Death as a Last Resort (23 page)

“In this weather?”

“Yeah! It was a wasted effort. So what's going on?”

“I'm going to take Oscar back to our room,” she told him. “I'll be back in a minute.” She returned through the rear door, gave a cheery wave to the young woman manning the desk and ascended the main stairs. Her return trip was via the back stairs. She found Nat standing near the French doors, one of which was again slightly ajar.

“What's going on?” she whispered, sidling up to him.

“Shh,” he whispered back. “One of the Egyptian women opened the door.”

“I'm not so sure you weren't the one what offed him.” It was Rosie Smith's grating voice. “After all, you . . .”

“She's got a point, Arnold,” Robert Edgeworthy cut in. “You came back from fishing before the rest of us did.”

“I can assure you,” Schaefer replied icily, “although I'm glad that son of a bitch is dead, I didn't do it. And that means one of you did.”

For a long minute, there was only the general rumble of indignant voices, then they heard, “What about you, Jerry? You've got the most to lose of any of us.”

Maggie decided that it was Robert Edgeworthy asking the question.

“It wasn't
me
he was blackmailing,” Bakhash answered testily. “I only import the stuff.”

“And I repeat,” Schaefer snarled, “I did not kill either Maurice or his stupid wife, but one of you did, and that's endangering the whole operation!”

“So which one of you beauties did the honours?” It was Liam Mahaffy's Irish brogue.

“You haven't so much to be proud of yourself, Mr. Mahaffy,” Bakhash growled. “You let that woman get away with all that stuff we took back from Dubois.”

“Which she would never have got her hands on at all if Robert hadn't left it lying around his office!” Mahaffy countered.

“How was I to know she'd get into my file room?”

“Ah! But I have remedied that situation.” Mahaffy chuckled. “I have re-rescued her from the place where the police stashed her.”

“When did you manage to do that?” Bakhash asked.

“Last night. And the Smith boys are taking great care of her as we speak.”

Nat's hand tightened on Maggie's arm. Nancy was in trouble again! Just then a strong gust of wind picked up the velvet curtain and sent it flying horizontally into the room.

“Shut the door!” Henry Smith yelled. “That wind's blowing out the bleeding candles!”

Maggie and Nat slid further along the wall before the door was slammed shut once again.

“Come on,” Nat said, putting his arm around Maggie's shoulders. “Let's go.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

S
ergeant George Sawasky and Special Agent Quentin De Meyer waited impatiently for the ferry to dock.

“We should have been here yesterday,” De Meyer fretted, “and by air, not this damned boat.”

“There was no way a float plane would have flown in that weather,” George answered irritably. “And this morning all the choppers were out looking for survivors from those two missing fishboats. Anyway,” he added, “the road was only re-opened this morning, so that gang up in Pender weren't going anywhere.”

“Did you manage to contact your friend Southby?”

“No,” George answered.“But I think I know where that bugger and his sidekick are,” he added darkly. His police radio suddenly crackled. “Come in,” George said as he grabbed the microphone.

“Coast Guard leaving Vancouver with Customs and Excise officers on board. ETA 1300 hours.”

“Roger. Out.”

“Will we make it in time?” Quentin asked anxiously.

George glanced at the clock on the dashboard before answering. “Yes. We've got just under two hours to get up there.”

• • •

NANCY COULDN'T BELIEVE THAT Liam Mahaffy had found her again. Her only consolation was that at least this time she was fully dressed, although the thugs had taped her mouth and tied her feet and hands.

So much for police protection, she told herself. The cops had obviously bungled the whole thing, and Mahaffy had followed her right from her aunt's house.

By the look of the rustic walls and furnishings, she knew that she was now in a very small cabin, and by the sound of the wind and waves, she could tell she was close to the sea. Tears of self-pity slid across her face and soaked the thin pillow of the cot on which she was lying. She must have been drugged, as she had very little memory of the journey. I never did like that Sawasky, she thought. He just led that rat Mahaffy straight to me.

