“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
Just 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
Maggie 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.”
“So why did you come back this weekend?”
“Because your secretary told me that the Smith brothers had grabbed the woman who stole Dad’s Egyptian jewellery,” René said.
“And that’s why we know she’s got it,” Isabelle cut in. She pointed at Nancy, who shook her head sadly again.
“How did your father get the stuff in the first place?” Maggie asked. “Was he part of the smuggling ring?”
“No,” René answered. “He found out what was going on, and I guess, knowing Dad, he demanded a payoff to keep quiet.”
“He always called us his little family,” Isabelle said vehemently, “but he was a blackmailer and a crook and a liar and then he got conned by that little gold digger.” She turned to watch René ineffectually poking the reluctant fire. “Here, give them to me.” And grabbing the tongs out of his hands, she bent down and pushed the pieces of wood into the flame.
“Isabelle,” René said in a warning voice.
Ignoring him, she carried on, “He promised René a partnership in the logging business and then that Jacquelyn got him fired. And he was going to set me up with my own beauty salon.”
“But why kill your own father?” Maggie asked softly.
Nancy stared at Maggie in horror. “You mean they killed Maurice?”
Isabelle stood up and turned from the fire to face Maggie. “Jacquelyn got him to change his will, and then she had the nerve to tell us that we had to stand on our own two feet.” She laughed. “She said she and Dad were going to start their own family—if you can believe that!”
“Oh, Isabelle,” René said sadly. “Why can’t you keep your mouth shut?”
“I’d begun to figure it out for myself, anyway,” Maggie told him. “And Jacquelyn? Did you kill her, too?”
“We had to,” Isabelle answered. “With her gone, we inherit everything.”
“Oh, my God, no,” Nancy moaned. “Jacquelyn, too?”
“Oh, shut up,” Isabelle snapped.
There was silence. Isabelle stood holding the tongs. She seemed to be daring Maggie to move.
“I guess we underestimated you,” René said at last. “Your knowing all this changes everything.”
“Nat knows that Nancy and I are here. And the police are on their way,” Maggie answered, turning to walk towards the door.
Isabelle laughed. “I don’t think so. Anyway, we’ll have to take that chance.”
Maggie was only a couple of feet away from the outside door and safety when she sensed a movement behind her. She ducked, but Isabelle was quicker, and the heavy iron fire tongs came crashing down on her head.
• • •
NAT SLOWLY PULLED HIMSELF up and peered in both directions before starting the engine and ramming the car into gear. He drove up the long, winding driveway to the entrance—no one was following—but he was sure that once Mahaffy saw that his car had gone, he would be hot on the chase. Nat hadn’t realized how tense he was until the iron gates came into view and he began to breathe easier. Now where the hell are you, Maggie?
“Bloody hell!” A Jeep had suddenly appeared from the side road on the right and swerved directly toward him. Nat jammed on his brakes, shooting Oscar into the front seat. The Jeep didn’t stop but kept going hell-bent for leather through the gates to disappear up the hill ahead. “Jesus!” Nat leaned his head on the steering wheel, his heart hammering.
“What’s wrong, Oscar?” The dog was scrabbling frantically at the door. “Wait a sec.” He leaned over and patted him on the head. “Let me park, okay?” Putting the car back into gear, he drove through the gates, but before he could pull over and park, a black Ford nosed its way toward them up the short, steep incline to the gates and halted beside him. Sergeant George Sawasky climbed out of his car.
Nat rolled down his window, and immediately Oscar leapt over him, out the window and raced up the hill.
“Oscar, come back here,” Nat yelled.
“What’s going on?” George asked.
“Maggie and Nancy are missing. She left a note telling me to meet her here at the gates.”
Suddenly, George pointed back down the road. “My God, look!”
Nat climbed out of his car. “Nancy?”
They watched incredulously as Nancy, still tied to the wooden chair, hobbled toward them. “They’ve got Maggie,” she shouted.
“Who has Maggie?” Nat said, running toward her.
“René and Isabelle! And they killed Maurice and Jacquelyn.” And she sat down on the chair, tears running down her face. “Get me out of this, Nat,” she pleaded.
Nat squatted down beside her and started to untie the ropes.
At that moment, the passenger door of George’s car opened and out popped Quentin De Meyer. “I’ve got to get down to the resort before the Coast Guard arrives,” he yelled. “Can’t you catch up on your social life later?”
“Take the damned car, Quentin,” George yelled back. “I’m going to help Nat find Maggie. Now,” he continued, pulling Nancy free from her chair, “let’s follow Oscar. He knows where she’s gone.” Grabbing Nancy by the arm, George helped her toward Nat’s car.
Nat slid behind the wheel, and moments later the old Chevy was heading up the hill in the direction that Oscar had gone.
“Let’s get away from this goddamned place,” Nancy screamed from the back seat.
“But I only saw two people in that Jeep,” Nat said as he drove.
“They probably threw her in the back,” Nancy chimed in. “Isabelle hit her on the head and she was out cold.”
“Oh, my God!” Nat groaned. “I can’t believe those two are murderers.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m here,” George said, holding tightly to the door handle as Nat pushed his foot down on the accelerator. “Scene of crime officers have finally identified two distinct sets of fingerprints in places that only the killer or killers could have left them. And Jacquelyn’s maid told us that René had become a frequent visitor since Maurice’s death. And on that particular night, she had helped Jacquelyn prepare dinner for the two of them.”
“René?” Nat asked in disbelief.
“And the other prints were Isabelle’s. Let’s hope we can catch up to them.”
“And Maggie must have figured it out,” Nat answered grimly. “But where could they be going?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Maggie could hear somebody moaning, and as she struggled to wake up, she realized that the moaning was coming from her. All she wanted to do was sink back into sleep, but subconscio
usly she knew that she must wake up. Okay. I’m in a car of some sort and I’ve hurt my head. Whose car? She tried hard to think. Then it came to her—she was lying in a fetal position on the floor behind the front seats of a car. It’s René’s Jeep!
“I hope you didn’t kill her,” Maggie heard René say.
“What’s it matter?” the girl answered. “We have to get rid of her anyway.”
“I can’t do it, Isabelle.”
Maggie realized the car had stopped.
“Keep going, you idiot,” his stepsister ordered him.
I must pull myself together, Maggie thought. She tried to flex her legs without the two in front seeing the movement.
René rammed the Jeep into gear and turned right. Maggie had to stifle a cry of pain as the Jeep’s acceleration caused her head to strike the hard metal floor.
“There’s a big lake at the end of this road,” Isabelle said, glancing over her shoulder to check on Maggie.
“So?” René asked.
“That’s where we dump her.”
“No! We’ve done enough killing, Isabelle,” René answered.
“You’re a big baby, René,” she sneered. “Baby!”
• • •
NAT TURNED RIGHT AT the crest of the hill onto Hotel Lake Road and drove around the twists and turns until he was skirting the lake itself.
“There’s a turnoff ahead,” George yelled.
“Which way would they have gone?”
“Go right,” George shouted. “Look! Skid marks.”
Nat rammed the old car into gear and tore around the corner, but the tires hitting the muddy verge caused the car to begin a slow skid and head straight for the lake’s edge. He yanked hard on the steering wheel, but the car was slow to respond and continued its slide across the mud. There was nothing he could do but hold onto the wheel. Gradually, the vehicle stopped skidding and came to rest a mere foot away from the lapping water.
“For God’s sake,” Nancy yelled. “You nearly got us killed!”
Nat took a few deep breaths, then carefully reversed back onto the gravel road. “Sorry about that,” he said in a very shaky voice.
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