Read Online Death as a Last Resort by Gwendolyn Southin - Free Book Online Page A

asked.
    â€œWe have a list of people who were there,” Maggie answered.
    Rosie hesitated for a moment. “Well . . . they wanted to make sure we didn’t get taken in.” She laughed. “You hear about these confidence tricksters all the time, you know.”
    â€œDid you go out fishing?” Maggie asked, turning to Henry Smith.
    â€œYeah! We caught a salmon.”
    â€œAnd my Henry don’t even eat fish!” Rosie said.
    â€œI told Rosie she should’ve come out with us.”
    â€œDidn’t have much chance, did I? That Schaefer bloke made it plain that us wives wasn’t invited. So I got stuck with that awful Edgeworthy woman yapping at me about her fancy house and her fancy clothes.”
    â€œHow did you find out about St. Clare Cove?” Maggie asked, trying not to smile.
    â€œSome ad in the newspaper.” The sound of a truck pulling up outside made him swallow the rest of his tea in one gulp. “That’s the delivery.”
    â€œBefore you go, Mr. Smith, did you see Maurice Dubois leave the resort?”
    â€œNo. It must’ve been when we was out fishing.” Shrugging into a thick mackinaw, he walked toward the back door.
    â€œYou’ve quite a place here,” Maggie said as she followed Rosie back to the showroom. “Do you live on the premises?”
    â€œUpstairs. Have a very nice flat up there. You should come back and have a good browse—we’ve got some very nice genuine Persian rugs.”
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind,” Maggie answered. “Thanks for seeing me.”
    â€¢ • •
    MAGGIE’S INTERVIEW WITH THE Smiths had only taken a half hour, so on the spur of the moment and after a fast phone call, she was on her way for a quick visit to Jacquelyn Dubois. She needed to get a feel for her lifestyle, her surroundings and more importantly, how the young woman really ticked.
    As Maggie walked up the stone-flagged path, she noticed that one of the two garage doors was open and a gleaming white sports car was waiting inside it. The same maid showed her into the living room and told her that Madame Dubois would be with her in a moment. While waiting, Maggie scanned the photographs that were set on the grand piano. Most were of Jacquelyn and Maurice, but a few were of family groups—obviously her parents with a very young Jacquelyn and a couple of siblings. One was of Maurice with his son and daughter, and another showed him in army uniform. Turning from the photographs, she re-examined the beautiful room.
    â€œAh, Mrs. Spencer, how nice to see you,” Jacquelyn said, coming into the room and extending her hand. “You are making progress, oui? You have find my Maurice’s antiquities?”
    â€œNot yet. We’re still interviewing the people who were at the fishing lodge. In fact, I have just left Henry and Rosie Smith’s emporium. Quite a place! Have you been there?”
    â€œMy Maurice take me a few times to pick up or buy something, I can’t think what. It is a very cheap place. Full of—what do you call it—junk?”
    â€œI have a list of the lodge’s guests here,” Maggie said, taking it from her handbag. “Do you recognize any of the names?”
    Jacquelyn barely glanced at the paper before handing it back. “I know Arnold Schaefer, but the others I do not know. Now, if there is nothing else, I have a lunch engagement.”
    Maggie started toward the door but turned suddenly. “Your husband was in the army?” She waved a hand toward the picture on the grand piano.
    Her face brightened. “Ah, yes. The famous Vandoos. He was very proud.”
    â€œJust one more thing, Mrs. Dubois—do you know where your stepson works?”
    â€œYou mean René? Somewhere in the city. Why?”
    â€œI thought I saw him the other day at a garment factory run by Jerrell Bakhash.”
    â€œWho is this Bakhash person?”
    â€œHe and