Her mind went back to her arrival at the safe house. At last she had been able to wear her own clothes and, more importantly, have her own makeup kit. And although the safe house apartment had been very small, she would have been able to accept it for a few days if the know-it-all policewoman who was assigned to protect her had not absolutely refused to go to a drugstore and get Nancy a bottle of nail polish remover—even though Nancy's nails had been completely ruined trying to claw her way out of that farmhouse. But Constable Marybeth Peckworth told her she had to wait until it was safe for her to return home. Of course, there was nothing else Nancy could do but slip out while the woman had her nose in one of her eternal paperbacks. Unfortunately, that had been her undoing. Mahaffy and his henchmen had been waiting for her outside the building.

She moved restlessly, trying to get herself into a more comfortable position. I've been here hours, she thought. I've got to stand up. She wriggled to the side of the bed and twisted her body around so that she could dangle her bound legs over the edge. Then she took a deep breath and squirmed until her feet finally met the floor. It took her several attempts to stand upright, and then she had to wait a few more moments for the giddiness to subside before she could hip-hop over to the small half-curtained window. Bending her neck, she slid her head under the curtain. The faint early morning light silhouetted ghostly trees, bushes and the masts of moored yachts. She realized that the weird tinkling sounds were coming from the yachts' rigging that was swinging in the sharp breeze. She gave a shuddering sigh. At that moment she would have even welcomed being rescued again by that bitch Maggie.

• • •

THE HIGH WINDS AND rain had died during the night, leaving fresh piles of logs and branches marooned on the shore. A watery sun was doing its best to filter through the low clouds, and seagulls and ragged crows shrieked and fought as they foraged for food in the mounds of seaweed. But the dining room was warm and cheerful from the log fire burning in the huge grate.

“Thank goodness the kitchen runs on gas,” Nat said, dipping a piece of bread into the golden yoke of his egg. “But I guess they can't make toast.”

“How can you eat breakfast at a time like this?” Maggie asked. “We've got to let the police know that Nancy's been kidnapped again.”

“Me not eating breakfast isn't going to find Nancy any quicker,” he answered, “and as to the cops . . .” he beckoned the waitress over. “Have they repaired the phone lines yet?” he asked her.

“They were still dead a few minutes ago,” she answered. “We'll let you know as soon as they've been fixed.”

“At least this old building survived,” Maggie observed, “but we seem to be the only ones who have made it here for breakfast.”

“It's only eight o'clock,” he replied, looking at his watch. Then, bending toward Maggie, he lowered his voice. “Stella and Robert Edgeworthy are coming in,” he whispered. Maggie glanced toward the dining room entrance and waved. But Stella only gave her a wan smile before slipping into her seat.

“That is one very unhappy woman,” Maggie said. “By the look of her, I doubt she had any sleep last night.”

“If you're right and she knew nothing about the smuggling,” Nat answered, “that little meeting in the lounge last night must have been a real eye-opener.”

They were seated at their usual table overlooking the bay, and Maggie drew Nat's attention to a young man walking toward the lodge from the cabins near the bluff. “I'm sure that's one of the Smiths' sons,” she said in a low voice. “He was in the emporium the day I was there.” She thought for a moment. “Some biblical name . . . Noah, I think.”

“Maggie,” Nat said quietly, “Mahaffy said that the Smith brothers had captured Nancy. I wonder if that means they've brought her up here to the resort?”

“But why here? And if they have, where would they have hidden her?”

Nat shrugged. “Perhaps in one of the cabins?”

“But how can we find out?” Maggie asked worriedly as she arose from the table.

“At this point,” Nat answered. “I haven't the foggiest idea.” And he followed her out of the dining room.

“You survived the storm all right?” The receptionist—who also served as a waitress and barmaid—had just emerged from the kitchen carrying two coffee carafes.

“It's hard to believe that there was a storm,” Maggie answered, “except that the power's still off and there's an awful mess piled up on the beach.”

The receptionist nodded. “Just our luck when we have so many visitors. We even had three guys turn up by boat just after the storm broke. Damned lucky to make it at all.”

“I think I saw one of them crossing the yard toward the lodge just now,” Maggie said.

