by Cate Dean
She remembered, as she fell asleep, that she didn’t eat dinner.
Fourteen
Spencer’s voice woke Maggie just before her stomach started growling. Loudly.
She pushed herself up, carefully, and brushed sleep tangled hair off her face.
“I’m in here, Spencer.”
He appeared in the doorway, frowning at her. “Why didn’t you go—what happened, Maggie?” He strode to the bed and sat next to her, gently cupping her chin. “Who hit you?”
“No one. Do I have a bruise?”
“On your jaw. Don’t you feel it? I guess not,” he said, spotting her bandaged arm. “Explain.”
She told him what happened last night, leaving out her mixed feelings about Edward. “Don’t you dare go after Rich. I know Giles put him up to it.”
“Which means he’s feeling guilty about something.”
She leaned against the padded headboard. “My thoughts exactly. I’m going to open the shop a little late today.”
“You shouldn’t be opening at all.”
“It’s Friday. I can’t afford not to be open. The first tour bus doesn’t show up until noon, so we have until then.”
He raised a blonde eyebrow. “To what?”
“Talk to Drew. This is reasonable doubt, Spence. Why would I be attacked for questioning a museum curator if Martin is the murderer?”
“To give reasonable doubt.”
“What did he do—smuggle a note out to a boy he doesn’t even know?”
“Right. Sorry, Mags. I can’t quite trust him yet.”
“I have my moments.” After what Giles hinted at yesterday, those moments had been happening more often. She really needed to talk to Martin. “Can you drive me home? The only clothes I have here are bloody.”
“Not the only clothes.” He grinned at her, and Maggie caught on a second later. She had an entire section of vintage clothing, and most of that clothing fit her petite figure.
“I have had my eye on the sundress.”
“And that three quarter sleeve sweater. They’d be perfect together...” His voice faded when he realized what he was saying. “I need a surf holiday.”
“You mean time with other men, who know nothing about antiques.”
“Exactly.” He stood, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I knew you would understand. I’ll head down and fetch those clothes for you. Did you need help out of bed?”
“I think I can manage.”
She did, though it took much longer than she expected. Her right side was stiff, the bruises purple and ugly. Spencer skidded to a halt in the doorway.
“Maggie—why didn’t you tell me you were so beaten up?”
“I didn’t realize, until I started getting out of bed.”
He set the clothes on the bed, then guided her out to one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. “Sit.” His fingers were gentle as they probed her bruised skin. Maggie had stopped being modest around Spencer years ago. They used to skinny dip in the pond at the back of Aunt Irene’s property, when the summer days got sticky. “You will live, most likely. I want you to go to the private clinic, have them check you over.”
“Already on the agenda.”
“Good. Did you need help dressing?”
“I’m good. Why don’t you head over to The Tea Caddy and buy us breakfast? I want to leave as soon as I’m ready.”
“Money?”
She shook her head. “You really need to start carrying a wallet, Spence. Take a ten out of the register. And mark it down,” she said, raising her voice so he could hear her over his pounding footsteps.
Once she heard the front door slam, she started the arduous—and painful—task of getting dressed.
***
“PC Cooperman is unavailable.”
Maggie braced her hands on the counter and tried to look taller. The high counter hit her just above the chin, and made her feel twelve.
“Do you know when he’ll be available? I have some important information for him.”
“I imagine you think so, Miss.” The older woman who sat behind the counter was new, and obviously had pegged Maggie as a troublemaking tourist. “If you would care to wait.” She waved at the trio of uncomfortable chairs along the wall.
“Tell him Maggie is waiting to see him. He’ll know who you mean.”
Maggie gave her a smile and limped over to the chairs. Spencer frowned as she approached; he met her halfway, hovering until she lowered herself slowly to one of the chairs, leaning on her left side.
“You look worse than you did when we left the shop.”
“That’s good, because I feel worse.” She closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath. “Spence, I think I should go to the clinic now.”
“Right. Let me help you up.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and slowly pulled her to her feet. “Don’t try to help me help you, Maggie.” The anger edging his voice told her that he was worried. “You tell me if you need me to carry you.”
“I can walk on my own, Spencer. I just hurt, and I forgot to take some ibuprofen this morning.”
“The clinic is a few doors down. Take it one step at a time—and if you so much as wobble, I will be carting you there, like it or not.”
“I’ve been warned.” She gave him a weak smile, then leaned against him as he led her to the door. It opened when they were almost on top of it.
Drew skidded to a halt, his eyes widening when he spotted Maggie. “What’s happened?”
“A misunderstanding. I want to talk to you, Drew, but I’m taking a little trip over to the clinic.”
“Bring her to my car.” Drew talked over her head to Spencer.
“Will do.”
“No.” Both men looked down at her. “It will hurt less if I walk.”
Drew pressed his lips together, but he finally nodded. “I will come fetch you, when you’re ready. I need to talk to you as well, Maggie, about your conversation with Giles Trelawney.”
Dread shot through her. “Why?”
With a sigh, Drew ran one hand over his hair. “Because Giles is wanting to file harassment charges against you.”
