by Cate Dean
The ghost shook her head—and Martin jerked when a pile of books on the desk began to levitate. It only made Maggie angrier.
“Stop it. Stop it right now, or so help me I’ll find someone to exorcise you right out of this house.”
Anthea winked out of sight.
Maggie rubbed her arms, turning to Martin. “I don’t think that accomplished much.”
He moved to her, and she walked into his open arms. “We will puzzle it out, love. In the meantime, I’m going to hire Henry to help me put the house to rights while you are at the shop tomorrow. No,” he said when she started to object. “Please, let me do this for you.”
“Okay.” Her muffled voice sounded like she was on the edge of tears.
Martin leaned back until he could see her face. “Let’s go up to bed. In the morning, I will help you transfer your new finds to the shop, where you can take them out and play with them.”
His comment eased some of the pain on her face. “I’d like that. Martin—thank you.”
She stood on tiptoe, took off his glasses, and kissed him.
He took advantage and picked her up, cutting off her protest with another kiss. Keeping his eyes open, he managed to get them to the staircase without tripping. Quite a feat when he couldn’t see more than a couple of feet in front of him. Maggie put a stop to his plan of carrying her up the stairs.
“Don’t even think about it. We are walking up, together. Then I want a hot shower, my warmest nightgown, and you.”
She gave him a wicked smile before she let go of his hand and sprinted up the stairs.
Martin shook his head and smiled as he followed her. Their life together would never be boring.
Three
Ashton waited outside The Ash Leaf, and waved at Maggie as she and Martin walked up, only one suitcase in tow. With his impressive talent for packing artifacts in small boxes, Martin had managed to fit everything in her larger suitcase.
“Ashton—I told you I would open this morning.”
“I thought I would help you ease back into it.” He smiled. “I can always take a long lunch break.”
“Deal.” She scanned the pedestrian street, glad to be home, and blinked when she saw the vegetarian café, Green Goddess, down the street. Or, at least, what used to be Green Goddess. A temporary banner was tacked over the huge, colorful café’ sign. Lady Regina’s Spiritual Eats. “When did that happen?”
Ashton glanced at the former café. “Theo Moody finally managed to sell the building, to some woman down from London.” He wrinkled his nose. “She plans to keep part of the café, and add a spiritual shop.”
Maggie frowned. “Spiritual—oh, a New Age shop.” She ignored Martin’s quiet snort, knowing exactly how he felt about the New Age craze, along with the shops that had been popping up even in the tiniest villages. The man who saw ghosts. “That won’t be too bad.”
“You can say that because you have not met her yet.” Ashton took the suitcase and led the way inside, waiting for Maggie to lock the door behind them. “She won’t like you,” he said. “You are much too pretty.”
Maggie felt the hated flush heat her cheeks. The constant curse of a redhead. “Thank you, Ashton, but what do my looks have to do with whether or not she likes me?”
“I understand the reason,” Martin said. He stood at the door, peering through the window in the top half. “Oh, no.” He unlocked the door and yanked it open.
Maggie ran out after him, skidding to a halt when she saw the reason for his haste. A tall, heavyset woman was screeching at Lilly, who had obviously walked out of The Tea Caddy to deliver an order. She held the bag like a shield between her and the woman.
Ashton’s quiet voice told Maggie he was right behind her. “That would be the new owner. Regina Draper. She doesn’t seem to like other women much. Especially pretty women.”
Maggie didn’t care what the woman liked or didn’t like. She wasn’t going to get away with shouting at Lilly for no reason.
“Excuse me.” Maggie strode over to them, and stepped in front of Lilly. “Is there a problem?”
Her appearance caught Regina off guard. The tall woman stepped back, her already red face turning a deeper red. “How dare you—”
“What? Keep you from harassing my friend? Since you’re fresh from London, let me give you a little advice: this is a village, where everyone knows what everyone else is doing. And they have long memories.”
