Death as a Last Resort (19 page)

So where is he?

Slipping back around the corner to the rear of the office, she saw that lights were streaming from windows at the back of Mahaffy's ranch-style bungalow and onto the garden beyond. She was about to head in that direction when a sudden touch on her shoulder made her whirl around in panic. It was Henny, still clutching her tapestry bag. Maggie, faint from fright, had to lean back against the wall until her heart stopped thudding before she could even think of taking another step.

“I come too,” Henny stage-whispered.

Indicating that she should stay close behind her, Maggie led the way down the side of the house and around the corner, where she took a quick peek through the closest window. It turned out to be the kitchen. Steam was rising from several pots on the stove. Through the partially open window, they could hear rock music blasting out of a small radio perched on the sill. An apron-clad man was whistling along with the music as he cleaned a long pine table. Ducking down, Maggie made a run for the other side of the window and turned back to signal for Henny to do the same, but had to stifle laughter as she watched her partner in crime inching her way over on all fours. It certainly didn't help the situation when the back door was flung open and a large tabby cat was pushed out into the night. The cat sat outside the closed door for a moment, preening its ruffled fur, then, seeing Henny on all fours, it walked over and rubbed its face all over hers. Pushing the loving feline away—it must have just finished a can of sardines— Henny got to her feet with as much dignity as she could under the circumstances and briskly brushed herself down.

The next room appeared to be a dining room—the light was on and the table was set for one. All the rest of the rooms were in darkness, although one of them did have French doors leading out onto a patio, but they were firmly locked.

“We've got to locate Mahaffy,” Maggie said. “You stay right here while I go back and take a look in the stables.”

“But what about those big dogs?” Henny whispered back. “I should come with you.”

“Stay here!” Maggie answered firmly.

“I hide behind those bushes.” Henny pointed to a couple of rhododendrons on the edge of the patio.

“Just don't move.” Maggie watched until Henny and the cat were safely out of sight before she ventured back toward the stables.

Keeping in the shadows as much as possible, Maggie made a wide approach to the outbuildings. She guessed it was feeding time, as the clattering of buckets and occasional snippets of conversation masked any slight noise that she might have made as she got closer. After about ten minutes, she was rewarded with the sight of Mahaffy and his leashed doggy companions. The two dogs immediately started sniffing the air, whimpering and straining in Maggie's direction, but Mahaffy jerked them back.

“Sit! I'm not letting you off to chase raccoons again.”

Maggie breathed a prayer of thanks to whoever was watching over her as she turned and silently sped back to the house. She was still contemplating the problem of getting inside it when she peeked into the kitchen again and saw that the cook was on the phone: “Hi, boss. I'm off. The pie's in the oven. Needs another ten minutes or so, veggies in the warming drawer.” He must have got an affirmative answer, because he then said, “See you in the morning.”

Luckily, he didn't lock the kitchen door after his departure. Maggie waited only a few minutes to be sure that he wouldn't come back for something before she collected Henny from behind the bushes and led the way inside.

“We have to make this a quick search,” she told her. “Mahaffy will be on his way home for dinner in a very short time.” But she paused for a moment in the kitchen to take an appreciative sniff. “God! I'm hungry.”

“I look in back rooms and you look in front ones,” Henny ordered. Maggie couldn't help but smile as she obediently walked along a passage that led to three bedrooms. Nancy wasn't in any of them.

She had only just made it back to the kitchen and the back door when she heard two men talking—Mahaffy's northern Irish drawl and one other.

“Damn! It's Nat!” They were walking up the path from the stables and making for the back entrance. “Henny! Where are you?” she hissed.

“Getting pie out of oven,” Henny answered, straightening up. “It is getting burnt.”

“For God's sake, leave it!” But Maggie had to wait agonizing moments while Henny placed the pie on top of the stove before joining her outside. They made it behind the bushes just seconds before Mahaffy and Nat walked into the light.

“Do you always leave your place wide open?” Nat asked.

“No. And you can be sure I'll be having a few words with my cook about that,” Mahaffy responded. “Now what do you want?”

