that too. “Where are you?”

  “Edgeworthy’s Real Estate. On East Hastings.”

  “Where on Hastings?”

  “I don’t know. It’s near the PNE.”

  “It’s going to take me at least a half hour to get there.”

  “What about Nat?”

  “He’s away. It’s either me or the fire brigade. Take your pick.” When there was no answer, she slammed the receiver down, took a last bite of her now cold beef stew and put the plate on the kitchen floor for Oscar to finish.

  The wind and rain tore at her hooded raincoat as she ran down to the end of the garden, scraped open the garage doors and flung herself into her Morris Minor.

  “What in hell has that damned woman got herself into now?” She slammed the car into first gear and drove down the alleyway, turned right onto Trimble and then swung onto Fourth. “The things I do for you, Nat!” she muttered. “You definitely owe me for this one!”

  The real estate office, when she finally found it, was a two-storey structure between a shoe repair and a used bookstore. Knowing that the car would be very conspicuous if parked out front on a Sunday evening, she turned down Nanaimo and then drove along the alleyway until she located the back of the office. The three businesses shared a small, muddy parking lot, and except for a tiny glimmer of light from somewhere deep within the bookstore, all of them were in total darkness.

  The wind whipped the hood from her head and the icy rain lashed her face as she stepped out of the car to make her way to the back entrance of the office. The door was locked and all the windows had steel security bars over them. Just then a tapping noise drew her to the end window, and by the light of her torch, she saw Nancy’s terrified face pressed against the pane. But Maggie could see that even if she managed to break the glass, there would be no way of getting the dratted woman out through the bars. She made a sign that she was going around to the front.

  This was a wasted exercise. The front door was firmly shut, and the windows on either side barred like the back ones. By now the rain was running down her slicker and into her sodden shoes, and her feelings for Nat’s ex-wife were making her even testier. She returned to her car and took off around the block to look for a telephone booth. Quickly writing down the telephone number in large letters on her notepad, she zipped around to the back alley again and shone her flashlight onto the piece of paper so that Nancy could read it. She made a ten-minute sign and a dialing motion.

  By the time she got back to the booth, the phone was ringing, but now there was a man inside the booth, sheltering from the rain, and he was about to reach for it. “That’s for me,” she yelled, wrenching the folding door open.

  “Howdja know?” he answered, spewing alcohol fumes over her. “Could be for me,” he slurred.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” She pulled the man bodily from the booth, grabbed the phone out of his hand and kicked the door shut. “Nancy? What the hell are you doing in that place?”

  “You’ve got to get me out before they come back.”

  “Can’t you unlock the door from the inside?”

  “I wouldn’t bloody well be calling you if I could. The door’s locked on the outside. Where the hell’s Nat?”

  “I haven’t the faintest. Perhaps I should call the police.”

  “No! Get me out.”

  “Nancy, if I can’t find a way in, I’ll have to.”

  “I’ll be charged with breaking and entering!”

  “Okay! Sit tight.” Maggie couldn’t help grinning as she realized that Nancy had no other choice. Opening the booth’s door, she pushed by the drunk, who had slid down to the ground and was fondly nursing from a brown paper bag.

  Back in the parking lot, she sat in the car and surveyed the upper floor of the real estate office. There were no bars there, and although the two large windows were tightly shut, the small frosted one next to them that had to be in a bathroom was partly open. What she needed was a ladder. There were shed-like structures at the back of both the bookstore and the shoe repair shop, but there was also that glimmer of light coming from the bookstore itself, so she would have to try the shoe repair. Maggie pulled on a pair of gloves and climbed out into the rain again. However, the storage shed behind the shoe repair was tightly padlocked, its garbage cans in neat rows behind it and not a usable thing in sight. It had to be the bookstore’s shed, light or no light.

  Every step sounded like thunder as Maggie crunched her way across the gravel lot to peer into the shed�
�which thankfully was unlocked. Her flashlight revealed boxes, pails, jam jars and other accumulated junk, but high up on the wall, hanging on a couple of hooks, was a dilapidated wooden ladder. But just as she reached to unhook it, a dog began to bark.

  “Shut up,” a woman’s voice yelled at the dog, and to Maggie’s horror the back door of the bookstore was flung open and a strong beam of light suddenly focused on Maggie’s car, then swept over the shed.

  A woman stood in the doorway, clutching the collar of a huge black dog. “There’s no one there, for God’s sake. Just a car parked next door!” Minutes passed before the woman pulled the dog inside and closed the door.

  Maggie waited a good five minutes before daring to briefly use her flashlight to locate the ladder again and then carefully lift it down. “Now the tricky part,” she muttered. Do I make a dash for it and hope I don’t stumble or take it nice and easy? The heavy ladder decided it for her, but her heart was in her mouth as she slowly crunched her way back to Nancy’s prison.

  She began to climb the wobbly ladder. The slightly ajar window hinged outward, but as the ladder only reached the bottom of the window, she would have to reach above her head to pull it fully open. Not daring to look down as she inched herself onto the top rung, she finally levered herself over the sill. Luckily, the toilet seat was down, because that’s where she landed. The dull thud that followed was the ladder falling over, and the frantic barking was the dog next door. She quickly shut the window, felt her way to the door and headed downstairs.

  It took a while to locate the room that Nancy was in, and unfortunately, there was no handy key in the lock. She tapped on the door.

  “Is that you?” Nancy called.

  Who else would it be? “I’ve got to find the key.”

  “For God’s sake, make it quick.” Nancy didn’t know how near she was to being left where she was by a very wet, cold and bruised Maggie.

  Eventually she found a board loaded with keys in what looked like a general office. They were probably keys to the businesses they had for sale as well as for the offices, but she gathered them all up and headed back.