by Cate Dean
Her reaction to seeing him again, after he had left her house and moved into La Fleur days ago, shocked her with its intensity.
Maggie cared about him—more than she should.
He’s leaving, so stop even thinking that there could be anything—
“Mags.” Spencer appeared at her side and draped an arm around her shoulders. “All right, love?”
“I expected this to be hard, since I found Giles. But I just feel—odd,” she whispered, keeping her voice low. “I feel like I don’t belong here.”
“You live here, work here, bring in the tourists that sustain this village. You belong, Maggie.” He shook her gently. “You always have.”
Tears stung her eyes. His quiet words brought back memories of Aunt Irene, calling them in for a cold glass of fresh lemonade. “I miss her so much, Spence.”
He pulled her in until her head rested against his chest. “So do I, love. She would be the first to tell you to get over it.”
Maggie smiled, and lifted her head, meeting Spencer’s eyes. “You’re right.”
“As usual.”
“Smart aleck.”
“You know it.”
She hugged him. “Thanks, Spence. I love you.”
“I love you back, Mags.” He let her go, gesturing to Martin. “Why don’t you go sit next to him? You know you want to.”
She did—so much. Instead, she sat with Spencer, across the aisle. Martin turned to her as she sat; when she met his eyes, that same shock jolted her.
Heaven help her. She had it bad.
The ceremony started, distracting her. Martin nodded his head, and turned his attention to the front of the church. Maggie watched him, studying his strong profile. Spencer elbowed her, and she jerked, aware that she was staring.
She faced forward, not seeing or hearing anything—until they stood to sing, and Martin’s rich voice rose over the others. This time she stared openly, along with most of the people around them.
Martin didn’t seem to notice. He kept singing, oblivious to the fact that he was the only one singing, until the music stopped, and he realized that everyone was watching him.
Reverend Walker cleared his throat, directing everyone’s attention back to the funeral.
“Giles will be interred in the cemetery outside the village. His family has extended an invitation to any who would care to attend.”
Giles’ older brother, Gareth, and his wife, sat in the front row, both of them quiet and clearly uncomfortable. Maggie knew from local gossip—meaning Enid—that Gareth had left Holmestead to go to school in London, and had never looked back.
After a final prayer, the ceremony ended. People stood, murmuring to each other as they made their way out of the church. Maggie and Spencer stood, and she stepped into the aisle, almost running into Enid.
“I’m sorry, Enid...” Her voice faded when she looked at the older woman. Tears ran down Enid’s face, her eyes so filled with grief, it sparked Maggie’s. “Come with me.”
“I don’t think—ˮ
Maggie tucked Enid’s hand in the crook of her arm and led her into one of the side chapels. It was cool, and quiet, the perfect place for confessions. She took Enid’s hands, and squeezed them.
“Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I—oh, my dear.” Her voice shook, and Maggie let go of one hand to wrap her arm around Enid’s hunched shoulders. “Giles and I were having a clandestine affair.” She took a few seconds to compose herself, which gave Maggie time to get past the shock, then continued. “When you were accusing Giles of hurting Angus, I simply—lost control of myself. Now, he’s gone, and I am alone—”
She started sobbing. Maggie held her, rubbing her back, letting her vent her grief. After a few minutes, Enid pulled away, wiping her face with an already soaked handkerchief.
“Thank you, my dear. Your concern is unexpected.”
“I like you, Enid. Your shop is—not my taste, but I have always wanted to be friendly. You don’t really give a person the chance.”
“I will.” She glanced at Maggie, almost shy. “I know my shop borders on tackiness. Would you be willing—never mind.”
“I’d love to help you, Enid.” The older woman stared at her, and Maggie smiled. “I happen to be a huge Sherlock Holmes fan. We can turn your shop into a destination—especially for those tourists who come here thinking Holmestead is Holmes R Us.”
“I—thank you, Maggie.” She patted Maggie’s hand. “I expected you to be like Irene, but you have a kind heart. A good heart.”