Regina stared at her. “Was that—was that a threat?”
“Heavens, no. A friendly bit of advice.” Maggie turned to Lilly while the woman sputtered in outrage. “Please tell me that order is for The Ash Leaf.”
“Oh—” Lilly caught on. “Yes, it is.”
“Excellent. I’m starved.” Maggie nodded at a still speechless Regina. “A pleasure.” She took Lilly’s arm and headed to her shop, past a stunned Martin. “Can you come in and lock the door behind us, sweetheart?”
“I—” He seemed to snap out of his shock. “Of course, love.” He didn’t keep his gaze off Regina as he backed to the shop. Once he had the door locked, he finally relaxed, and faced Maggie. “You do realize you just made an enemy out there.”
“She was never going to like me. I know the type, Martin. Aunt Irene faced down several in this village when I was visiting her.” Maggie sighed, leaning against the mahogany counter. Confrontations like that left her shaky. “I needed to let her know up front that she won’t be able to intimidate me.”
Martin moved to her side, taking her hand. “I believed you, love.” He lowered his voice so only Maggie could hear him. “Remind me never to cross you.”
She burst out laughing. His comment eased her shakes, and she knew he’d done it intentionally. Heaven help her, she loved him.
Lilly and Ashton looked over at them, Lilly smiling. She winked at Maggie, and went back to laying out what looked like a breakfast feast. A feast Maggie knew she hadn’t ordered.
“Lilly—I’m sure this was meant for—”
“I placed the order,” Ashton said. “I hope it was all right, Maggie. I figured that you would be hungry, since you were coming in early to open.”
She walked over to him and kissed his cheek. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
He blushed, and ducked his head, fumbling as he laid out napkins. Maggie gave him space, and decided to start unpacking her new acquisitions.
When she headed for the suitcase, Martin joined her, using his left hand to help her lift it to the table next to the counter.
“How is your shoulder?”
He shrugged, and she caught him flinching. With a sigh, he ran one hand through his wavy hair, pushed up his wire-rimmed glasses. “I suppose I have been busted.”
“You got it. I heard you last night. Martin.” She laid her hand on his chest. “I want you to go to the medical clinic, have it checked out.”
“Maggie—”
“Do it for me. Please.” She sandwiched his left hand, the new callouses from his time at the dig site rough on her fingers. “I need to know you’re okay.”
“For you, love.” He kissed her forehead. “Enjoy your day.”
“Call me when you’re done.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Shall I have the doctor email you a report?”
“That would be nice.”
His laughter warmed her. “I love you, Maggie.”
“I love you back, Martin. Now, get out of here.”
She followed him out, watching him walk up the high street, toward the clinic. He waved at locals, stopping to say hi to Ian Reynolds, Holmestead’s Detective Inspector. They parted, and Ian headed toward her. Maggie forced herself not to panic; no one had been hurt, or had disappeared—
“Stop frowning, Maggie.” Ian’s voice jerked her out of her morbid thoughts. “I came to welcome you home. I was on duty last night—sorry I missed your party.”
“Thank you, Ian.” She hesitated, and decided to ask. Ian had good observation skills. “How do you think Martin looked
?”
“Just now?”
“Yeah.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her bright blue cardigan, to keep from twisting them together.
“Tired, which I expect after a honeymoon trip to London.” His smile faded when he met her eyes. “His shoulder?”
Maggie swallowed. “I sent him to the clinic. I made sure he didn’t use his right arm much when we were in London, but there were times when he was on his own, and he has a habit of pushing himself, even when he’s in pain. It’s a lifelong habit, and I don’t think I’ll ever break him of it.”
“He has time off from his latest job, Maggie. The knife caused some damage, but not enough to be so concerned over. You know that, since you told me the same thing the night he was injured.” He studied her. “What is this really about?”
“I don’t want him hurt again, because of me.”
