Death as a Last Resort (12 page)

“Anyway,” René continued, “he understands how we feel, because he offered to put up the money so that you can continue looking into Dad's murder . . . and I guess Jackie's, too.”

“And find that Egyptian stuff,” Isabelle added.

René put his hand into his coat pocket. “He gave us this cheque to give you as a retainer. Will it be enough?”

Nat was stunned. He was looking at a cheque for five hundred dollars. “More than enough! All right, we'll continue working on it. Mrs. Spencer will take you into her office and get you to sign the necessary contract.” He reached over his desk and shook their hands. “We'll do the best we can.”

Maggie escorted them to her office, and while she filled out the contract form, she remarked, “I'm really surprised that Mr. Schaefer is helping with the finances. He didn't seem to care about your dad's murder when we saw him just before the funeral.”

“That's just his way,” Isabelle answered. “He's a real softy inside.”

Maggie nodded. “I see. Now I just need you two to sign here . . . and here.” As she watched them sign, she found herself making a mental bet that it was Isabelle with her beautiful blue eyes who had persuaded Schaefer to hand over the money. Then she asked, “You work for Jerrel Bakhash, don't you, René?”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw you driving into his parking lot the day I went to interview him.”

“Yeah! I was at a loose end last fall and Dad got the job for me. But I'm thinking of quitting.”

“You're not happy there?” Maggie asked.

“It's okay. But I don't see myself cutting out shirts forever and . . .” He hesitated, looked toward Isabelle and then continued, “There's something odd about the place.”

“What kind of odd?” Maggie encouraged.

“Well, I started working in the packing room . . . you know, opening crates of cotton and stuff, but every time these two guys showed up with their truck, Bakhash always wanted me to run an errand or do something upstairs for him.”

“What kind of guys?”

“Well, I think they're brothers, and they have funny accents. And sometimes a big guy who looks like their father comes with them.”

“What kind of funny accents?” Maggie persisted.

René thought for a moment. “They're English accents, I guess. Not the la-di-da kind, but you know . . . And then suddenly Bakhash transferred me upstairs to the cutting room.”

“Maybe Mr. Bakhash realized you had more potential,” Maggie said.

“René shook his head. “No, I think I got too curious.”

“Perhaps they're just retailers picking up their orders.”

“I suppose. But why so secretive?”

Maggie walked them to the door. “Would you give me a call if you see or hear anything else you think is odd? But,” she added as she handed over her card, “do be careful.”

“You mean you want René to spy on them?” Isabelle asked excitedly.

“No. I just want him to be alert to what's going on there.”

“Oh, and about Mr. Bakhash,” René said as he was halfway out the door. “I'm supposed to be at the dentist this afternoon. I'd rather he didn't know I was here.”

“Fine with me,” Maggie answered, shaking his hand. “Keep in touch.” When she shook hands with Isabelle, she couldn't help but notice that the girl had a ring on nearly every finger.
Well, she may not have cared for her stepmother, but she certainly shared her love of jewellery.

• • •

“SO,” MAGGIE SAID AFTER telling Nat of her conversation with the brother and sister, “I'd say that the guys with the funny accents sound very much like Henry Smith and his two charming sons. What do you think?”

“I think you're right, and they're up to some kind of monkey business with Bakhash. And what about Schaefer paying for our services?”

“He's the last person I'd expect to cough up the money for us to continue.” Maggie shook her head in wonderment. “He certainly wasn't what I'd call welcoming when we went to see him. Perhaps he is, as the Dubois kids say, all bark and quite a softy inside.”

“Well, it's back to interviewing and shaking a few people up—especially Bakhash. And,” he said, waving Schaefer's cheque, “the Southby and Spencer Agency is going to treat its two top investigators to dinner at Monty's tonight.”

“And they deserve it,” Maggie replied.

• • •

NANCY EMPTIED THE CONTENTS of the paper bag onto her dressing table, then reached for the ornate gold earrings and put them on. A turquoise and gold necklace and a heavy matching bracelet were next, and she preened first one way and then the other while she surveyed her reflection in the triple mirrors. If she squinted a little, she looked exactly like the pictures of that statue they found before the war of that Egyptian queen, Nefer-something-or-other . . . although the statue had been a little skinnier.

