by Cate Dean
“Because of the murders, and my association with them, the university feels that my continued presence will result in unpleasant difficulties.”
“Good lord. Did you memorize that from the letter?”
“Email.” He closed his eyes briefly, but not before she saw the flash of pain. “I am a man without a position, and without a home. I lived in a university owned flat.”
“Stay here.” The words popped out before she thought them through. But they felt right. “You’re one of the best at finding things, Martin. Instead of doing it for the university, do it for people who will pay you for your skill.”
“And where would I live?”
With me.
“In the flat above the shop. Your landlady will be very generous with the terms of the lease.” When he opened his mouth to object, Maggie pressed a finger against his lips. “I told the truth about this building. Aunt Irene owned it outright, and passed that ownership to me. I wouldn’t need you to pay rent until you’re in a position to do it without stretching yourself.”
Martin studied her for endless seconds, before he sighed, and laid his forehead against hers. “What did I do right to deserve you?”
The lights turned on, revealing the need in his eyes. Without his glasses, every emotion was easy to read.
“You walked into my shop, Professor Martin, and called me a Yank.”
His laughter echoed through the shop. The lights flickered in response, and Martin’s eyes widened.
“Maggie, meet your ghost.” He turned her around, his hands on her shoulders.
She understood why when she saw the figure standing next to the counter.
It looked like her Aunt Irene, but much younger, in a gown that screamed Regency England.
Between one pounding heartbeat and the next, the figure disappeared.
“I—what—I think I have to lie down.”
Chuckling, Martin led her to the settee near the window, and sat, pulling her down next to him. She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.
“Welcome to my reality, Maggie Mulgrew.”
“Have you—ˮ
“On more than one occasion. I seem to attract them. Even in my family home—which is thick with ghosts—I could see them as a child. I never lost the ability. The stories behind why they stay after death intrigues me.”
“What is the story behind the apothecary jar?”
He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and she snuggled against him.
“The story is this: a woman fell in love with the wrong man, and he used the contents of the apothecary jar to poison her. It is the reason she’s attached to the jar.”
Maggie lifted her head. “That’s not very romantic.”
“Ghost stories are not always romantic, Maggie, but I’m not done.” He gently lowered her head back to his shoulder. “The man accidentally spilled some of the poison into his own cup, and died just after her, while toasting his success in killing his wife for her money.”
“Karma.”
“Sometimes she doesn’t wait.” He kissed the top of her head, and continued. “The man who had loved her all her life found them. He knew that her husband was the culprit, and had already been punished for his crime. So this man gently picked her up, carried her to the sea she loved so well, and set her body on the waves. The tide carried her out, and he thought he had set her soul free.”
He paused, and Maggie nudged him. “But?”
“Yes.” He smiled down at her. “But, in death she discovered the love of her life, and she didn’t want to lose that. So she followed him home, where he kept the jar in a place of honor, in memory of her.”
“What happened to him?”
“He went off to war, and died in a foreign country, lost to her forever. She tied her spirit to the jar, hoping he would return to her.”
“That’s too tragic. Is it true?”
“The deaths are real. I looked them up when I first heard about the jar. And her grave is empty. So, the question is, does she really pine for the man she loved only after she died? Or is it a bedtime story?”
Maggie sat. “You hunted for the jar, so you could see if she was real.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“It was stolen from me before I had the chance.”
“But—you’re getting it back, right? After the investigation?”
“I am. I would like you to be there when I receive it.”
She kissed his cheek. “I’d like that, too.”
With a sigh, she snuggled against him, her eyes closing without permission.
The last thing she remembered was Martin’s quiet voice, soothing her to sleep.
***
Martin held Maggie while she slept, hardly daring to believe he had found her.
She was a strong, courageous woman, who loved history almost more than he did. More important, she respected it, and did her part to preserve the pieces she came across, with care and love.
He had never felt like he belonged anywhere—not even at Oxford. The name of Deauville followed him, no matter how much he accomplished, or how many artifacts he brought back to the university museum.
But here, with this woman, he felt a sense of belonging. A sense of peace he had never known.
“You bewitched me, Maggie Mulgrew,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head. He smiled at the wild, rich red hair that brushed his cheek. It was as much a part of her as her smile, and her generous heart.
If she let him, if he let himself, he could make his long-held dream come true here, find his purpose again.
No more fighting for grants, or living by the schedule of men who had no understanding of what he did. He could do anything, be the man he wanted.
Maggie made him want all that, and more.
“Thank you, love.”
He would tell her again, first thing, when she woke. For now, he would carry her up to bed, and find a place to sleep in the living room.
With a smile, he lifted her in his arms, and headed through the quiet shop.
He had finally found a place where he belonged.
He had finally found his way home.