Ian shocked her by taking her arm and leading her away from the shop. “I don’t approve of your amateur detecting, but I know you do it because you care about what happens to the people around you. Martin’s injury was not your fault, Maggie. That lands squarely on Ken’s shoulders. Don’t take it on yourself.”
To her horror, tears stung her eyes. “Thanks. I’d better get in—”
“Maggie.” His quiet voice halted her escape. “If you ever need to talk, please feel free to ring me.” He smiled. “Just not about a case.”
“Thank you, Ian.” She took a chance, and hugged him. He surprised her again by wrapping one arm around her, gently patting her back. “I promise I won’t be playing amateur detective anymore.”
“Right.” He patted her back one last time before he let her go and stepped back. “Welcome home, Maggie.”
He headed back up the high street, scanning both sidewalks, waving to anyone who caught his attention. Ian Reynolds was a good man, and a better detective.
With a deep breath, Maggie turned and walked into the shop.
“Who wants to see what I found in London?”
***
Lilliana stayed to help unpack the suitcase, oohing and aahing over some of the 19th century silver frames Maggie had found at a boot sale.
“The moment you price these, put them aside for me.”
“Done.” She planned to give Lilly the family discount—after she low balled the retail price on the frames. She’d paid less than a pound for each of them, so she could be generous with the price. “Ashton, can you hand me a few pages of the paper?”
He did, while still keeping his attention on the automaton she had found at the antiques market in Chelsea. That one had been dear, but she knew she could double the price and sell it with no problem.
She started to fold the top page, to layer between the frames, and the headline caught her eye.
“Not another one.”
“What?” Lilly looked up from the frames, and Ashton finally tore himself away from the dancing monkey.
“Another item stolen from a gallery in London,” Maggie said. She scanned the article. This time the thief had made off with a miniature of Queen Victoria, a jeweled knife from the 18th century, and most heartbreaking, the small gallery’s centerpiece: a Titian that was on permanent loan from the owner. “Martin and I were following the stories in London. The thief has excellent taste, for a criminal.”
Lilly and Ashton crowded her, trying to read the article. Maggie laughed, and moved out of their way. She finished unpacking the suitcase, and set aside the set of throwing knives she’d found at the same boot sale. It was a beautiful set, each blade well balanced, and she was still debating whether to be selfish and keep it, or try to make back what she’d paid for it.
For now, she stashed the box under the counter, then started making a list of what needed to be cleaned, what could go out on the floor right away, and what would have to be rotated into her need-to-repair inventory.
Lilly headed out, and Maggie and Ashton started pricing in between bites of Lilly’s to-die-for blueberry scones. Maggie left Ashton to keep pricing, and moved around the shop, tucking the new items in their respective spots.
She loved the rambling interior, and had organized it in decorative sections, to make it easier for customers to find their own personal collectibles. At ten, Maggie unlocked the door.
It was Monday, but the tour company that normally cruised through the village had closed for the winter, so any customers would be the random tourists who stopped in Holmestead. She expected a light day, and looked forward to reacquainting herself with her shop. After two weeks away, everything looked fresh and new.
She was headed to the modern Holmes section with a box of new items when the door opened.
Martin stepped inside, and headed for her. She dumped the box on the nearest table and met him halfway, her heart beating so fast she felt lightheaded.
“What is it? Is your shoulder—”
“My shoulder is fine, love. The new doctor, James Smith, gave me the all clear, and told me to take it easy, since the wound is still healing.”
Her heart stopped trying to pound its way out of her chest. “I told you so.”
“Yes, you did. Quite a few times during our lovely excursion in London if I recall correctly.”
“Stop.” She slapped his left arm, then wrapped her arms around his waist. She didn’t care who saw their public display of affection; she and Martin were married now. “Thank you for coming to tell me.” She looked up at him. “That isn’t the only reason, is it?”
He ran one hand through his hair, a sure sign he was about to tell her something she didn’t want to hear. “I’ve been called back to the site. Geoffrey told me that several artifacts have been taken, the site vandalized.”