“What?”
“Maggie.” Drew took her hand, holding it longer than she felt comfortable. He must have realized; he let go and cleared his throat. “I want you to stop poking around. You are an amateur, and whoever killed Angus is dangerous.” His voice sounded hard, and ruder than she’d ever heard him. “Do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear. I’d like to go now.”
“Right. Be careful, Maggie, please.”
She felt his gaze on her as Spencer led her to the door.
Saying no to that dinner invitation sounded like the best plan.
***
Maggie endured the examination, knowing at the end of the doctor’s probing that she would receive painkillers strong enough to help her get through the next couple of days.
He put her right arm in a sling, and gave her a few sample packets. “This should be enough for you, Miss Mulgrew. If you need more, we will revisit your condition.”
“Thank you.”
The nurse brought her a glass of water, and she took the prescribed number of pills, her muscles already relaxing in anticipation of the relief. With the nurse’s help, she dressed, and made her way out to the small waiting room.
Spencer paced the length of the room, halting when he saw her.
“You look better.”
“Drugs.” She smiled at him, already starting to feel a little loopy. “I want to go see Giles, before they kick in.”
“You’re in no condition to—”
“Which is exactly why I want to go. If he shows the least sign of guilt, I’m going to wring the truth out of him.” She also wanted another shot at getting him to trip himself up.
“Fine. But we are driving down to the museum. No argument.”
“None from me.”
He guided her outside, then leaned her against the wall. She watched him sprint up the h
igh street, where she knew he kept his brightly painted van. The wall held her up, and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths, pushing away from the wall when Spencer’s van appeared. It always made her smile.
The van was painted ocean blue, appropriate for a rabid surfer. What she loved most was the mural painted on the driver’s side, of his favorite beach.
Fortunately, the clinic was on the part of the high street that allowed car traffic. He rumbled to a halt next to the curb, and left the engine running as he hopped out.
“Can you climb up on your own?”
“I think so. Give me a starting boost.”
Using her left hand to hold the bar on the dashboard, she used her thigh muscles to heave herself up. Spencer handed her the seatbelt, and she waited for him to slide into the driver’s seat, so he could snap it into place for her.
He grabbed the steering wheel and glanced over at her. “Where did you want to ambush him?”
“Hilarious. I just plan to talk, maybe hint at extortion.” She gave him what she hoped was a fierce smile. She couldn’t tell. “Take Ivy Street, and pull around to the back. I can ask one of the employees where he is.”
“Got it.” He swung out and took the two-lane side street to the back of the museum. “I’m going with you. No argument,” he said, when she opened her mouth to argue. “Giles has a temper, he’s already miffed at you, and you are in no condition to defend yourself.”
“Fine.” She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but she couldn’t. The painkillers started kicking in hard on the way to the museum. “Just let me do the talking. He likes you even less.”
Spencer nodded, and moved around the van to help her down. He kept his arm around her, and she was grateful for the support. Her right leg felt a little wobbly at the moment.
They took the ramp up to the back door, found it open. Spencer led her in, flagging down the first person he saw.
“Hey—we’re looking for Giles Trelawney.”
The man pointed across the vast storage room. “He should be in the receiving room. We just now unloaded the pieces for a new exhibit.”
“Thanks.” Spencer held on to her when they crossed the room. “Still with me, Mags?”
“Right here.” She blinked, and the door in front of her cleared. “Remember, Spence, I’m doing—”
“All the talking. It’s been less than five minutes since the last time you reminded me.”
“Was it? Okay.” After an eternity, they reached the door. Spencer opened it, holding the hinged door in place until they got through, then let it slam. “Spencer.”
“Call it our announcement.”
No one rushed out of the receiving room. Maggie figured that Giles was immersed in whatever new exhibit had just been delivered. They moved to the open doorway, and she started talking before they crossed the threshold, to let him know someone was in the room.
“Giles, I wanted to talk to you about Rich Danner. We had an unexpected meeting last night and I—”
She stumbled when she saw the blood.
“Stay here.” Spencer started to let go of her, and she grabbed his arm.
“No.” He frowned at her. “We go together, Spence.”
“All right.”
They inched around the waist high table. Giles came into view, his body pressed up against the legs of a second table. His wide eyes, and the blood on the floor, told Maggie all she needed.
“Can you check him?” she whispered.
Spencer nodded, leaning her against the first table before he crouched next to Giles, careful not to step in the trail of blood, and pressed his fingers to Giles’ throat. He glanced over his shoulder and shook his head.
“I’ll ring Drew.” He stood, and wrapped his arm around Maggie’s waist. “Come and sit.” He helped her to a stool at the far end of the room, where Maggie couldn’t see Giles. “I’m going to let someone in the museum know what happened. Don’t try to investigate while I’m gone.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice sounded hoarse.
When Spencer left, she felt completely alone. A chill brushed against her neck, ruffling the papers on the table next to her. She forgot about being alone with a recently dead man when she saw the top page.
It was an inventory description. Of the Sayer & Brown apothecary jar.