The receptionist nodded. “Yeah, probably coming in for breakfast. I had to put them in one of the cabins under the bluff. Those old cabins are pretty well ready to fall down, but at least it was a roof over their heads.”

“You said there were three of them?” Nat asked.

“Yeah. One of them was so seasick they had to carry him to the cabin. I asked if they needed a doctor, but they said they would look after him.”

“Which is their cabin?”

“The last one right next to the bluff,” she nodded to the right of the lodge, then left them to deliver her carafes of coffee.

When Nat and Maggie were halfway up the stairs, they glanced down and saw Noah Smith below them, heading toward the dining room.

• • •

NAT STOOD AT THEIR window and studied the three cabins nestled in the trees at the base of the bluff. “I don't know if it will work,” he said at last, “but I've got an idea . . .”

A few minutes later, Maggie, with Oscar on his leash, walked purposefully out of the back door of the lodge and down the steps onto the path. She then turned right and walked until she met the narrow gravel road that served the three small cabins under the bluff. Oscar, straining on his leash, pulled her across the road and straight into the closely growing alders and firs, and the thick undergrowth of salmonberry bushes and sword ferns that grew profusely around the cabins.

Nat leaned on the veranda railing and smoked a cigarette, waiting until Maggie and Oscar had disappeared among the foliage before he discarded his butt in a sand bucket. Taking a quick glance around, he walked down to the pebble beach, where he picked up several seashells. Then, with head bent as though looking for more, he turned right and sauntered to the end of the beach, where creaming waves smashed against the huge boulders that met the base of the bluff.

Meanwhile, Maggie had pushed her way through the brush until she reached the back of the cabin nearest the cliff and peered into the small curtain-covered window. Then taking a chance, she rapped lightly on the glass. There was no response.
Perhaps she's tied up.
She rapped again. This time, the curtain moved slightly and Nancy's ravaged face appeared. Her mouth was taped and her eyes looked frightened and wild.

“We're going to get you out,” Maggie mouthed.

Nancy nodded.

“Hey! Get away from that window!”

Maggie ducked down beneath the window, then scurried around the corner of the cabin to wave to Nat, who was waiting at the bottom of the bluff for her signal. He immediately clambered up from the beach and headed straight for the front door of the cabin.

“You got a brother having breakfast up at the lodge?” he asked the man who jerked the door open. He was probably in his early thirties, dressed in jeans and a grey sweatshirt, his unkempt hair matching his unshaved stubbly face.

“Why?”

“He said to tell you Mahaffy wants to see you in his cabin.”

“Why didn't he come and tell me himself?” Job Smith asked suspiciously.

“He's eating his breakfast.” Nat shrugged and started to turn away.

Job Smith looked up and down the empty side road. “Mahaffy told me he was going to come here.”

“Change of plans. I wouldn't keep
that
man waiting if I was you.” And Nat began sauntering off toward the beach again.

Job Smith hesitated, then emerged fully from the cabin, locked the door and walked rapidly toward the lodge, turning once or twice to make sure that Nat was not hanging around the cabin. As soon as he was out of sight, Nat ran back and within thirty seconds had picked open the lock.

“We've very little time,” he told Nancy. Hauling her upright, he ripped the tape from her mouth, then quickly covered her mouth with his hand. “Don't make a sound.” Kneeling on the floor, he started to grapple with the knots of the rope. But “the boys” had done too good a job. “Sit tight. I'll find a knife.”

“Don't leave me, Nat. They're going to kill me.”

“Shut up,” he hissed as he pulled open kitchen drawers and began flinging out knives, forks and spoons.

Suddenly, Maggie yanked the door open. “For God's sake, let's get going.” Oscar, with a deep-throated growl, strained at his leash to get to Nancy.

“Can't find a sharp knife,” Nat yelled back.

“Take her into the woods. I'll find one.”

Nat looked down at his slightly plump ex-wife. “There's nothing for it, Nancy,” he said, yanking her to her feet. He slung her over his shoulder fireman-style and staggered out of the door.