Death as a Last Resort (26 page)

“She's fine. But a little subdued. Some day I'll tell you how she helped rescue you.”

“Here,” Henny said, thrusting a small cardboard box at Maggie. “They make bad food in hospital.”

Maggie carefully undid the knots of the butcher string and opened the lid of the box. “How nice of you,” she said, trying not to laugh. Inside were six very large, lumpy Henny specials.

Henny beamed. “Ja. Mr. Nat said I could come and hear Sergeant George tell what happened.”

As if on cue, the door opened and George crept in with a bouquet of daffodils and tulips. “Thought some spring flowers would cheer you up,” he said, bending down and giving her a peck on the cheek. “You're not too tired for us?”

“No. I'm dying to hear all the details. Is Quentin coming, too?”

“He sends his regrets. Had to fly to Egypt to tie up the loose ends there, hopefully before they realize that the Vancouver end of their operation has dried up. But not to worry—he said it's okay for me to tell you all about the smuggling ring.” He pulled a chair up close to the bed. “As we had surmised,” he began, “it all started during the war, when Schaefer's unit was in Egypt. Henry Smith was his quartermaster and deep into the black market that was rife at that time. It didn't take him long to discover that there were stolen antiquities for the asking.”

“Were they all stolen from the tombs?” Nat asked.

George shook his head. “Not all. Some were from museums, private collections, or wherever the thieves could get their hands on them. Anyway, Smith knew that Lieutenant Liam Mahaffy wasn't above a little bit of larceny. He recognized the possibilities of the scheme and decided to let his friends Colonel Schaefer and Lieutenant Edgeworthy into the plan. It grew from there.”

“Did they meet Bakhash in Egypt?” Nat asked.

“No.” George explained, “He and his wife were already living in Vancouver. It was Sharifa Bakhash's brother who was Smith's contact man in Egypt. Her family own acres of flax fields and the mill to process the linen, as well as several fabric stores,” he added, “and they were already into smuggling—though in a much smaller way.”

“So it got going in earnest when the war was over?” Maggie asked.

“Yes. Edgeworthy and Schaefer both lived in Vancouver, and Schaefer sponsored Mahaffy so he could immigrate. The Smith family followed soon after.”

“They needed the Smiths' emporium to move the goods,” Nat interjected.

“Yes,” George agreed.

“It is like a movie,” Henny said, moving her chair closer.

George smiled at her. “It didn't take them too long to get into full swing. Bakhash would order his fabric from his brother-in-law and he would pack the stolen stuff into the hollow cardboard sleeves.”

“And René and I saw them emptying the stuff out of the sleeves,” Maggie said.

“And Maurice Dubois?” Nat asked. “How did he get into it?”

“Ah! He was the fly in the ointment. Somehow he found out about the smuggling through working with Schaefer—hence his nice little blackmail scheme. The antiquities he got were payment for his silence.”

“No wonder the gang wanted to retrieve them from his house,” Maggie said, leaning back on her pillows.

Nat reached for her hand. “Are we tiring you too much?”

Maggie shook her head. “I'm fine. Go on, George.”

“Maurice Dubois's death was a gift from heaven for the gang, and as soon as he was out of the way, Edgeworthy was given the job of getting the stuff back.” He chuckled. “Of course, he was the real estate agent who had sold the house to Dubois in the first place.”

“So he still had a key?” Henny asked.

George nodded.

“And then Nancy found the stuff in Edgeworthy's office.” Nat looked pensive. “But what I don't get is how they disappeared from Nancy's backyard. And who got them?”

George shook his head. “No. That's still a mystery. Nancy is absolutely adamant that she buried them under the birdbath, and the smuggling gang are just as adamant that they dug the whole place up and the stuff wasn't there.”

“When did you begin to suspect René and Isabelle?” George asked Maggie.

Maggie thought for a moment before answering. “I couldn't for the life of me see why, once the gang had got the stuff back from Jacquelyn, there was any need to kill her.”

“That puzzled me, too,” George agreed. “She seemed very young and naïve when I questioned her on her husband's murder. I'm sure she wanted to believe he'd bought the antiquities legitimately.”