Paper clipped to the inventory was a handwritten note, placing the jar in the custody of the museum, until the trial date. Maggie frowned. There should have been some kind of official form...
The thought faded as she scanned the room. No jar stood on any surface, just a clipboard, a pocket watch, several beautiful statues that looked Roman. One of them had blood on the base.
“Whoever did this likes hitting people with statues.”
Since it looked like the transfer had already happened, whoever did this now had the apothecary jar.
Maggie slid off the stool, and moved along the table. She glanced down at Giles, trying to be objective as she studied him. Objective didn’t last long; tears stung her eyes, and she turned away, hugging herself with her left arm.
She had never been overly fond of Giles, but no one deserved this—to die alone, killed for an object.
The chill brushed her hand this time, and she huddled in her sweater. The room was cold, but the chill seemed almost—focused.
“Stop even thinking like that, Maggie.” She clenched her teeth, cold wrapping around her like a cloak. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Fifteen
Martin stood when Drew Cooperman appeared. His muscles were stiff from a rough night on the too narrow, hard bunk.
“Good morning, Professor.” Drew slipped one of the keys on his ring into the cell door, clicking the lock open. “You are free to go, for now. I want you to stay in town. You are still a suspect in Angus Fitch’s murder.”
“What happened to drop me from prime suspect to merely a suspect?”
“Another murder.” Drew’s jaw clenched as he delivered the information.
“Who?” Martin had a feeling he knew the answer already.
“Giles Trelawney. He was found in the receiving room, in the basement of the museum. His death was nearly identical to Angus.” Drew paused, then continued. “Maggie and Spencer Knight found him.”
Martin cursed. “How is she?”
“Fine. A little shaken, which is to be expected. She is out in the waiting area, with Knight.” Drew stepped in front of him. “You should know, before you see her, that Maggie was assaulted last night, by a student assistant who works for Giles. It’s the reason she was at the museum this morning. She wanted to talk to Giles about what happened.”
His heart pounded, one hand closing over the bars of the cell. “Is she all right?”
“She was banged up a good bit, but she will recover. She told me a man she had met at the auction came to her assistance. An Edward Carlisle.”
“Sir Edward Carlisle. A dilettante of the first water. Did he try to buy the Sayer & Brown jar?”
Drew nodded. “Maggie said he begged off early in the bidding.”
“He must no longer have unlimited access to his family’s fortune.” Edward Carlisle had bought more artifacts out from under Martin than he cared to admit. The man was mostly harmless, and he knew his way around on a dig site. But his pompous, self-righteous attitude had always rubbed Martin wrong. “Is he still in Holmestead?”
“From what I understand, yes. He came to buy the jar from Giles, which I delivered to him last night. It will be returned for any trial, but I needed to keep it intact, and Giles planned to keep it locked in the acquisitions vault. Even if Giles had been so inclined, he wouldn’t have been able to sell the jar. It is still evidence in a murder.”
“May I see Maggie now?” The thought of her finding Giles, dead, left him shaky. He cared for her, more than he should after knowing her for such a short time.
“This way.”
Drew walked him out of the holding area, reeling off a list of things Martin was not to do. He
heard only half of them, and stopped hearing Drew altogether when he caught his first glimpse of Maggie.
She sat in one of the torturous chairs in the waiting area, Spencer hovering at her side. When she lifted her head, he sucked in his breath. A dark bruise marked her right jaw, her usually bright blue eyes dulled with pain. Her right arm was cradled in a sling, and he could tell by the way she sat that she hurt.
He moved past Drew, headed for her. Spencer stood, putting himself in Martin’s path.
“She’s still a little wobbly, so tread carefully.”
Martin nodded, raising his eyebrow when Spencer still did not move. With a final warning glare, Spencer stepped aside.
“Maggie.” She looked up at him, offering a watery smile. Up close, he saw that some of the dullness was due to medication. “I am so sorry you were the one to find Giles.”
“He didn’t deserve that.”
“No one deserves what happened to him. Please, let us take you home.”
“Okay.”
Spencer picked her up and cradled her against his chest. Martin expected to be jealous, but he saw how Spencer looked at her. Like a brother protecting his sister. Any animosity died.
He followed Spencer outside, and almost smiled when he saw the van. If he did not already know that Spencer enjoyed surfing, the van would have pointedly informed him.
“Martin, can you sit in back? Maggie took some painkillers, and she no longer has the dexterity to climb into the front seat. I need you to keep her from sliding off the seat.”
“Of course.” Martin slid the back door open and climbed in, turning to help Spencer with Maggie. “Just a little farther, now, then you can sit.”
“Thanks.” She leaned against him, dragging her feet with every step. Martin wanted to lift her and settle her in his lap, but he simply kept her upright until they reached the bench seat. It was only a few steps. Maggie’s progress made it seem as if they had crossed the street. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Moving a little slow.”
“We are in no hurry. Ready to sit?”
“Yeah.”
Martin guided her down to the seat, and held onto her as he sat beside her. She immediately laid her head on his shoulder, letting out a quiet sigh. He kissed the top of her head without thinking, and she snuggled closer.