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Martin. Was anyone hurt?”
“Thankfully, no. It happened last night, after everyone had gone. I have to go, Maggie. I did the inventory of the artifacts.”
“Yes, you do. Did you need help packing?”
He smiled, his left hand rubbing her back. “I would like that. I have a ticket for the afternoon train.”
“Ashton.” She peeked past Martin, and found her assistant watching them, a frown on his face. “Can you—”
“Go, Maggie. I can close up if you decide to take the day.”
“Thanks.” She had left him something of a mess, but she knew that Ashton thrived on a challenge. “If you can put everything out, that would be fantastic.”
“Consider it done.” Ashton walked over to the door and opened it. “Now, get out of here.”
Maggie let go of Martin, took his left hand, and headed for the door. She stopped long enough to stand on tiptoe and kiss Ashton’s cheek. “I want you to call me if things get crazy.”
His laughter made her smile. “Not a chance of that happening.” He glanced out the window. “You had best hurry. The weather looks like it’s turning.”
Ashton was right. Clouds had gathered since Maggie had arrived, darkening what had been a sunny winter day.
“Looks like I might be driving you to the station, Martin.”
“No—I can handle the Rover, if that becomes necessary.”
“Okay.” Maggie hid a smile at his hasty response.
Her driving wasn’t that bad. But she did have to admit, she had her moments. Like the moment she had almost run over Martin’s sports car before they’d even met.
They walked back to the house, taking their time. Maggie wanted to spend every last second she could get with Martin; once he left, there was no telling how long he’d be gone. When the house came into sight, Maggie saw Henry Manning’s van parked out front.
So much for alone time.
“Sorry, love.” Martin squeezed her hand. “I’d forgotten about Henry being here.”
“No worries. I can help him, after you leave. It will keep me occupied.”
He stopped and pulled her into his arms. “I miss you already, Mrs. Martin.”
“I miss you more, Mr. Martin.”
Chuckling, he leaned down and k
issed her.
Maggie held on, aware that this could be their last bit of alone time for heaven only knew how long. Finally, both of them more than a little breathless, they headed into the house.
Henry was in the foyer, sweeping up the last of her once-beautiful dried flower arrangement. He stopped, leaning on his broom as he grinned at them. “Welcome home, Mrs. Maggie.”
“Thank you, Henry. And thank you for taking this on at the last minute.”
His grin faded. “Tis beyond me that someone would come in and cause such damage. Though the damage seems to be almost nothin’, Mister Martin. I found no more than a few broken items, and those looked like they mighta been victims of gravity.”
Maggie was afraid to find out which items hadn’t survived. She treasured all of Aunt Irene’s different, eclectic collections.
“You can take a break, if you’d like, Henry. Martin will be leaving this afternoon, and I’ll pitch in and help with cleanup. No argument—it will help.”
Understanding lit his clear green eyes. “A hard thing to do, leavin’ each other so soon. I’ll be doin’ my best to keep yer mind off the missin’, Mrs. Maggie.”
“Okay.” She forced herself to smile, and lighten her voice. “Who wants some lunch?”
***
Martin ended up driving them to the station. Halfway through lunch, the sky had opened up. An hour later, it was still pouring.
He pulled up to the front of the station, shutting down the Rover. “There is no need for you to brave the rain—”
“I’m going in with you.”
He kissed her, then reached between the seats and grabbed his bag. Maggie smiled when she recognized the worn leather satchel; he had been carting it with him the day they met. Instead of opening her door, she climbed across the seat and slid out of the driver’s side, slamming the heavy door before she dashed across the space between the Rover and the overhang.
Martin took her hand, and they walked into the tiny station. There were a couple of benches inside, along with a single ticket window, and a ticket kiosk. They kept going, through the door leading to the platform. His train was five minutes out, and the stop would be fast.
