Death as a Last Resort by Gwendolyn Southin Page A

would decide after she had tackled the bedroom.
    â€œPerhaps I should take a day off more often,” she said to Nat when he called her around noon to see how she was getting on. “And I have decided on wallpaper.”
    â€œWallpaper? What the heck are you talking about?”
    â€œTo redo the kitchen walls. I’m going out to buy some this afternoon.”
    â€œOh, Maggie,” he groaned, “I’m not very good at wallpapering. All that sticky paste stuff. Let’s just repaint.”
    â€œYou’ve no need to worry. I’ve done it before.”
    â€œSomehow,” he replied, “I have an awful feeling that I’m not going to escape that easily. You’ll be in tomorrow?”
    â€œOf course. Is everything okay?”
    â€œJacquelyn left a message that she would like to see us as soon as possible. I’ll get Henny to set up a time.”
    After replacing the receiver, Maggie had a leisurely lunch and then went shopping for wallpaper. She chose white daisies on a yellow background.
    â€¢ • •
    THE NEXT MORNING, VANCOUVER awoke to a two-inch blanket of snow. When Maggie reached the office, Nat announced, “We’ll take the Chevy to Jacquelyn Dubois’s house. My tires are better than yours in this weather.”
    When they reached the house on Southwest Marine Drive, the flagstone path leading up to the ornate double front door had not been shovelled.
    â€œGuess we’re the first to visit her this morning,” Maggie observed, looking down at the virgin snow. She stopped for a moment to look around the large garden. “Oh, Nat, just look how all the trees and bushes sparkle!”
    He glanced at his watch. “It’s twenty after eleven. You’d have thought someone, say the maid, would have left footprints.” Then he laughed. “I bet there’s a back entrance for the help.”
    â€œAre we considered help?” Maggie asked as she rang the front doorbell for the second time. “You did tell her eleven?”
    â€œPerhaps we’d better try the back,” Nat said after Maggie had rung once again. Stepping off the porch, he turned and stood looking at the house. On the left was the two-car garage and on the right the flagstone path led around the side of the house and up to a vine-covered latticed fence and latched gate. Nat led the way to the right. “Ugh!” he yelled suddenly. The path was close to the house, and a gob of the rapidly melting snow had plopped wetly from the eaves and down his neck.
    There was no response to their repeated pressing of the back entrance bell either. “Where the hell is the woman?” Nat stormed. Then, in exasperation, he tried the door handle. It was open. “Mrs. Dubois,” he yelled. “Mrs. Dubois, are you there?” He turned to Maggie. “That’s it! I’m not wasting any more time. Come on.” He closed the door and started back the way they had come.
    â€œPerhaps something’s wrong,” Maggie answered. “I think we should have a look.”
    â€œShe’s probably gone out and forgotten we were coming.”
    â€œNo, Nat. Ours are the only footprints.”
    â€œShe could’ve gone out before the snow started.”
    â€œBut it didn’t start snowing until after midnight.”
    â€œWell then, maybe she’s staying with a friend.”
    â€œAnd left the house unlocked? I don’t think so.” She turned the door handle and stepped into the immaculate kitchen. “Well, she had dinner here last night,” she said, pointing to a couple of china plates, two empty wine glasses and some cutlery that had been left to dry on a rack. “But there are no breakfast dishes.”
    â€œWe’re trespassing, Maggie.”
    â€œSomething doesn’t feel right. I’m going to look through the rest of the house.” Before Nat could stop her, she had opened the door into the large hallway and