by Cate Dean
“I’m going with you.”
She dropped the tea and bag on the counter before she followed them out.
Drew and Ian were settling Martin in the back seat when she reached the sidewalk. Drew gestured for Ian to close the door, then he turned to Maggie. “I interviewed Giles this morning. He swears he never received the watch from Professor Martin—or any gift, for that matter. According to him, they haven’t spoken in more than three years.”
“So you’re arresting Martin, just on the word of a man who doesn’t even like him?”
“His watch was found at the crime scene. Maggie,” he laid his hand on her shoulder, and she knew what he had to say next wasn’t going to be good. “His fingerprints were one of two sets found on the watch.”
“It used to be his!” She forced herself to calm down, and raised her hand. “I’m sorry, Drew. I know you’re just doing your job. What about the other set?”
He shook his head. “They aren’t in the system.”
“Can I talk to him?” He opened his mouth, and she suspected he was about to say no. “Please, Drew.”
“One minute, Maggie. Don’t make me regret this.”
“Okay.”
Drew waved to Ian, and they moved back to the shop, giving Maggie as much space as he could, while still close enough to grab Martin if he tried to run.
She opened the door, and crouched next to Martin. He looked exhausted, his clothes rumpled, his hair sticking up, like he’d just rolled out of bed.
“Maggie—”
“Let me do the talking. I only have a minute.” He nodded, and the despair in his grey blue eyes eased. “I’m not going to let them railroad you, Martin. I think Giles is lying, and I’m going to find out why.”
“Please, don’t place yourself in danger for me.”
She smiled. “Giles Trelawney is the least dangerous man I know.”
“You underestimate him. I know Giles, so watch yourself around him. He has a competitive streak, and it can consume him.”
“Okay, I’ve been warned. I’ll be careful, Martin.”
“Time’s up, Maggie.” She looked over her shoulder. Drew stood behind her, impatience edging his voice.
“Thank you for giving me the time.” Turning back to Martin, she acted on impulse, and leaned in, kissing his cheek. His eyes widened behind the glasses. “Don’t forget—you’re not alone.”
He swallowed, then nodded. “At least he gave me time to dress.” A crooked smile crossed his face. “I answered his pounding in a decidedly feminine robe.”
“The former tenant was a woman.”
“A tall woman, thankfully.”
She knew what he was trying to do—ease the tension, for her.
“I’ll come and see you, as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, Maggie, for all you’ve done.”
Drew interrupted them. “Past time, Maggie. I have to get him to the station.”
“I want him treated fairly, Drew. He may be a stranger, but he deserves the benefit of the doubt, until you prove otherwise.”
“Very well.”
Maggie stood, watching Drew and Ian climb into the car and drive away.
Whatever grudge Giles held, he wasn’t going to use it to incriminate Martin. Not if she had anything to do with it.
She walked into the shop and picked up the phone. Spencer was about to earn another favor from her.
***
After Spencer arrived just in time to open the shop, Maggie thanked him, handed over all the scones, then headed for the police station.
She wanted to make sure Martin was okay before she interrogated Giles.
It took longer than she wanted to make her way up the high street, but she finally reached the front of the police station. When she walked into the small building, the first person she saw was Martin, handcuffed to a chair in the small waiting area.
“Martin—”
His head snapped up. “Maggie—what are you doing here?”
“Checking on you.” She rushed over to him, scared by his hunched shoulders, his pale face. The closer she got, the worse he looked. “Why are you out here?”
“Where everyone can see me?” Martin took a deep breath, and shook his head. “Drew claimed to be checking my alibi.” He swallowed. “The issue with that is I don’t have one.”
Maggie sat in the chair next to him, her heart skipping. “But—you weren’t anywhere near Holmestead when Angus was killed. Were you?”
He scrubbed at his face with his free hand. “Except for the time I spent at the estate with Tanner, and with you, I was in my car. Alone.”
Panic shot through her. “But you have times, when you left Oxford, when you arrived at—”
“They don’t exonerate me. I am the prime suspect, Maggie.”
“Oh, no—no, you’re not.” She stood and stomped over to the desk. “I want to see Drew Cooperman. Now.”
“Sorry, Miss Mulgrew.” Maggie wasn’t surprised that the plump, grey-haired receptionist knew her. It was a village, after all. “Police Constable Cooperman is unavailable.”
“I was told, by PC Cooperman, that the man handcuffed to that chair would be treated fairly.” The woman’s eyes widened. “I’d like to find out why he’s been displayed in the waiting room like a prize. From PC Cooperman.” Maggie used her mother’s serious lawyer voice. Growing up in a courtroom, watching her mother at work, came in handy at times like this. “Now.”
“One moment.” She pushed to her feet and bustled into the corridor leading to the back.
Maggie felt a little guilty for talking to her like that—until she glanced over at Martin. He was being treated like an outsider, a trophy for Drew. Maggie didn’t know how long they could hold Martin without substantial evidence, but the longer he stayed, the better the chance that no one else would be considered. Martin would be the only suspect.
Drew walked out, looking almost as exhausted as Martin.
“Sorry, Maggie. I didn’t sleep much last night. If you come in the back with me, we can speak in private.”
