Death as a Last Resort (13 page)

“You're absolutely sure she came out of there with more than the bracelet?” Nat asked.

“Her pockets were bulging when she ran for my car and she kept her hands jammed into them as if she didn't want the stuff to bounce out. You don't suppose she would try to unload the stuff at a pawnshop or an antiques dealer?”

• • •

ROSIE SMITH HELD THE bracelet in her hands. “Where did yer get this?”

“A gift from a dear friend,” Nancy answered. “She told me it was genuine Egyptian.”

“Don't know about that,” Rosie answered, taking it over to the light. “Good replica. Give you seventy-five bucks for it.”

“It's worth at least a hundred and fifty.”

Rosie drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Not much call for this type of thing. But out of the goodness of my heart, I'll give yer a hundred—my last offer.” She opened the till and drew out five twenties.

“Okay,” Nancy said reluctantly. This was the third place she had tried that afternoon and it was her best offer yet.

“Any more where that come from?” Rosie asked casually as she handed over the money.

Nancy looked straight into the other woman's eyes. “No,” she answered and turned and walked towards the door. But what she didn't see was the nod that Rosie gave to one of her sons, who was polishing a table nearby. And unknown to Nancy, she had acquired a shadow as she sauntered down the street to where she had parked her car.

CHAPTER TEN

O
scar was one happy dog. Saturday dawned clear and spring-like, so that afternoon Maggie and Nat took him for a long walk in Stanley Park. He got to chase his favourite Frisbee on the grass and sticks on the beach, but he absolutely refused to go into the cold sea for them—he wasn't that stupid! After sharing a hot dog from a vendor in the park, he graciously allowed his favourite people to take him home, where, after giving Emily the cat a wet slurp, he crawled into his basket and fell asleep.

“There are some good movies on this weekend,” Nat said, reading from the newspaper. “There's one of those funny English movies—
Carry On Regardless,
a horror movie with Audrey Hepburn called
The Children's Hour
and a western,
Gunfight In Black Horse Canyon.
Take your pick.”

“Not the western,” she replied with a shudder. “That name makes me think of Black Adder Ravine, where that woman took a potshot at me.”

“And I wasn't there to save you. Anyway, to get back to the movies, I'm not too keen on the Audrey Hepburn one, so let's have an early supper and go and see Sid James. We both could do with a good laugh.”

The movie was great fun and they were still laughing about it on their way home. “There's nothing like a good British comedy,” Nat commented as he parked the Chevy in front of Maggie's house.

“But you know, with all those British accents, right in the middle of the movie I suddenly found myself thinking about Henry and Rosie Smith.”

“And you asked yourself what Bakhashes' ready-made clothes have got to do with the Smiths' fake antiques, right?”

Maggie took off her coat and went into her small kitchen to put the kettle on. “That's the problem. I can't make a reasonable connection, except that they were together last New Year's at the fishing lodge.”

“Perhaps it's time that I went for a browse in the Smiths' emporium,” Nat said as he took two cups and saucers out of the cupboard.

• • •

MAGGIE LOVED TO WAKE up on Sunday mornings to the smell of coffee wafting up the stairs. Nat's brew always tasted better than anything she made, and then there was the added smell of bacon. She made it downstairs just as he placed the two plates laden with eggs, bacon and toast on the kitchen table. “I think I'll keep you, Mr. Southby,” she said, giving him a kiss.

“You'd have a helluva job getting rid of me now,” he answered, handing her a mug of the coffee and watching her take an appreciative sip. “And I'm ready to make it permanent whenever you give the word.”

“I know,” she answered. “I know.” But Maggie also knew in her heart that she wasn't ready to make that commitment. “I'm going to Barbara's this afternoon,” she said, changing the subject.

“Yes, you told me,” he answered. “It's your grandson's fourth birthday.” He always felt left out of Maggie's other life with her family. “I suppose Harry, the giver of roses, will be there,” he added grudgingly. He knew that Harry would do anything to get Maggie to go back to him.