“So if she knew nothing about the smuggling ring,” Nat cut in, “she was no threat to them.”

“That's precisely why I couldn't fathom why they would kill her,” Maggie said. “But it was a very long time before I suspected Maurice's kids, because René seemed so genuine and Isabelle was so young.”

“But René was such a nice boy,” Henny said sadly.

Maggie said slowly, “You know, I couldn't see René as a killer either. I'm sure Isabelle was the mastermind behind both murders. René just couldn't stand up to her.”

“Yes, we're positive that the girl did the actual murders,” George conceded. “But René did nothing to stop her, so he's being charged as an accomplice.”

“It was the rings that worried me,” Maggie continued.

“What rings?” Henny said, leaning forward.

“Jacquelyn's rings. When she came to our office, her hands were covered in very expensive rings—and I'm sure every one of them was genuine.”

“So?” Nat asked.

“I couldn't help but notice that Isabelle was also wearing masses of rings when she and René came to ask us to carry on with the investigation. Of course,” she added, “I couldn't swear they were Jacquelyn's, but where else would Isabelle have got them, other than by stealing them from Jacquelyn? She and her mother have no money.”

“You're right about Jacquelyn's jewellery,” George said. “They were the only things missing when she was killed. We figured that the killer took the jewels to make the murder look like a botched break and entry.”

“You said that both René's and Isabelle's fingerprints were found in the house,” Nat said.

“Isabelle's were left on the glass-topped dressing table in the bedroom—probably when she stole the jewels. René left a bloody fingerprint on the back of the wooden headboard.”

“What did they say when you confronted them on the two murders?”

“René said that he was sitting and talking to his father on the beach at the resort, when Isabelle came up behind and hit Maurice on the head with a rock. They panicked when they saw that he was dead, put him in the back of the Jeep, covered him with a blanket and headed straight back home.”

“And Jacquelyn?” Nat asked.

“René and Jacquelyn had been having an affair for quite a few months—as you know, they were about the same age. But on the night of the murder, Isabelle had followed him to the house and hidden in one of the rooms until they were in bed together. She had simply walked in on them and stabbed her stepmother to death.”

“And he let her do it?” Maggie exclaimed, horrified.

“I asked the same question,” George answered. “René said there was no stopping her. She just went berserk. He sobbed when he related the story, because he said he loved Jacquelyn and he had no idea that Isabelle would murder her. The girl's a nutcase, and I think she was very jealous of Jacquelyn.”

“So,” Henny said slowly, “you mean René and Jacquelyn were . . . were . . .”

They all nodded and Nat said, “They were lovers.”

“But she was his stepmother!” Henny said in a shocked voice.

“They weren't blood relatives, Henny,” Nat explained. “And as George said, they were very close in age. And of course, Maurice Dubois was very dead, so technically she wasn't even his stepmother anymore.”

“Why did they leave Maurice's body on the mountain?” Henny asked suddenly.

“To give themselves time. They figured that everyone at the lodge would think Maurice had gone off somewhere on his own. They hoped that it would take a while before they realized that he was really missing and would start to look for him. We think that René was the one who thought of Hollyburn Mountain.”

“Ah, yes,” Nat said slowly. “He did tell us that he'd worked briefly on the clear-cutting up there.”

“But how on earth did they manage to get the body so high up the mountain?” Maggie asked.

“Used a sled. After all, they are both very young and very fit.

It was just bad luck for them that Maggie stumbled on the body so soon after they bury him with twigs and snow.”

“I'm curious about one thing,” Nat said. “Would their father's estate have come to them on Jacquelyn's death?”

“No,” George said, getting to his feet. “Apart from a few bequests, Maurice Dubois left his entire estate to Jacquelyn, and she in turn left it all to a younger sister in Montreal.”

“So the murders were for nothing,” Henny said.

“What about Stella Edgeworthy?” Maggie asked. “She swore that she knew nothing about her husband's activities. In fact, although she put on a brave front, I think she's very frightened of him.”

