Death as a Last Resort by Gwendolyn Southin

suspicious.”
    â€œWhat about fingerprints?” Maggie asked.
    â€œNot much point, really,” he answered as he walked to the front door. “Probably used gloves. You did say there was nothing missing?”
    â€œAs I said, I don’t think so, and my jewellery, such as it is, is still intact on my dresser upstairs.”
    â€œSo we can clear up this mess?” Nat asked.
    â€œDon’t see why not. I think the thugs were giving you a warning, Mrs. Spencer. Perhaps you should heed it and choose another career,” he said, walking to the door and opening it. “We’ll keep an eye out for the dog,” he added.
    â€œIf this really has something to do with that Egyptian stuff . . .” Maggie began as she swept the last of the canister mixture off the floor. She stopped suddenly, dustpan in mid-air. “Nat, the bookstore.”
    â€œBookstore?”
    â€œYes. When I rescued Nancy. I told you that I parked out the back and the woman from the bookstore came out to investigate. She could have told Edgeworthy about my car.”
    â€œBut this mess would only make sense if Maurice’s collection of Egyptian stuff really was stolen by Edgeworthy, and then Nancy came along and swiped the smaller stuff and put it in her pockets . . .”
    â€œAnd if the woman from the bookstore told Edgeworthy about my car and he figured I’d stolen the stuff and he sent thugs to search my house.”
    â€œBut we already decided that scenario was pretty farfetched.”
    â€œYes, but . . .”
    It was at that moment that they heard a scratching at the back door. When Nat opened it, a bedraggled dog with a cowardly look on his face slunk in.
    â€œA fine kind of watchdog you are,” Maggie said, bending to pick him up and bury her face in Oscar’s silky fur. “But I’m glad you’re safe.”
    â€œThose thugs were definitely looking for something small,” Nat said much later, as he sat on the side of the bed.
    â€œWhat makes you say that?”
    â€œThe way your things were just dumped on the floor and the drawers turned upside down, and then both of your jewellery boxes emptied onto the dressing table and the contents spread out like that.”
    â€œAnd it’s not all junk,” Maggie said slowly. “There’s my grandmother’s two rings, this gold bracelet I’ve had for years and my gold watch . . .” She opened the clothes closet, picked up the pile of clothes from the floor and threw everything in. “I suppose Harry was right.”
    â€œHarry? What’s he got to do with it?”
    â€œHe was dead set against me having the Morris Minor repainted red. Said it was too conspicuous.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    T hursday morning brought snow flurries to the Vancouver area, and Oscar loved it! Floppy ears and feathery tail flying in the icy wind, he bounded along happily with a huge grin on his face.
    â€œIt’s okay for you,” Maggie told him as she huddled into her fur-collared wool coat, “you’re a typical Quebecois.” But by the time the walk was over, even she was glowing and she actually found herself smiling at all the other dog-walkers. Reality set in again as soon as she removed her coat and surveyed the mess. Nat had done his best to clean up before leaving late the night before, but it was a bitter reminder of how dangerous her job could be.
    You’ve had worse things happen to you, Maggie old girl.
    With this thought in mind, she donned an apron and started on the kitchen floor. A couple of hours later, everything sparkled—she had even cleaned the inside of the kitchen window and refilled the canisters and put them back on their shelves—but try as she might, the words painted on the wall were still a faint reminder of the intruders from the night before.
    â€œPaint or wallpaper?” she asked the two animals who were watching all the cleaning activity with trepidation. She