“He
is
Oliver's grandfather.”

“I know.” He rose from the table and came to put his arms around her. “I'm sorry for sounding so jealous.”

• • •

THE BIRTHDAY PARTY WAS in full swing when Maggie arrived at the door with an armful of presents for her only grandchild. When she followed Barbara into the living room, a beautiful family scene was laid out before her. Her son-in-law Charles sat on the floor, holding little Oliver on his lap as they watched a Hornby 00 gauge train whiz around an oval track. Equally entranced and kneeling on the opposite side of the track was Jason, Midge's old boyfriend, and sitting in a cretonne-covered armchair with a self-satisfied look on his face was Harry, who was obviously the giver of the train. Maggie realized that her presents of a Pooh Bear, books and puzzles were superfluous. There was no way she could compete with a train.

“Hello, Margaret.” Harry pulled himself out of his chair and came to greet her with a peck on the cheek. “Glad you could make it. Thought you would be too busy detecting.”

“Wouldn't miss my grandson's party for the world.” Maggie was determined to keep things light. Nothing was going to spoil Oliver's day.

Hearing her mother's voice, Midge, who had been helping Barbara in the kitchen, ran into the room and gave her mother a big hug. “Here, let me help you with your things. Look, Oliver, come see what your grandma has brought you.”

“There's plenty of time,” Maggie said, sinking down into the other armchair. “Let him enjoy his train.”

Later, after an over-excited Oliver had been put to bed, the adults chatted over their coffee.

“Lovely party,” Jason said, snuggling up to Midge on the sofa. “But I suppose you're surprised to see me, Mrs. Spencer?”

“I was too polite to ask,” she answered with a laugh.

“He persuaded me that I couldn't live without him,” Midge said. Maggie had always liked Jason and had been very sorry when the two had split a year earlier.

“And what about the other good news?” Harry chimed in.

“What other good news?” Maggie asked, looking around at everybody.

“Oh, Father, I haven't . . .”

But before Barbara could finish, Harry cut in, “Hasn't Barbara told you? She's making me a grandfather again,” he said smugly.

Maggie felt a cold shiver run down her back. “No. I guess she hasn't,” she replied. She looked at her elder daughter. “I'm so pleased for you and Charles.”

“Mother, I
was
going to tell you. But I was so busy with Oliver's party and I didn't want to break the news over the phone and you're always so busy . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“So when is the baby due?”

“Late September.”

Maggie's feelings were hurt, but she knew her daughter's actions weren't without some warrant. Barbara was very close to her father and Maggie
was
always busy, and that fact couldn't help but make the rift between them worse.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

N
at drove past the Exotic Eastern Emporium on Pender, looking for a convenient parking spot. As he started to walk back to the store, he took a deep, appreciative breath. It was a beautiful Monday morning, and spring couldn't be far off, as there was a definite lift to the air. Unfortunately, it was fast intermingling with exhaust fumes, but that was the price one paid for being in this part of the city.

Pushing open the door of the emporium, he was immediately faced with a smell of a different kind—a mix of mouldering bric-a-brac, furniture polish, dusty carpets and incense. Looking around, he had to agree with Maggie that although he didn't know too much about antiques, most of the merchandise seemed to be a load of junk.

“See anything you like, dearie?” Nat realized that this overly made-up, peroxide blonde must be Rosie.

“These are not genuine?” he said, pointing to two tall vases masquerading as cloisonné.

Rosie seemed to size him up before answering. “I can see a gent like you knows a real genuine article when he sees one.”

Nat nodded wisely while he studied a small lacquered inlaid table. “But this piece is,” he said, keeping his fingers mentally crossed.

“Original from India.”

“What I'm really looking for,” Nat said, wending his way past several delicate-looking tables laden with bowls and vases, “is something Egyptian. But it has to be authentic, as it's for my wife's birthday, and she's been reading that new book about King Tut's tomb.”

She studied Nat for a moment. “Hard to find and very costly.”

She paused before she asked, “Is it jewellery you're after?”