Maggie felt her cheeks heat at the compliment. She wanted to defend Aunt Irene, but she knew how much Irene had disliked Enid. Instead, she cleared her throat. “We’ll talk when you’re ready, okay?”
For the first time, Enid looked like she might want to go on past today. “Okay.”
After a last hug, Maggie left her alone, and stepped out of the chapel, almost running into Martin.
“Hello,” he said. He sounded so—distant. And it hurt. “Are you going to the cemetery?”
“No. I’m not feeling well.”
Concern cut through the distance, and he moved toward her. “What is it, Maggie?”
“Nothing. I just—there are too many recent memories.”
“Of course.” He retreated, without moving an inch. “Since Giles was once a friend, I feel an obligation to attend.” He pulled a pocket watch out of the inside pocket of his jacket, and opened it. “I do have long enough to escort you home, if you like.”
She didn’t hear a word after he opened the watch.
“I have to go.” She pushed past him, looking for Drew. He stood at the end of the aisle, studying everyone who walked past. Her heart pounding, she forced herself to walk down the aisle, instead of sprinting. “Drew, I need a favor.”
“I am a bit occupied at the moment.”
“I need—ˮ She moved in and lowered her voice, so only he could hear. “I need to see the inventory of the receiving room, where Giles was killed.”
Drew looked at her like she’d been hit over the head. “Whatever for?”
“I think I know who the killer is.”
Twenty
Drew kept her waiting while he went into the church to tell Ian he was leaving, then took her to the station. He refused to let her talk until they were inside.
“Convince me, Maggie.”
“There was a pocket watch at the scene—on the work table. I don’t think it was Giles’ watch, but I need to see the inventory to be sure.”
He rubbed one hand over his hair, and let out a sigh. “If you were anyone else, I would point you to the door. Don’t make me regret this, Maggie.”
“If what I think is there is actually there, you’ll be the first to know.”
“All right.” He strode into the back of the station, leaving Maggie with Ian Reynolds, who chose the short straw for duty. The rest of the small force was at the funeral. Maggie paced the waiting area, hoping she was right, but not wanting to be. Endless minutes later, Drew returned, holding a slim file folder. “Five minutes, Maggie. I shouldn’t be giving you that much. The inventory is the third page of the report.”
“Thank you, Drew.”
He handed her the folder, halting inches from her reaching hand. “This will cost you dinner. With me.”
“Deal.” Anything to get that file.
He smiled. “I’m happy to hear that. I need to take care of a mess in the back, but I’ll return in five minutes to take that file out of your hand.”
“Got it.”
“Ian.” He gestured to the hall. “I need your help back here for a minute.”
“Right away.”
Drew handed the folder to her before he followed Ian into the back. She opened it, flipping to the third page. Her finger shook as she scanned the inventory list—and her heart jumped when she found it.
Entry number twelve. A Patek Philippe watch.
Just like Edward’s.
She felt the pres
ence just before something hard and cold pressed into her back.
“So clever, Maggie.” Edward’s voice stilled her. She swallowed, and sucked in her breath when what she knew was the barrel of a pistol dug into her still tender right side. “Too clever. Now hand over the file, like a good girl.” She did, and he snatched it out of her hand. “Now, we are going to walk out of here, slowly. If you make one sound to alert the PC, then I will be forced to take care of him. Are we understood?”
She nodded, figuring that even a whispered yes would be considered a sound.
Edward backed her away from the counter, and turned her to the door.
“Now,” he said, his breath warm on her cheek. “We will walk up the high street, to the car I have there. Then your actions will decide what happens next.”
He moved to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist, keeping the pistol pressed into her side. Maggie tried not to breathe deeply, or move anything aside from her legs. Edward set an easy pace, smiling at the tourists already strolling the pedestrian street.
They nearly reached the car park when Martin burst out of a side street. He skidded to a halt when he saw her and Edward.