“She must've had some inkling what he was up to,” George answered. “Anyway, she's been allowed to go home on bail.”

“George, I haven't really thanked you for helping Nat to rescue me,” Maggie said. “You always come through for us.”

“That's what friends are for, Maggie,” he said.

At this point, the door opened and the nurse came tut-tutting in. “Mrs. Spencer must have her rest,” she said, tapping the watch pinned to her uniform.

“We're just leaving,” George said contritely.

“I'll be in tomorrow,” Nat promised as he bent to kiss her. “Anything you want?”

Maggie shook her head. “Only to get out of this place and into my own bed,” she whispered. “How are Oscar and Emily doing without me?” she asked plaintively.

“They miss you. But you'll be home soon.”

• • •

MAGGIE LAY BACK ON her pillows after they had left and went through everything again in her mind. A slight noise at the door made her look up, and there was Midge holding a huge basket of fruit in her arms. Jason was standing behind her.

“Your nurse said you're very tired as you've had a lot of visitors,” Midge said as she placed the basket on the table. “So we promised we would only stay a minute or two.”

“It is so lovely to see you both.” Maggie suddenly found herself very weepy. “Sorry. I guess I
am
a bit tired.”

“We have some news for you,” Midge said as she handed her mother a tissue. “And you are the very first in the family to hear it.” Pulling her left glove off, she extended her hand to Maggie. “I'm putting this poor man out of his misery. We're engaged.”

“Oh, how wonderful. Here, help me to sit up so I can see the ring properly. So when is the big wedding day?”

“I don't want to wait too long,” Jason said, sitting down on the end of the bed, “in case she changes her mind again. So we're going to do it in June.”

“Yes,” bubbled Midge. “I know Barbara is going to be mad as hell because she will be as big as a house by then—but what the heck; we don't want to wait.”

“And I can't wait to get out of here and help you shop for your trousseau,” Maggie said impatiently.

“That's another bit of news I got for you,” Midge said. “I've spoken to Dr. Dryfus, and after I told him that I was taking time off to look after you when you leave here, he agreed that if you continue to improve, he will let you go home by the end of the week.”

“Oh, thank you, darling! Thank you. Nat will be pleased,” Maggie said.

“Yeah!” Jason said, smiling. “I think he's fed up with having to look after your house, as well as Oscar and Emily, and coping single-handed at the agency. He told me that the dog's moping for you, and that your ‘damned cat' has a mind of her own.”

“Well,” Maggie replied, smiling, “at least he does have Henny to look after him at the office.”

“I've heard about her wonderful cookies,” Midge said.

“Here. Have one.” Maggie reached over to her side table. “You are very welcome,” she added, laughing.

After they had left, Maggie lay back on her pillows, already planning a June wedding and wondering what she would wear.

EPILOGUE

M
rs. Mable Maggs hid behind the curtains in her back bedroom and watched her odd neighbour, Mrs. Gladstone, raking the earth around the concrete birdbath in her back garden.

“Never gives up, I must say that for the woman.” Letting the lace curtain drop, she left the room and walked along the passage to her own bedroom. There, she lowered the Venetian blinds, pulled the top drawer of her dressing table open and carefully lifted out a musical jewellery box with a dancing figurine on the lid. Her late husband, Albert, had given it to her on one of her birthdays—she couldn't remember which.

She opened the lid, and the music tinkled.

She lifted the silver earrings out of the box and fastened them to the drooping lobes of her ears. Then, turning her head this way and that, she watched the earrings swing and glitter in her mirrored reflection. An ornate necklace followed next, and after placing it around her wrinkled neck, she preened again. It was fashioned out of the same silver, turquoise and tiny blue beads as the earrings and one of the bracelets—all very pretty, but all very heavy. The bangles were much lighter, as they seemed to be made of some kind of wood, but they were far too big for her wrinkled arms. Finally, she pushed two jewelled combs into her wispy grey hair. She couldn't for the life of her think what the funny little carved stones were for—they were too small to put into her rockery—but the grandkids would enjoy playing with them.