“Jewellery or a small object. And don't worry about the cost.”

“Give me your name and phone number. I'll see what I can come up with.”

“It would be better if I called you,” Nat explained. “I want it to be a surprise.”

“I'll need a few days,” she said, leading him to the counter at the back of the store. “What did you say your name was, ducky?” she asked, her pen poised over a huge order book.

Oh, hell!
His gaze settled on a Chinese screen. “Harvey Peacock,” he improvised. The “Harvey” was legit, as it was his hated middle name.

“Lovely name,” Rosie said, handing him a business card. “Here's our phone number. Give me a call later in the week.”

• • •

IT WAS ALMOST ELEVEN by the time he reached the office and poked his head around Maggie's door.

“How did the party go?”

“Okay, I guess,” she answered. “Harry bought Oliver a train set.”

“The little guy must have loved that,” he said, coming all the way into the room. “But what gives me the feeling you're not too happy about it?”

“Oh, Nat, it's not the train set. It's just that I got the awful feeling that I didn't belong.” She couldn't stop the unbidden tears that sprang up.

“What did that man say to upset you like this?” He pulled Maggie to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. “Was he his usual pompous self?”

“Barbara's having another baby, and Harry knew and everyone else knew but no one had told me,” she said, her voice ending on a sob. She tried to pull herself away from his arms. “I'm being silly and I need a hankie.”

“Use mine. And you aren't silly. I'd like to give that family of yours a good talking to. Now,” he said gently, leading her back to her chair, “you sit tight and I'll fetch you a cup of coffee, and if you like,” he added, his eyes twinkling, “I'll even persuade Henny to give you one of my cookies.” But when he did return, he had fresh coffee for the two of them and the bag of doughnuts that he'd bought on his way back from the Smiths' emporium. He soon had her laughing as he related his visit to the store and especially his choice of
nom de plume.

• • •

“I'M OFF TO VISIT the alluring Rosie,” Nat called out to Maggie the following Wednesday morning.

“Don't mortgage your flat buying exotic jewellery,” Maggie answered with a laugh. She was trying hard to push away the blues that had clung to her since Oliver's birthday party.

“I'm only going to look at it.” Nat had called Rosie Smith and been told that she had managed to put her hands on a lovely piece, and could he come in around eleven? “What are your plans for the day?” he asked Maggie, who had emerged from her office to collect her coat from the rack in the reception area.

“I'm going to do some very necessary shopping, but I'm meeting with Donald Black at Smedley and Smedley at two o'clock for instructions on the new case they want us to investigate.”

“Did he say what it's about?”

“Something to do with an adoption agency. But I'm not sure if we have the time to take on anything else at the moment.”

“Get the facts and we'll discuss it later. Okay?” Shrugging into his overcoat, he opened the outer door for her. “The place is all yours, Henny.”

• • •

ROSIE SMITH SEMED DELIGHTED to see him. “I see you're a gent that keeps his word,” she said, leading him to the back of the store. “You'd be surprised how many people make arrangements and then don't bother to turn up.” She reached behind the high counter and brought up a small object wrapped in tissue paper. “Now this is one of a kind,” she said as she unwrapped it.

Nat believed her. The last time he had seen that bracelet was when Nancy snatched it from his hands. He picked it up and pretended to look at it closely. “How much?”

“Twenty-five hundred. A bargain for a gent like you.” She took it from his hands. “The faience tells you it's genuine, see?”

“Faience?”

“They're these little blue-green beads that are threaded between the turquoise. The old Egyptians always stuck them in between semi-precious stones.”

“How old is the bracelet?” Nat asked reverently, taking it back into his hands.

“Could be around 2000 BC.”

“Wow,” he said, genuinely impressed. “How did you come across it?”

“You'd be surprised what comes across this counter,” she answered evasively. “But like I said, it's a genuine Egyptian queen's bracelet.”

”And you want $2,500 for it?”

“I could come down a bit . . . say, $2,250.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a minute. “And you're sure it's genuine?”