“Maggie Spencer. Has she been here?”

“This afternoon. Looking for your ex-wife, I believe.”

“About what time?” Nat insisted.

“Four-thirty or thereabouts. What's this all about, Southby? Why would I know where your ex-spouse is?”

“She's missing. And we're covering all the bases.”

“Well, there's no reason for her to be here,” Mahaffy snapped. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a business to attend to.” He slammed the door shut.

“Didn't even offer me a beer,” Nat muttered as he turned to go back.

“Psst! Nat.”

“What the hell . . . !” An arm was waving at him from behind a bush. “What's going on?” he demanded once he had joined the two of them.

“She's not here,” Maggie whispered, “so we've got to follow him. Come on.” Stealthily she began to lead the way to the back of the garage.

“No.” Nat grabbed her arm. “My car's out front. He's bound to be watching to make sure I leave.”

“Okay. See you outside the gates.” And touching Henny on the arm for her to follow, she led the way behind the garage and then sprinted for the trees.

Nat was right. As he walked around the house, he saw that Mahaffy had turned on the front porch light and was standing in the front entrance.

“I thought you'd got lost,” he called out as Nat searched his pockets for his keys.

“You've got a big house to go around.” Slipping into the driver's seat of the Chevy, he turned on the ignition and wound down the window. “Give me a call if Nancy should turn up.”

“I've already told you—there's no reason for her to come here.”

Maggie thought the man would never go back into the house, and when they eventually walked through the trees and out into the lane, they found Nat's car parked next to the Morris.

“Now what's going on?” he demanded.

Quickly, she explained how Henny's soda bread had given her the clue to Mahaffy's identity, and then deduced that the farm he had referred to was his boarding and riding stables. “But she's not here,” she finished up. “Henny and I have already searched the place.”

“And left the kitchen door wide open,” he remonstrated, “If his cook insists he closed the door before he left, Mahaffy's sure to know that someone's been in his house.”

“Not to mention the pie,” she answered.

“Pie! What's pie got to do with anything?”

Maggie decided not to enlighten him. “Okay, we slipped up. But we've got to be ready to follow him when he comes out.”

“What makes you think he's going to?”

“Stands to reason, if he's got Nancy.”

“But Maggie, we don't know for sure that he has. And we could wait here all night.” He put on his overhead light and peered at his watch. “It's already nearly eight.”

Maggie leaned back on Nat's car while she thought. “Here's a suggestion,” she said at last. “You take Henny home, and I'll wait here and get to a phone as soon as he's on the move.”

“No, Maggie, it's the other way around. Nancy was my wife and I'll do the waiting. You take Henny home.”

“But . . .”

“Just do what I ask . . . please.”

Maggie could see that he was determined. “You promise to call me and let me know what's happening?”

“I promise. Just get going.”

• • •

“THAT MAHAFFY MAN HAS lots of money.” Henny broke the silence. Since leaving Nat behind, they had both been so tied up in their thoughts that they had travelled for miles along the dark country roads without saying a word.

“What makes you think that?”

“He has big stables and horses—that takes lots of money. He is a rich man . . .”

“It's probably all mortgaged to the hilt, Henny. I remember him saying that he'd started out with an old farm in Richmond . . .” She was silent for a moment. “Oh, my God, Henny! You've done it again.”

“Yes?” Henny answered, puzzled.

“He said he still owns that farmhouse in Richmond.
That
's where they've stashed Nancy.” She drove without speaking for another minute or so. “I just wish I could remember where he said it was . . .”

“Wood something,” Henny said suddenly.

“How do you know that?'

“I type up your notes. No. 5 Road and another road that started with Wood.”

“Henny,” Maggie said glowing. “You are wonderful. I'll get you home and then see if I can find the place.”

“No,” Henny answered firmly. “Mr. Nat would never forgive me if you get hurt. I am coming too.”

