by Cate Dean
“Thank you for rescuing me, Mags. I was planning a strategic retreat before you arrived.”
“Glad to help. Did you want some water?”
“Yes, yes, and yes.”
She laughed, then pushed off the counter and grabbed several bottles from the fridge in the back room. Spencer had undraped himself by the time she came out, and practically hugged the bottle when she gave it to him. He guzzled half the bottle in one go.
“Better, Spence?”
“Getting there. So,” he boosted himself to the counter, and gave her his “I know you’re hiding something” look. “What’s up?”
“Martin was arrested this morning.”
“Oh, Mags.” He reached out and pulled her into a welcome hug. “Why? What did Drew find?”
She told him everything she knew. “I don’t know what to think, Spence. I know I’ve only known him a short time—”
“But you like him.” He rubbed her back. “I want to be happy for you, Maggie, but I get an odd vibe from him.”
“It’s called encroaching on your territory. Or more simply, ‘stay away from my sister’ syndrome.”
“I guess. I’ve never seen you serious about anyone, or heard you talk about anyone. But in less than two days, when you talk about this professor, your voice is different.”
“I do like him, Spence.” She sighed, and eased back until she could see his face. “I think he likes me. I also think he’s hiding something. Maybe something incriminating.”
“Like the small detail that he bashed Angus Fitch over the head?”
“No.” She batted his arm. “Like his connection to Angus. Giles Trelawney told me that all three of them knew each other when they went to Oxford.”
“Oxford. It figures.”
“You can ridicule him for his education later. I need your help now to find evidence that he’s not guilty.”
“You believe he is, Maggie?”
“Yes.” She had doubts about his motives for coming to see Angus, but she had seen his face when they found Angus’ body. It was the face of a man in shock. No one could pale on cue like that. “I will, until I find something concrete that tells me differently.”
“You’re not—” Spencer held her at arm’s length. “You’re going to investigate, aren’t you?”
“Drew thinks he has his suspect, no matter what he told me. I won’t let Martin be railroaded because he’s a stranger.”
“Right.” He let her go and rubbed his hands together. “What can I do?”
She smiled, wanting to hug him again. “It’s time to make one of my famous lists.”
Spencer groaned, and she laughed, feeling hopeful for the first time since she saw the police car this morning.
She pulled a pad of paper and her favorite pen out from under the counter, and made two columns: one for suspects, one for their motive.
Spencer touched her wrist. “You know you have to put Martin on that list. He had motive, whether you like it or not. Use what you know to prove his innocence.”
“Yeah.”
She hated doing it, but she put him at the top, along with the motive that made him a suspect.
Wanted his stolen jar back.
After finishing, she felt like she had betrayed him.
To make herself feel better, she put Giles down next, with a big, fat star next to his name.
Spencer prompted her, gently nudging her with his shoulder. “Who else has been acting odd?”
“Enid. She ran at me like a wild woman after I talked to Giles. I’ve never seen her like that. She warned me to stop asking questions.”
“Intriguing.” Spencer had a long-standing feud with Enid, over more than a few things, and starting with his van. She called it the moving abomination. “Write her down. What do you think her motive is?”
“She despised Angus, and as far as I know, isn’t all that friendly to Giles. That’s why her warning surprised me—never mind the way she looked.” She continued when Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Her hair was standing up on end, like she’d been running through a windstorm, and her outfit didn’t match.”
“Oh, the horror!” He pressed one hand to his heart, and Maggie shook her head.
“Drama queen.”
“History geek.”
They smiled at each other.
“Okay,” she said. “One more. Henry Manning.” She wrote his name, sad that she had to put him on the list.
“Seriously?” Spencer frowned at her. “What didn’t you tell me?”
“He was at Angus’ cottage, with blood on his hands, the night Angus was killed. He ran right into me trying to escape. I was so freaked out by everything else, I forgot to tell you that bit.”
“Do the police know?”
She nodded, tapping her pen against the pad. “I told Drew, just now. And Henry has gone missing. He’s probably terrified.”
“You have to look at it from Drew’s angle, Mags.” Spencer opened one of the bottles and handed it to her, before he opened his second and took a long swig. “He finds a watch belonging to an old rival, with fingerprints, mind you, and said rival was in the victim’s house minutes after the murder. I’d think he was guilty, too.”
“But how did Drew match his prints so fast?”
Spencer shrugged. “My guess, they’re on file. He does travel extensively, Maggie.”
“Right.”
He took another drink, finishing off the bottle. Maggie studied him, her optimism sinking with every word. Spence was right; in the eyes of the police, with the evidence they had, Martin looked guilty as sin.
“I’m still making a list.”
“Never thought otherwise, love.”
She smiled at him, grateful for his friendship. He had always been her one stable point, along with Aunt Irene. Two people who would always support her, no matter how silly her idea, and love her, no matter how much she screwed up. Losing Aunt Irene so unexpectedly had left her adrift—until she came back to Holmestead.
Until she came home.
Twelve
“You have a visitor.”