Then, one by one, she picked up each of the other bracelets, rings and necklaces, trying them on and studying the effect in the mirror. “They're a trifle on the heavy side for my taste,” she told her reflection. “But if the gold and silver are real, they're worth a mint.” Nancy didn't have a clue what some of the other objects were—they looked like carved lumps of stone—but she picked up one and then another and looked at them closely. One was a heart-shaped, speckled green stone with a beetle deeply carved on top; another was made of glazed pottery with symbols of some kind carved on the underside. Placing them back on the dressing table, she reached for the last piece of jewellery, an armlet made out of wood with ivory inlays. She pushed it as far as it would go on her right arm, stepped back from the mirror and preened once again.

Taking a cigarette out of a crumpled pack, Nancy slowly lit it and took a deep drag. It was obvious to her now that these were some of the Egyptian artifacts that had been stolen from Jacquelyn. There had been lots more sitting right there in boxes in Edgeworthy's file room, but most of it had been too big to go into her pockets. But what the hell had it been doing in there in the first place? And was that why Jacquelyn had been murdered? It was a frightening thought. But she soon brightened up. “They have no way of knowing I was there. And,” she laughed, “if anyone can be tied to the break-in, it'll be that conniving bitch in Nat's office.” Still wearing the jewellery, she walked into her kitchen, took the telephone book out of a bottom drawer and thumbed her way through the yellow pages. “Ah, here we are— antique dealers.”

CHAPTER NINE

V
alentine's Day brought two surprises for Maggie. The first was a heart-shaped box of her favourite chocolates, which Nat had placed on her desk, and the second was the delivery of a dozen red roses. “My goodness, Nat has really gone overboard,” she said as she took in their heavenly scent. “Especially,” she added, “as I only gave him a card.”

“Here,” Henny said from the doorway, “I haf brought vase.”

Maggie placed the small gift envelope that had fallen out of the bouquet onto her desk blotter before carefully placing each bud into the vase.

“I hope that's the right kind of chocolates,” Nat said from the doorway. “And thanks for the card.” He stopped suddenly when he saw the roses. “You've got another admirer?”

“You mean you didn't . . .” Maggie quickly opened the envelope and then sat down abruptly.
Your wedding bouquet was roses,
she read,
so I know how much you love them. Harry
. “Oh, dear,” she said.

Puzzled, Nat walked over to the desk and picked up the card.“He never gives up, does he?” He turned and walked out of the room.

“Oh, Harry,” Maggie said quietly, glancing at the calendar. They would have celebrated their twenty-ninth anniversary last Saturday.

• • •

FRIDAY WAS GREY AND very windy. Maggie, driving along Hastings Street, had to grip the steering wheel firmly as the strong gusts slammed against the side of her small car. She was thankful when she eventually turned into Bakhash's parking lot.

“As I told you on the telephone,” he said, escorting her into his office, “I can only spare you a few minutes.”

“I appreciate you giving me the time,” she answered, settling into the comfortable seat and taking out her notepad. “You know about Jacquelyn Dubois's murder?”

“So sad. A waste of a beautiful woman.”

“You knew her well?”

“No. I have already told you that I met Maurice at the fishing lodge. He was trying to sell property there.”

“But,” Maggie answered as she turned the pages back on her steno pad, “you employed Dubois's son.”

“And what business is that of yours?” he asked tightly.

“You told me that you met Dubois for the first time at the fishing lodge. And then I find out that you employed his son last fall.”

“And may I ask how you know that?”

“I saw him entering the building on my last visit, and his mother told me he was working here.”

“I was doing the boy's father a favour.”

“But you only met his father at New Year's.”

Jerrell Bakhash glared at Maggie through his horn-rimmed glasses. Bending towards her over his huge desk, he growled, “I do not want to be mixed up in a bloody murder. So I lie! I met that man at a dinner last fall, and he did nothing but carry on about his son. I offered to help by giving the boy a job.”