~ * ~
Thank you for joining Maggie and her friends as she solves her first mystery! Written on the Wind, the next Maggie Mulgrew Mystery, is now available.
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I’ll leave you with a sneak peek of Written on the Wind. Enjoy!
Excerpt from Written on the Wind
The box was waiting for Maggie when she and Martin returned, just like she’d left it.
“Not feeling motivated, Spence?”
Spencer leaned on the counter and flashed her his grin—the one that usually got him out of trouble. “I figured you would want to finish unearthing whatever treasures you bought.”
She laughed. “Good answer.”
Martin excused himself and headed for the door to the flat, and she caught Spencer looking after him. “What was the talk about, Mags? You’re not crying into a beer, so I am assuming it ended well.”
“Hilarious, Spence.” She moved around the counter, laid her head on his shoulder. The toll from their emotional conversation slapped her. “Help me with this box, okay? Then I’m going to close up early.”
Since it was Monday, she could afford to close up. The tour buses converged in the morning on Mondays, and were long gone now.
“You got it, love.”
They tackled the box, pulling out more cheap, dusty souvenirs, and a few items she could actually sell. Martin showed up when they reached the bottom of the box, his gaze moving to the one it
em Maggie knew would interest him—a small jade vase. She decided to surprise him with it as a gift.
Spencer pulled out the last item. A square, fabric wrapped object. He hefted it, letting out a low whistle. “I would guess book, but this is heavy for such a small book.”
He handed it to Maggie, and she carefully unwrapped the thick blue and gold damask. Inside was a book, like Spencer guessed. An old, leather bound book, the brown cover dark with age.
“Martin—can you look at this?”
He nodded. “I will need a pair of gloves.”
She handed him a pair of the white cotton gloves she always kept behind the counter, and grabbed a pair for both her and Spencer. Martin slipped on the gloves before he accepted the book, and took his time as he studied every inch of the cover, then the binding. Maggie wanted to shout at him to hurry when he finally opened the cover. A folded piece of paper fell out, landing on the counter.
Spencer snatched it up before she could even start to reach for it, and carefully unfolded the heavy, yellowed paper.
“Whoa,” he whispered, his eyes widening as he read it. Without another word, he handed the paper to Maggie.
She read it once, then cleared her throat and read the note out loud.
“Hold these books close ~ they are the key that will unlock the treasure you have worked so hard to acquire. Whether you deserve that treasure is for Fate to decide.
And she may not be kind, as you murdered me to make it your own.”
A chill touched the back of her neck, like an icy hand. She jerked around, and caught a glimpse of the ghost she had recently learned about, and finally met face to face.
This couldn’t be related to her—whoever she was. Could it?
Maggie shook off the thought, and held her hands out for the book. Martin carefully laid it in her palms, keeping the damask between her gloved hands and the book.
“It is heavy.” She looked over at Martin. “Explanation, Professor?”
He smiled, his first real smile in some time. “The pages are double the thickness, and the cover is the thickest leather I have ever seen on a book. It is meticulous, the binding as close to perfect as a professional bookbinder.”
She looked up at him. “This wasn’t professionally bound?”
“The stitching is too uneven.” He tilted the book up, so she could see the stitches along the top of the spine. “Bookbinders took pride in their work. The quality is good, but not up to the standard I normally see.”
Maggie took a closer look, and saw what he meant. The stitches were farther apart, and not a uniform size. She set the book on the counter and turned the page; what should have been the title page was blank.
“That’s odd.” She carefully closed the book. No title on the front, or on the spine. She turned a few of the pages, only half surprised to see the cramped handwriting. “It’s a journal.”
Spencer leaned over her shoulder. “Any deep, dark secrets in there? The directions to this treasure?”
She patted his cheek. “Nothing so exciting. It looks like,” she read a few lines, and opened to the middle of the journal, reading a few more. “It’s a household log. See—the entries are separated by date.”
Martin joined them, brushing his finger down the page as he read.
“13, July, 1829.
Nothing remarkable today. The house is run so well by the indomitable Mrs. Sever that I find myself with little to do, beyond dressing for my husband’s infrequent appearances. The walls feel as if they are closing in on me. I thought that marrying, and living in the country with my beloved Jeremy, would give me more freedom than my family’s small house in the village. Instead, I find myself more confined than ever. If Jeremy does not return from his business in the city tonight, I may go mad with it.”
~ * ~
List of British Slang
Here is a list of words, proving that English and American are two different languages. You will find some of them in Ghost of a Chance, and I guarantee more will appear in future Maggie Mulgrew Mysteries. Enjoy!