“Let her go, Ed.”
Edward snarled at him. “You are more than aware that I hate being addressed by that name, Pembroke.” He let Martin see the pistol. “Your appearance has forced me to change my plans. You will walk ahead of us, into that—ˮ He waved at the tiny 12th century church across the pedestrian area, on a small side street. “Then I must deal with you.”
Maggie stared at Martin, shaking so badly she was afraid her legs would give out. Martin nodded slightly, then focused on Edward.
“If you harm one hair, one inch, I will destroy you.”
“Who has the weapon, Pembroke? Your threats mean nothing to me.” Maggie heard a tremor in his voice. She wasn’t surprised that they knew each other; Edward obviously collected artifacts, and like Martin had told her, archaeology was a small world. “Now move.”
With a final glance at Maggie, Martin walked across the street, maneuvering around a group of tourists listening to one of the local guides talk about the church they were headed to.
The pretty young guide pointed. “Behind you is the Chapel of Edward the Confessor, dedicated to the King by his loving subjects.”
Everyone turned to look, just as she, Martin, and Edward stepped in their line of sight. Edward froze, then after digging the pistol into her side so hard she was afraid he’d break skin, he gave Martin a warning glance before he smiled down at her.
“Looks like we became part of the tour, darling.” He turned his charm on for the guide. “Forgive us for interrupting your lovely talk.”
“Oh, please, don’t concern yourself.” She practically started drooling when he smiled at her. “We’re heading down to the harbor next.”
“Come, darling.” He prodded Maggie with the pistol. She bit her lip to keep from gasping at the pain. “I would love to take a closer look at this church.”
“You’d best not take too long. There’s a special ceremony planned there for tonight.”
“Thank you for the information. Will it be open to the public?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Well, then, we will enjoy the exterior.” After another charming smile, he guided Maggie toward the small church.
Martin kept walking in front of them, his shoulders stiff, his hands clenched in fists. Maggie could tell by his body language that he wanted to do something, but he was helpless. One small movement from Edward’s finger, and she was dead.
They walked down the steps to the small stone courtyard in front of the church. Edward pretended to play tourist until the group left. “Check the door, Pembroke. If it happens to be locked, find a way to open it. Quickly.”
He put more pressure on the pistol, and this time Maggie gasped. Every breath hurt, her healing bruises throbbing like they were fresh. Martin looked like he wanted to punch Edward, but he moved to the arched wood door. It opened when he twisted the old latch.
“What now, Ed? You take us inside and kill us? How far do you think you will get after leaving bodies in your wake?”
Edward smiled, a smile so cold Maggie shuddered. “All the way to a new life. Move.” Martin glanced at Maggie, and Edward closed his free hand around her throat. “Do you want to watch her die right now? Stop thinking about how you plan to attack me and get inside. Stay in the center of the church, arms out, or I will shoot her.”
“Fine.” Martin spat out the single word, fury almost pouring off him. “We will dance, you and I, before this is done.”
Edward’s laugh shot dread through her. “You will be dead before this is done, Pembroke. I have wanted you out of my way for years. It seems my patience is finally bearing fruit.”
Martin disappeared inside, and Edward hauled her forward, into the dim interior. As ordered, Martin stood in the center of the tiny church, arms spread. Edward finally moved the pistol, and she took her first deep, painful breath—only to have it stick in her throat when he pressed the barrel to her temple.
“Find something to tie both of you. Something sturdy, Pembroke, or she will suffer for any attempt to allow you to escape.”
Martin stalked over to the small, plainly dressed altar. A wide, low wood bowl and a clay jar sat in the middle, probably for whatever ceremony was planned for later. They weren’t dusty, and too new to belong to the church.
I can’t believe I’m dating objects with a pistol pointed at my head.
Her mind kept inventorying what she could see, like it knew the rest of her needed the distraction to keep from falling apart, and getting them both killed before they had the chance to escape.