“And the ad in the paper for investing in St. Clare Cove?”

“That is true, but I knew about it beforehand. Now, you excuse me?” He walked around his desk. “Tell me, madam,” he added as he ushered her through the door. “I can't see you detective people doing this for free—so now that the widow's dead, who is paying you?”

Maggie was saved from answering, because Bakhash's secretary was frantically waving the telephone toward him. “It's your call to Cairo.”

Bakhash grabbed the phone and began an animated conversation in Arabic. As she walked out into the corridor to descend the stairs, Maggie leaned over the rail to see the rows of women she'd seen on her last visit, heads bent over their sewing machines.

• • •

WHEN NAT ARIVED BACK from lunch, he found his friend George Sawasky chatting to a delighted Henny while he sipped a mug of tea and munched on one of her monster cookies. She had been making these cookies for Nat from the first week of her employment with the agency. They were always burnt or overdone and as hard as nails. Nat hated them, but George actually seemed to be enjoying the things.

“Thought I'd drop by and see how you're all doing,” he said, tossing the last of the cookie into his mouth.

“I've kept one for you, Mr. Nat. I'll bring it with your tea.”

“I had a late lunch, Henny. Wrap it up for George to take home with him.” Quickly escaping into his office, he indicated for his friend to follow. “Any news on Jacquelyn's murder?” Nat asked.

“Not much. We know that she died as the result of multiple stab wounds to the throat and upper body. The pathologist's report states that the fatal blow was to the heart.”

“She put up a fight?”

George nodded. “There was bruising to the neck and arms and both her hands were deeply cut.”

Nat thought for a moment. “I guess the killer could have tried to restrain her by holding her by the neck,” he said slowly, “and the cuts to her hands point to her trying to ward off the knife. Do you think there was more than one attacker?”

“I suppose there could have been. Hey!” George said suddenly, “Why the interest? Your client's dead.”

“We've been hired back again,” Nat replied, laughing. “But don't worry, you haven't given too much away.” Both men turned to the door as Maggie entered.

“What hasn't he given away?” she asked, giving George a hug before sinking into the other chair. “What great secrets have you been letting slip?”

He repeated what he had told Nat. “So who's rehired the pair of you?”

“Actually it's the son, René, and his stepsister, Isabelle,” Maggie told him.

Then Nat asked, “Do you think you could keep this fact from our friend Farthing?”

“I won't volunteer the information, but he's bound to find out,” George said, getting to his feet. “And,” he added, “a little bit of exchange of information wouldn't go amiss. I'll be in touch.” He walked into the outer office. “Bye, Henny,” they heard him say. “Nat's so lucky that you make him such good cookies.”

“That rat!” Nat muttered. “Now she'll make masses more.”

“Anyway,” Maggie said suddenly, “we know that Jacquelyn knew at least one of her callers that night. Remember the dinner dishes on the drain board?”

“I wonder if they found any fingerprints on them,” Nat said, drawing his yellow pad toward him. “How did the interview with Bakhash go?”

“I've got the feeling he's one very dangerous individual,” Maggie said, looking down at her notes and filling him in on what she had learned.

“So he lied about knowing Maurice Dubois,” Nat commented. “Have you got the original list of people who were at that resort?”

Maggie flipped back the pages of her notepad and passed it over to him.

“So,” Nat said, drawing his yellow pad toward him, “Bakhash now admits to knowing Maurice before the New Year's get-together. Schaefer was his partner in the lumberyard. Robert Edgeworthy was his partner in the Secret Valley ski resort deal. The Smiths say they didn't know him, but Jacquelyn said that Dubois had called at their emporium a few times.” He paused, pen in air. “The last on the list is Liam Mahaffy, and he was in the army with Schaefer but says he only met Dubois in Pender Harbour.”

“And into the midst of this motley crew,” Maggie said, grinning, “comes your ex-wife, Nancy, and the bracelet and whatever else she stole that night from Edgeworthy's office. What we don't know is why all that stolen stuff was in Edgeworthy's office in the first place.”