Daily life
advert - advertisement, commercial
anticlockwise - counterclockwise
bank holiday - legal holiday
Beefeater - nickname for the Yeoman Warders at the Tower of London
bobby/The Bill - a policeman
cashpoint machine - ATM, cashpoint for short
cheers - goodbye, thank you, also a toast
concession - discounted admission
dear - expensive
fancy - to be attracted to someone - I really fancy her!
football - soccer
fortnight - a contraction of fourteen nights, or 2 weeks
fringe - hair bangs
half eight - 8:30 - think half past (insert hour) and it will be a breeze to remember
holiday - vacation
interval - intermission (in theatres)
jumble sale - rummage sale, usually for charity
left luggage - place to check luggage for the day, replaces luggage lockers
lift - the elevator
loo - the toilet - ask for the bathroom only if you want a bath
mate - your friend
naught/nought - nothing
on offer - for sale
pavement - the sidewalk
pillar box/letter box - public mailbox (look like short red pillars, hence the name!)
Police Constable/PC - police officer
power point - electric wall socket
queue - line
queue up - line up
Remembrance Day - Veteran’s Day
ring/ring up - call on the phone
ring off/rang off – hang up or end phone call
self-catering - rental accommodations, a flat or house that is rented by the week
solicitor - an attorney
stone - 14 pounds in weight
ta - thank you
tick - check mark
toilet - just what it says
top up - refill – also refers to adding minutes to pay as you go mobiles
Vice-Chancellor - administration at university
WC - short for water closet - just another name for the loo or toilet
wee - small
zed - the letter Z
Everyday items
bin - a trash can
biro - a ballpoint pen
braces - suspenders
brolly - an umbrella
clingfilm - saran wrap or plastic wrap
cooker - the stove
cotton buds - Q-tips
cozzy - a bathing suit
draughts - checkers
dummy - a pacifier
duvet - a comforter, with removable cover - often it will replace the top sheet on your bed
flannel - a washcloth
fag - a cigarette
fiver - £5 note
hob - the stove burner
hoover - the vacuum cleaner
jersey/jumper/pullover - a sweater
knickers - ladies’ panties
ladybird - a ladybug
mac - a mackintosh raincoat, can also be generic for a raincoat - rain mac
mobile - a cell phone
moggie - a cat
nappy - a diaper - not a napkin
pants - underwear, briefs
plaster/sticking plaster - a Band aid
pound note - a dollar bill
quid - another name for a pound note
rubber - an eraser, not the other kind of rubber
Sellotape/sticky tape - Scotch tape
serviette - a napkin
skip - a dumpster
smalls - underwear
spanner - a wrench
surgical spirit - rubbing alcohol
suspenders - garters, as in the kind that hold up stockings, not your trousers
telly - the tv
tenner - £10 note, or ten pounds
tights - pantyhose, any type
tin - a can
torch - a flashlig
ht
trainers - sneakers or tennis shoes
trousers - pants, slacks
Wellingtons/wellies - rubber boots, rain boots
English food
afters - dessert
aubergine - eggplant
banger - sausage
bangers and mash - sausage and mashed potatoes
bap - a soft, round, floured roll
beetroot - beet
bill - your restaurant check
biscuit - cookie - and to confuse you further, biscuit can also refer to crackers, as in biscuits for cheese
bitter - dark ales served a little below room temperature - order beer and this is what you will get
black pudding - sausage made from cooking animal blood with filler until congealed
bubble and squeak - pan fried potatoes and cabbage (other veg can also be used)
Cadbury - creamy, delicious chocolate in loads of different flavors - if you have had Cadbury in America, it is nothing like this
candyfloss - cotton candy - just as sticky, just as tooth-achingly sweet
chicory - endive
chips - French fries
cider - fermented apple juice - and quite potent!
clotted cream - thick, incredibly delicious cream to spread on scones, or served with cake coriander - cilantro
cottage pie - minced beef and veg, topped with mashed potatoes - not to be confused with shepherd’s pie
courgette - zucchini
cream tea - consists of a pot of tea, scones and strawberry jam, with the previously mentioned clotted cream - delicious!
crisps - potato chips - in a million and one flavors
crumpet - what we think of as an English muffin, but loads tastier
cuppa - cup of tea – ah, instant relaxation
digestives - tasty round cookies, made for babies and toddlers
entrée - appetizer - not the main course
fairy cake - cupcake
fizzy drink - pop or soda
Flake - a long, crumbly stick of Cadbury chocolate - heaven!
gammon - ham
gateau/gateaux - a rich cake, usually served with cream
golden syrup - a thick syrup used for sticky pudding and desserts - my nephews have it on their peanut butter sandwiches instead of jam or honey - yum!
hot pot - a one pot stew, usually made with lamb, veg and sliced potatoes on top, slow cooked in a low oven
jacket potato - baked potato