Martin’s return stopped her mental inventory. He held up two thick, silk ropes. Maggie recognized them as decorative ropes used to close off special pews. Since there were none here, they must have been brought in for some other use today.
Perfect.
Edward leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Put your hands together in front of you, my darling Maggie.”
She swallowed, and obeyed. Her right elbow ached from tensing her muscles since he had grabbed her, and when Edward tied her wrists together—not gently, for all his sweet talk—the ache flared to pain.
“Now you, Pembroke.” Edward had the pistol back at her temple. “On your knees, arms behind your back.” Martin lowered himself to the dusty stone floor, and put his arms behind him. Edward let her go, and stepped behind him, stripping his jacket off. “No need to bloody such a well-made jacket.”
Edward tucked the pistol in his waistband just long enough to tie Martin’s arms together, from wrist to elbow. She knew the awkward position had to hurt him. After Edward finished, he smiled at Maggie, and shoved Martin forward.
She let out a hoarse cry when he toppled and rushed forward to stop him. Edward yanked her back, letting out a satisfied grunt when Martin smacked the floor. The sound of shattering glass told her that his face had hit the floor hard enough to break his glasses.
“You son of a—ˮ
“Now, now. Such words, from a woman as lovely as you.” He dragged her over to Martin’s prone figure and pushed her to her knees. “Help him, if you must. It will be wasted effort.”
Maggie ignored the threat behind his words, leaning forward to help Martin up. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to give him enough leverage to straighten on his own.
“Are you all right?” She raised her bound hands, and awkwardly, carefully removed his broken glasses. Shards of glass had cut his left cheek, and she could tell the left side of his face would bruise from the impact.
If they lived that long.
Stop it—think of a way out.
“I’ve been better,” he muttered. Pain edged his voice, and he kept shifting his shoulders. “I am so sorry I dragged you into this.”
“I’m the one who bought the box.”
“I practically forced you to show me where Giles lived—ˮ
S
he lifted her hands and pressed her fingers to his lips. “It wasn’t like that, and you know it.”
He studied her, his eyes so intense her breath caught in her throat. “Maggie, I—ˮ
“Enough of the bleeding heart goodbye.” Edward moved to Martin, and lifted the pistol until it sat in the hollow of Martin’s throat. “I did want you to watch Maggie go first, but I no longer have the patience to wait. I want you to die, Pembroke, slowly, and in as much pain as I can manage.”
“Why?”
Edward looked offended. “You have blocked my career at every turn! When I went after a grant, or approached a benefactor for support, they always told me that they were already sponsoring you. You—the poor, youngest son of an Earl, who was ashamed of the most important part of himself.” He sneered as he said it, sliding the pistol down to Martin’s heart. Maggie tensed, ready to ram into Edward if he even thought of pulling the trigger. “I want to watch you suffer, in payment for all the years you have—ˮ
“Edward.”
Maggie swung around at Drew’s voice, and the hope that he had come to help them died with a sickening thud when she saw that the pistol in his hand was aimed at her. Martin’s quiet voice confirmed the betrayal.
“I don’t believe he is here for us, Maggie.”
“Drew—what are you doing?”
“Securing my future.” He moved to Edward’s side, his eyes cold as he looked at her. “I know you were leading me on, Maggie, just to get information out of me.”
“I wasn’t—ˮ
“I might believe you, if you didn’t look at him,” he waved his pistol at Martin, “like you had just found the Holy Grail.”
She swallowed, tried again. “You didn’t kill Angus.”
“No.” Edward answered for him. “I killed the selfish fool. No matter how much I offered him, he refused to give up the bloody jar.”
“Then how did Drew become involved?”
“I managed to wipe the room clean—except for the watch I planted.” Edward smiled at Martin. “That was an inspiration of the moment. Giles gave it to me in exchange for some frippery for his museum. Your fingerprints were not on it, Pembroke, but mine were.”