She waited to say anything until they entered a room. An interrogation room. “Am I a person of interest, Drew?”
“No.” He closed the door and turned to her. “But you were with the suspect, and I need a few answers before I take you off my list.”
“Martin didn’t do this—”
“The evidence says he did.”
“What evidence, Drew? A watch with his name on it?”
“Please, sit.” She did, crossing her arms. “I know you would like the Professor to be innocent. I would like that, since I happen to be a fan of his BBC programs. But he could have done it, Maggie, and I can’t simply discount him without investigating.”
“I want to know why you have him handcuffed in the waiting area, like a prize.”
“He would overhear anything I say if he is in the holding cell. One of those things was arranging for the jar to be stored at the museum.”
“But—it’s evidence. Shouldn’t it stay here?”
He sighed. “That jar is worth a fortune. I have no way to guarantee it won’t be dropped by someone moving it out of the way to get to something else on the evidence shelf. We are not equipped to handle this type of evidence, Maggie, or this type of case. Murder doesn’t happen in Holmestead.”
“Fine.” She decided not to question it, even though it nagged at her. Wasn’t he worried about chain of evidence? On the other hand, letting the jar leave evidence could work in Martin’s favor. “I just don’t want him railroaded because he doesn’t live here.”
For the first time, Drew smiled. “I’ve already ushered Enid Phillips out of the building. Twice. She certainly proclaims the need for justice loudly, for someone who hated Angus Fitch with a passion.”
“That must have been some show. I’m glad I missed it.”
“You were the only one. I am going to connect the dots, Maggie. They may not create the picture you want them to.”
“Do what y
ou have to, Drew.” Maggie stood, and made a decision. “I should have told you this before, but there was more than one suspicious person at Angus’ cottage.” She let out her breath, and spit it out. “Henry Manning was there, with blood on his hands.”
Drew grabbed her arm, anger flashing in his eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because—I don’t think he hurt Angus. But I’m telling you, because I want you to test the other set of fingerprints against Henry’s prints. I don’t want Martin to be your fall guy, your reason for not looking at anyone else.”
“Is there any other detail I should know, Maggie?”
“That’s it.” She let out her breath. “I’m sorry, Drew. Henry was so scared, and I couldn’t believe he would do anything to hurt Angus.”
He took her hand, his anger gone, and sandwiched it between his. “I never told you how sorry I was that you found Angus. No one should have to walk in on such a scene.”
“I’m okay. But thanks, Drew. I appreciate your concern.”
“I’d like—” He cleared his throat. “When this is over, I’d like very much to ask you to supper. Or a drink, if that suits better.”
“I—” Surprise that he’d pick such an inappropriate time to ask had her stumbling. “I’m flattered, Drew.”
Disappointment crossed his face. “But the answer is no.”
“The answer is ask me when this is over. I can’t tell you what my answer will be then, but I’d like you to ask.”
“All right. I will be taking Professor Martin back to the cell, and I want you gone while I do.”
“I have somewhere else to be.”
She headed for the waiting area, wanting to say goodbye to Martin. Ian stood next to him, arms crossed, his intent clear. “Have a good day, Maggie.”
“Take care with him, Ian.”
He lowered his arms. “I guarantee it. Go on, now.”
She met Martin’s eyes, scared by the despair she saw in the grey blue depths.
Whatever it took, she was going to find the truth. Even if she had to beat that truth out of Giles Trelawney.
Eleven
It only took Maggie a few minutes to reach the museum at the bottom of the high street.
Holmestead Museum was a hodgepodge of local history, artifacts found in the area, and whatever special exhibit happened to be on. There was even a stuffed polar bear in the second floor stairwell. It took Maggie by surprise the first time she nearly ran into it.
She loved the eclectic museum. Unfortunately, Giles wasn’t part of that love.
The first time they met, he had been a pompous, nose-in-the-air academic, assuming because she was American she didn’t know anything. She proved him wrong, and in front of witnesses. They’d been on civil in public only terms ever since.
She knew going in that this was going to be a hostile conversation.
Giles didn’t disappoint.
She spotted him in the gift shop, hitting on the teenage girl at the register. The girl looked part terrified, part disgusted.
“Giles—I need to talk to you.”
He jerked away from the counter he’d been leaning against, his round face flushed.
“I have no time for you, Miss Mulgrew.” He walked away from her as he talked, heading for the stairwell.
“You need to make time.” She made sure her voice was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “It’s about Professor Martin.”
He froze, his hand an inch away from the door handle. “I gave my statement to the local constables.”
Before Maggie could respond, he yanked the door open and disappeared. She recovered quickly, and followed him into the stairwell. For a short man, he moved fast—he was halfway up the first flight by the time she hit the stairs.
“Giles—shoot.” She silently thanked herself for wearing flats today, and ran up the stairs after him. “Whatever you said had them arresting Professor Martin.”
“I only told the truth.” He sounded breathless now, and had definitely slowed.
Maggie grabbed the metal railing and climbed faster. She burst into the first floor exhibition room, right behind him. Giles clutched the edge of the nearest display case, hunched over and gasping for breath. Before he could recover, she grabbed his arm.