PC Reynolds stood in front of Martin’s cell, frowning at him. Martin stood, hope flaring. It could be Maggie; she told him she would find a way—
He cut off that thought. It was better if she did not involve herself. The way things looked at the moment, he was the prime suspect. The only suspect.
“Am I allowed visitors?”
“It’s at our discretion. PC Cooperman let him in.”
Him. Not Maggie, then. Martin’s disappointment surprised him. He had known her for two days, and she had already become important to him.
Reynolds walked out of the holding area, and returned with Maggie’s associate, Spencer Knight.
“Thank you, PC Reynolds.” Spencer turned to him and crossed his arms, waiting until Reynolds left before he spoke again. “Tell me the truth, Martin—did you do this?”
“I did not.” Martin moved to the bars. “Did Maggie send you?”
“She doesn’t know I’m here.” Spencer ran one hand through his sun streaked hair. He looked more American than Maggie, with his tanned skin, and shaggy hair. “She likes you, Professor, and I want to be certain that her feelings aren’t misplaced.”
“You mean, you want to be certain she doesn’t have feelings for a murderer.”
Spencer smiled. “That’s another way of putting it.”
“I did not kill Angus Fitch.” He felt like he had said the same words a hundred times since this morning. “I gave the watch they found to Giles Trelawney more than three years ago. I lost a bet, and that was the prize. He should remember; he gloated over it for weeks.”
“Maggie believes in you.” Spencer moved in until they stood eye to eye. “She is going to bat for you out there.”
“What do you mean?” He was already certain he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from the other man.
“She’s asking questions. She went to the museum this morning, and gave Giles Trelaw
ney a good shake up. She thinks he is lying. She also thinks the resident gossip, Enid Phillips, has something to do with it. Enid warned Maggie off, out of the blue, which tells me that good old Giles called her the second Maggie left him. That looks suspicious. Maggie made a list.”
He pulled a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his jeans and handed it through the bars. Martin unfolded it, his heart pounding as he read her short note at the top.
You’re not guilty, Martin. I know, and I’m going to prove it. Please feel free to add anything to the list below.
Maggie
“Stop her, Spencer.” He shoved the paper back through the bars. “Go and stop her, right now.”
“If you knew Maggie, you’d know it was too late. She believes that you are being framed, and she won’t stand by and let it happen.”
Martin cursed under his breath, in several languages. When Spencer started laughing, he lifted his head.
“Impressive,” Spencer said. “Another thing about you that will charm Maggie. Look,” he gripped the bars, his blue eyes serious. “Maggie cares about you, and I love her. She is the sister I never had, and I will protect her like my sister. Are we clear?”
“Crystal. Tell me, Spencer—what do you believe?”
He sighed. “I agree with her. Why would you kill a man over a jar? Especially when a visit to the police with your proof of ownership would be much easier, and less exertion.” With a shrug, he let go of the bars and headed for the doorway. “For what it’s worth, Professor—and this is not easy for me to say—I think you’d be good for each other. I’ve never seen Maggie as happy, and you give her the chance to indulge in the one thing she loves more than me.”
He flashed Martin a smile and walked out.
Martin lowered himself to the hard bunk, took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. A woman he hardly knew was putting herself on the line for him. His own family would not do such a thing.
That she was going after a murderer terrified him, especially since he was unable to protect her if she got too close. He also had to explain his past to her, and how it may have been a catalyst for what happened here.
If that didn’t chase her out of his life, nothing would.
Thirteen
Maggie needed space after a long, busy day. She locked up, said goodbye to a dragging Spencer, then headed down the high street, toward the harbor. Just sitting on the promenade, listening to the sound of the waves, breathing in the scent of the ocean, always soothed her spirit.
Making a list didn’t help. It was short, with only one potential suspect, a scared handyman on the run, and Enid’s suspicious behavior this morning. Not an auspicious start to an investigation.
After an hour, she headed back up, planning to walk home, take a long bath, then make dinner. The shops were all closed, but the restaurants, cafes, and pubs were lively, people spilling out of several pubs, enjoying the mild evening.
Maggie waved at more than one local, then turned into a side street that led to the street she lived on.
She let out a cry when a heavy weight slammed into her.
They smacked the rough stone front of the stationery, Maggie’s elbow bouncing painfully off the stone. Hot breath washed over her cheek, her attacker’s face hidden under a hood.
“Stop asking questions. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave off and—”
“Rich? Rich Danner?” Even muffled, she recognized the voice. He jerked back, and his hood slipped. “What are you doing?”
“Mr. Trelawney didn’t do what you’re accusing him of. Leave him alone.”
Footsteps echoed behind them. Rich cursed, then shoved Maggie away from him and took off. She fell, smacking her already throbbing elbow on the sidewalk.
“Maggie? Are you all right?” The familiar, unexpected voice brought her head up. Edward Carlisle crouched in front of her. “Let me help you up.”
“Thanks.” She flinched as he pulled her to her feet, her right side throbbing from impact with the sidewalk. “It was one of the college students who works at the museum during the summer. He’s loyal to Giles Trelawney. A little too loyal.” She gingerly rubbed her right arm, and spotted blood on the sleeve of her jacket. “What are you doing here?”
