Free Death as a Last Resort by Gwendolyn Southin Page B

back.”
    â€œWhat money?” Maggie insisted.
    â€œOh! For God’s sake. The deposit I made on that ski lodge. Just get hold of that husband of mine. He must be able to pick locks or something.”
    It was on the tip of Maggie’s tongue to point out that Nat wasn’t Nancy’s husband and that he was a detective, not a burglar, but she decided this wasn’t the time. She debated hanging up on the woman, but decided against that too. “Where are you?”
    â€œEdgeworthy’s Real Estate. On East Hastings.”
    â€œWhere on Hastings?”
    â€œI don’t know. It’s near the PNE.”
    â€œIt’s going to take me at least a half hour to get there.”
    â€œWhat about Nat?”
    â€œHe’s away. It’s either me or the fire brigade. Take your pick.” When there was no answer, she slammed the receiver down, took a last bite of her now cold beef stew and put the plate on the kitchen floor for Oscar to finish.
    The wind and rain tore at her hooded raincoat as she ran down to the end of the garden, scraped open the garage doors and flung herself into her Morris Minor.
    â€œWhat in hell has that damned woman got herself into now?” She slammed the car into first gear and drove down the alleyway, turned right onto Trimble and then swung onto Fourth. “The things I do for you, Nat!” she muttered. “You definitely owe me for this one!”
    The real estate office, when she finally found it, was a two-storey structure between a shoe repair and a used bookstore. Knowing that the car would be very conspicuous if parked out front on a Sunday evening, she turned down Nanaimo and then drove along the alleyway until she located the back of the office. The three businesses shared a small, muddy parking lot, and except for a tiny glimmer of light from somewhere deep within the bookstore, all of them were in total darkness.
    The wind whipped the hood from her head and the icy rain lashed her face as she stepped out of the car to make her way to the back entrance of the office. The door was locked and all the windows had steel security bars over them. Just then a tapping noise drew her to the end window, and by the light of her torch, she saw Nancy’s terrified face pressed against the pane. But Maggie could see that even if she managed to break the glass, there would be no way of getting the dratted woman out through the bars. She made a sign that she was going around to the front.
    This was a wasted exercise. The front door was firmly shut, and the windows on either side barred like the back ones. By now the rain was running down her slicker and into her sodden shoes, and her feelings for Nat’s ex-wife were making her even testier. She returned to her car and took off around the block to look for a telephone booth. Quickly writing down the telephone number in large letters on her notepad, she zipped around to the back alley again and shone her flashlight onto the piece of paper so that Nancy could read it. She made a ten-minute sign and a dialing motion.
    By the time she got back to the booth, the phone was ringing, but now there was a man inside the booth, sheltering from the rain, and he was about to reach for it. “That’s for me,” she yelled, wrenching the folding door open.
    â€œHowdja know?” he answered, spewing alcohol fumes over her. “Could be for me,” he slurred.
    â€œOh, for God’s sake!” She pulled the man bodily from the booth, grabbed the phone out of his hand and kicked the door shut. “Nancy? What the hell are you doing in that place?”
    â€œYou’ve got to get me out before they come back.”
    â€œCan’t you unlock the door from the inside?”
    â€œI wouldn’t bloody well be calling you if I could. The door’s locked on the outside. Where the hell’s Nat?”
    â€œI haven’t the faintest. Perhaps I should call the police.”
    â€œNo! Get