“I think you lied,” she said. Giles tried to pull away, and Maggie tightened her grip. “I know you have some long-standing argument with him, but he’s being accused of a murder he didn’t commit—”
“Are you certain?” The gleam in his eyes startled her, and he managed to pull free, straightening his jacket with hands that shook. “Pembroke Martin is not the upright noble he presents to the world. I have known him since we attended Oxford, as has Angus Fitch.” She jerked in surprise at that information. “I am quite certain he would prefer that both of us were unable to talk about what happened at university.”
“What happened?”
“As if I would tell you, Miss Mulgrew. You are clearly smitten, as are most women who meet him. Don’t consider yourself special.”
She took a deep breath, pushed aside the doubt he was clearly trying to plant. “Where were you two nights ago, Giles?”
He lifted his chin, fury in his brown eyes. “How dare you—”
“I was at the auction.” The fury died, fear flashing in his eyes before he managed to hide it. “I saw how angry you were when you lost the bid on the Sayer & Brown jar.”
“My anger was for the loss to the museum, not for myself.” She had to admit, he recovered fast. A little too fast. Then, he had plenty of time to create an alibi, and a façade of calm, before the police showed up. “It was heat of the moment, Miss Mulgrew. Now, we are done with this awkward conversation. I suggest you gather what dignity you still have, and—”
“The box I bought belongs to the jar.”
He halted mid-turn. “What jar?”
“The apothecary jar, Giles. The one the museum will receive once Drew has it transferred from the police station.”
“You dare—ˮ
“Everyone in the village knows about Angus’ intention to donate his collection to the museum after his death. You must be thrilled that it came sooner than expected. It looks like your connections will allow you to get your greedy hands on the jar faster than you should.”
She left him gaping at her. Heavens, she hadn’t meant to blurt that out. She wanted to let him hang himself by making a mistake. She also knew—okay, hoped—that the mystery prints on the watch belonged to him.
By the time she got downstairs and out the main door, she had a headache. She knew it was from trying not to think about what Giles had said to her, about Martin.
He never mentioned that he had known both of them since they were young. The difference between a few years and college friends was vast. Maggie had revealed parts of herself to her college roommate that no one else knew. Those long, soul-baring talks had helped her make the decision to stand up to her parents, and stand up for herself.
Martin didn’t have an alibi; he’d admitted that much to her himself. Driving here, alone, wasn’t going to be enough—not when his fingerprints had been found at the murder scene. Never mind when Drew found out about his history with Angus.
And why were Martin’s prints on file? They would have to be in some database, for Drew to match them so quickly.
Maggie was so absorbed in her conflicting thoughts, she didn’t see Enid until the older woman grabbed her arm.
“Enid—”
“Hush.”
Maggie let Enid drag her inside Holmesania, partly out of curiosity. The normally well-appointed woman looked like she’d been running in a windstorm—and she wore a blouse and skirt that didn’t match. That was so unlike Enid, Maggie wanted to know what had distracted her so much.
Enid locked the door behind them, then hauled Maggie to the only clear floor space, in front of the front counter. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Walking?”
“Don’t you give me lip,
young lady.” Enid actually shook her finger in Maggie’s face. “I know you were down at the museum, harassing Gi—Mr. Trelawney.”
“Last I checked, asking questions wasn’t harassing...” Maggie crossed her arms. “Exactly how did you know I was at the museum?”
“I—” Enid dragged one hand through her wild hair. “I saw you heading there earlier.”
“Was I wearing a sign that said I was going to talk to Giles Trelawney?”
“Fine.” She straightened her spine, looking more like the Enid Maggie knew. “Giles—Mr. Trelawney rang me after he was able to compose himself.” That must have been one fast recovery. It only took five minutes to get from the museum to this part of the high street.
“I thought you and Mr. Trelawney didn’t like each other.”
Enid blushed like a teenage girl. “I—we have come to an—accord.” She cleared her throat, the color in her cheeks fading. “I want you to stop questioning him, Maggie. He had nothing to do with this grisly murder.” She dug her fingers into Maggie’s wrist, and the wild look in her eyes had Maggie forgetting about the pain of her grip. “Leave the investigating to the police—before you are harmed by your invasive questions.”
She let Maggie go, and bustled into the back room.
“I guess this means the conversation is over.” Enid had always been odd, but this morning she inched closer to crazy.
Maggie shook her head and unlocked the front door, pulling it open. She closed it behind her, figuring Enid would come and lock it again, or open the shop. Right now, Maggie was too shaken from the morning’s events to do more than make her way to The Ash Leaf.
“Oh, no,” she muttered. Spencer was there—and he could read her like an open book. He’d know something was up the second she walked in the door.
She took a deep breath and headed up the street. Maybe talking with Spencer would help sort through all the conflicting emotions. Right now she could use some clarity.
The shop was busy when she stepped in, so she took long enough to throw her jacket over a chair in the back room before she went to help an outnumbered Spencer.
It took nearly an hour to clear the shop—and all of the tourists clamored to be rung up at the same time, right before their tour bus was scheduled to leave. Maggie sagged against the counter when the last couple left. Spencer draped himself over it.