“Ah.” He led her back to the high street, stopping under one of the decorative wrought iron street lamps. “I arrived earlier this evening. I planned to speak to Giles Trelawney. I understand the Sayer & Brown jar will come to the museum, and I wanted to discuss purchasing it.”
“Trust me, Giles isn’t going to let it go. I wouldn’t be surprised if he already has a display case for it.”
“I always believe that it can hardly hurt to try. Where can I take you?”
“Oh—I’m fine. Really, I can just—”
“Nonsense. You were injured in the fall. Is your shop nearby? I can escort you that far, perhaps assist you with your arm.”
So, he’d seen the blood as well. “Sure. It’s up ahead, on the right.”
When they reached the door, she fumbled in her pocket for the keys. Edward took them from her and unlocked the door, waiting for her to walk in first, before he closed and locked it behind them.
“Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Under the front counter.”
She lowered herself to the closest chair, and eased her jacket off. Her elbow and forearm were scraped, and bloodier than she expected.
“Here, now.” Edward pulled up a second chair, and opened the kit on a display table. “Let me take care of this.”
He laid her arm on the table, using pre-moistened antibiotic wipes to gently clean the scrapes. Maggie clenched her jaw as the liquid burned into her raw skin. When he finished, Edward started talking, obviously to distract her from the pain.
“I imagine you are wondering how I happened to be on the street when you were attacked.”
“It did—cross my mind.” She hissed when the gauze pad touched her elbow.
“I am sorry for the pain, Maggie. The ointment I laid on the pad should start taking effect any moment. To continue, I spent the evening in one of your charming pubs, and had a surprisingly tasty meal.”
“The Bonnie Prince Charlie?”
“I believe so. It has a naval blue and gold façade.”
“That’s it. The owner, Chris, was a Michelin star chef in London. He sold his restaurant, moved here, and opened the pub.”
“Not Christopher Belgard?”
“That would be him.”
“I thought I recognized his style.” Edward wrapped her elbow and forearm, tearing a couple of strips of medical tape to secure the bandage. “There we are. It will do until you can see a doctor in the morning.”
“Thank you. For this,” she lifted her arm off the table and cradled it against her chest. “And for coming to my rescue. I think Rich was just trying to scare me, but he’s kind of intense.”
“Shall I walk you home?”
“I’m going to spend the night here.” She didn’t know Edward well enough for him to find out where she lived. Alone. “There’s a flat upstairs, with everything I need.”
“Well, then. I will leave you to your rest...” His voice faded, and Maggie knew he’d spotted the carrier box. “Is this the box you purchased? Would you mind if I had a look?”
“Tomorrow.” She didn’t want him to see what she and Martin had revealed. A man like Edward would immediately recognize its provenance. “I’ll be happy to show it to you when my arm isn’t throbbing.”
“Forgive me, Maggie. My enthusiasm can sometimes get the best of me.” He stood, and took her left hand, kissing her fingers with an intimacy that left her shaky. He was such a good looking man, even if he was almost old enough to be her father. “I will see you tomorrow. Sleep well, darling.”
The endearment sent up serious warning flags. She smiled at him, and waited until he unlocked the door and left the shop before she stood. She locked the door, peering through the wavy glass fan window in the top
half. Her heart skipped when she saw him on the street, studying her shop with an intensity she had seen once before.
At the auction, when he had been looking at the apothecary jar.
Edward wasn’t a man who would take being told no easily.
Hopefully, he would get so caught up with Giles, he’d forget about her box.
She wouldn’t count on it.
With a sigh, Maggie walked through the dark shop, maneuvering around the displays without a second thought. She knew this place better than her house. The climb to the flat seemed to take forever, and she had a throbbing headache to go with her throbbing arm by the time she reached the landing at the top.
Rich’s attempt to scare her told her one thing—she was on the right track. She had a feeling Giles had been behind the intimidation, and it wouldn’t surprise her to see guilt on Giles’ face if she showed up at the museum tomorrow, with her battle wounds.
Instead of facing Giles, she was going to take what she knew straight to Drew. Maybe with Spencer as an escort.
At the very least, it would give Drew someone else to look at. She’d even relate the battle at the auction, and how angry Giles had been when Angus outbid him.
With her morning planned, she slowly undressed, flinching and gasping every time fabric brushed her right arm.
“Add going to the local clinic to the itinerary.”
It would take more than the ibuprofen she planned to swallow to cut the pain. She also wanted to make sure there hadn’t been any damage to her elbow beyond scraped skin and bruises.
Maggie left her camisole on. It would serve as a night shirt—and she wasn’t up to trying to pull it over her head with only one working arm. What seemed like hours later, she finally climbed into the double bed, and pulled up the duvet.
The pillow smelled like Martin—slightly spicy, with a warm, musk undertone. She pressed her face into the pillow, relaxed her muscles, one by one. The ibuprofen kicked in, taking the edge off the pain in her arm, as well as her headache.