The overcast sky had partly cleared, and by the time Maggie's car emerged from the Deas Island Tunnel, the moon was casting ghostly shadows across the highway. But Maggie was too worried to appreciate the beauties of nature. She had been so sure that Mahaffy was holding Nancy at Twin Maples and she had been completely wrong. Now she was only too aware that she might be on another wild goose chase.

The traffic was light, and within minutes they were off the highway and onto No. 5 Road, passing rain-soaked farms that looked equally depressing in the wan moonlight.

“There's a turnoff coming up,” Maggie announced, peering through the windshield. “But I can't see the street name in the dark.” Pulling up at the corner, she climbed out of the car and was back inside within a minute. “This must be it, Henny. It's called Woodhead Road.”

The narrow dirt road was bordered on both sides by deep, water-filled ditches, breached from time to time by plank bridges that led to sad-looking cottages squatting in sodden fields. Maggie drove slowly, keeping her eyes on the road. “Now all we've got to do is find the right house.”

“That's it!” Henny announced, peering through the windshield. “See?” The dark shape of an old farmhouse sat forlornly in a muddy field.

Maggie stopped the car. “Maybe. But there's no light. I think I'll drive a bit further along and see if any of the other houses fit the description.” But a few moments later, she was faced with a dead end. “I guess that must've been it,” she said. “And now I've got to turn this thing around in the dark and not land us in one of those ditches.”

“I get out,” Henny volunteered.

“No. Just sit tight. One thing about these small cars,” she added as she reversed, “is that they're great for getting out of tight spots.” But it took her quite a bit of reversing and going forward before she got the car turned around. Henny heaved a great sigh of relief when they eventually pulled up outside the house again. Maggie got out of the car to have a better look. The house stood well back from the road and seemed to be clad in cedar shakes that had seen better days. “Doesn't look as if it's been occupied in years,” she said.

“We go and see,” Henny announced, clambering out of the car and knocking her tapestry bag into the road. Its contents went flying, and Maggie was sure she heard a muttered curse as her sleuthing partner gathered everything up, but as the words were Dutch, she couldn't be sure.

Together they gingerly crossed the ditch on the pair of wooden planks that had replaced the original bridge. The gate shrieked in protest as Maggie pushed it open, but there didn't seem to be a soul around to hear it. At this point the moon gave up playing hide-and-seek in the clouds and left them to find their way in total darkness.

“Wait,” Henny whispered. A moment later, her enormous bag yielded a flashlight, and although it cast only a very faint beam, she played it over the house. All the windows facing the road were boarded up.

“We'll try the back,” Maggie said, taking the flashlight from Henny and leading the way onto a muddy path that led around the side of the building past a sagging lean-to.

Suddenly, Henny grabbed her arm. “Someone's here,” she said. She pointed to the path ahead.

Maggie shone the flashlight ahead of her and saw that there were footprints in the mud. “You're right.” She crouched to look at them more closely. “They go both ways,” she said. “Somebody came and went.” Feeling their way carefully toward the backyard, they looked for signs of occupation—a light, anything. Nothing! Then Henny pointed out a tiny glimmer from a little window right under the point of the gable—a flickering candle, maybe?

• • •

NAT GOT OUT OF the car, stretched his arms over his head, glanced at his watch and leaned back against the hood of the car. “I'll give him another ten minutes,” he muttered. While waiting, he had seen a couple of Mahaffy's workers arriving, probably for the night shift. But so far Liam Mahaffy himself was staying put. Nat's mind wandered from worrying about Nancy to wondering if they would ever find the double murderer, and then to the feasibility of taking on the logging scam job for the Forest Ministry. He was so engrossed that he almost missed the throaty sound of the Jaguar's engine as Mahaffy's car came out of the gate and passed the end of the lane where Nat's car was hidden.

“Damn and blast!” Running around to the driver's side of the Chevy, he jumped in, switched on the ignition and carefully nosed the car into the lane.
Got to stay well back. He's only got to see my headlights to know someone's following.
He watched the tail lights of the Jag dimming in the far distance before he turned on his lights and eased onto the road. A quick glance at the dashboard clock told him it was quarter to nine.