by Cate Dean
Martin laughed. “I’ve known Geoffrey for years. Normally, he doesn’t rub me wrong. But this dig has brought out his ‘I am the greatest archaeologist in all of Britain’ side, which is harder to deal with.”
“I’ll agree with that. Pembroke.”
Martin flinched. “It’s a family name. I demanded that my family call me Martin at a young age. There is no way to shorten Pembroke that does not sound ridiculous. Trust me; I’ve tried every possible permutation.”
“Martin suits you. I understand now why you are always introduced as Professor Martin on your documentaries.”
Martin smiled. “I make certain it is part of every contract.”
They both got into the car, and Ian started it up. “Any new documentaries coming up for you?”
“Actually, I have one in the works. Don’t tell Maggie; I want it to be a surprise. She will be part of the documentary, if all the details work out.”
Ian pulled onto the muddy road. “I’ll be happy to keep your secret. That would be something, seeing our own Maggie showing off her considerable knowledge.”
Yes, it would be. Martin had been working on this project for months, and he was so close to finalizing everything.
If everything worked out, his Maggie would become the darling of the antique world, and he would have her at his side, as his partner, in every part of his life.
Seven
After a sleepless night, Maggie was dragging as she headed for the shop.
The journal had only taken a couple of hours to read; she had spent the rest of the night rereading sections, writing down every thought, every impression, while it was still fresh in her mind. She also made a list of potential suspects, based on Anthea’s suspicions about her relatives by marriage.
One entry had shocked her. For the first time, Anthea mentioned a child. Her daughter. Maggie had made a mental promise to Anthea; she would find out what had happened to the girl.
“I need to talk to Spence,” she muttered, fumbling in her pocket for the key.
She unlocked the door and opened it, closing it behind her before she punched in the code to disable the alarm. When Ashton had moved upstairs, Maggie had been concerned about him forgetting to set the alarm when he left, since the only way out of the flat was through the shop.
But he had been vigilant about it, and every morning, she opened the door to an active alarm.
A knock on the door startled her, and she turned around. Spencer waved at her, holding up a huge bag from The Tea Caddy.
Smiling, Maggie unlocked the door and let him in. “Come to bribe me, Spence?”
He kissed her cheek. “The kiss is for you, sweetheart. The bribe is for Martin. Is he here?”
“No.” She locked the door, and headed for the back room. “He had to go back to the dig site. Some of the artifacts were stolen.”
“Are you kidding me? What kind of creep would steal from a dig site?” He shook his head, and set the white bag on the table, sitting across from her. “How are you holding up, with him gone? You look terrible, Mags.”
“Thanks so much.” She yawned. “I’ve been dealing with an attention-seeking ghost.” She told Spencer what had been going on, helping him unpack the bagels, cream cheese, and tall takeaway cups of hot tea. “I read her journal at least twice, and she hints at who might have killed her. But the journal stops mid thought, so I think there’s another one, at Cragmoor Manor.”
“Please, take me with you this time.”
“You read my mind.” She started smearing some of the rich, herbed cream cheese on a jalapeno bagel. Lilly had thought she was crazy when Maggie asked if she would add them to her menu—until she tasted one. Now they were a popular seller. “Why the bribe for Martin?”
“This.” Spencer reached into the coat he’d draped over the back of his chair and pulled out a fabric wrapped bundle. “I found it in Giles’ private safe.”
He unwrapped the fabric, and Maggie gasped. The overhead light winked off crystal and silver, highlighting the long, round shaft.
“It’s a wand,” she said. “May I?” He carefully laid it in her palm. “Unusual,” she said, tracing the length. “It looks like wood, but there’s an overlay of silver, like it was dipped. You wanted Martin’s help to date it.”
“Exactly.” Spencer took a bite of his bagel, pointing with it. “That is going to be the centerpiece of an exhibit I have planned for Halloween. But I need something to write on the description plaque.”
She laughed, and took a closer look at the handle of the wand. Uncut, round quartz decorated the intricately carved symbols. Maggie got up and grabbed one of her magnifying glasses off the desk, using it to examine the symbols.
“These look Celtic. Don’t quote me, Spence, but you may have a rare object.” She handed him the wand. “I don’t know much about witchcraft, or their tools, but I do know that most wands were made of wood, so there aren’t many old specimens that survived.”
“That is exactly what I’m hoping. I have to tell you the truth, Maggie.” He wrapped the wand as he spoke, not looking at her. “The museum is losing money, has been losing money since Giles was hired.”
“Spence. Look at me, and tell me all of it.”
He sighed, and met her eyes. “There is a strong possibility that Giles was embezzling.”
“Oh, no.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “They don’t suspect you for anything, do they?”
“No. In fact I was just promoted to the antiquities curator position.”
“That’s fantastic news! Why didn’t you start with that?”
“Because there may not be a museum to curate. Mags, this Halloween exhibit is my first and last chance. If it doesn’t bring in patrons, there’s a good chance I will be out of a job before Christmas.”
“You always have a job here.”
He gave her a pale version of his heartbreaking smile. “Thanks. Now, when are we going to Cragmoor Manor?”
***
Somehow, Spencer talked Maggie into heading out to Cragmoor that afternoon.
Once she talked to Ashton, who practically pushed her out the door of her own shop, she called Spencer and had him meet her at the house.
She waited for him out front, waving as he pulled up in his van. He leaned over and cranked open the window.
“I am driving,” he said, before she could even say hello. “Hop in.”
She climbed into his van, and managed to buckle just in time. He screeched out of her driveway, and barreled down the street.
“Spencer—slow down.”
“When we get closer.” Once they cleared the outskirts of the village, he gunned it.
Maggie held on, afraid to close her eyes. She would rather see her own death coming at her.
Finally, when they got closer to the cliffs, Spencer eased his lead foot off the gas.
“It’s all right, Mags. You can relax your death grip on the dash.”
She did, not aware that she had been trying to dig her fingers into the sun faded dashboard. “I don’t know why you tease me about my driving. You could scare the pants off a NASCAR driver.”
Spencer flashed a grin. It was good to see him back to his normal, happy self. “At least I drive on the proper side of the road.”
She groaned. They weren’t going to have that argument again. He laughed, and she smacked his arm.
“Hey,” he said, rubbing the spot. “That hurt.”
“It was supposed to. Now, keep your eyes on the road. This is where it gets dodgy.”
Spencer nodded, and focused ahead of them. Since Maggie had been here before, and he hadn’t, she knew his common sense—and self-preservation—would overrule his need for speed.
He slowed even more as Cragmoor Manor came into sight. Maggie hadn't been back since she’d tried to return a book to Arthur Cragmoor. The huge, rundown stone mansion looked just as dilapidated, and even more uninviting.
“Park facing the road, on the side of the driveway opposite t
he cliff,” she said.
He glanced over at her. “In case we need to make a quick getaway?”
“Bingo.”
Spencer didn't question her, just did as she said, carefully turning the van around on the cracked driveway before stopping. “What is the plan, Mags?”
“A many-times-removed cousin owns the place now. My plan was to knock on the door, and hope for the best.”
He laughed, then leaned over to kiss her. “I’ve always loved your optimism, sweetheart. Let’s go knock on that door, and see what happens.”
***
Martin had Ian drop him at the head of the high street. They had made good time, and arrived in Holmestead just after noon. He knew Maggie would be at the shop, and he wanted to see her first thing. Less than two days apart, and he missed her desperately.
“A man in love,” he muttered, striding down the pedestrian street. “I never thought it would happen to me.”
The wind off the Channel was fierce today, chasing dark clouds across the sky. Clouds headed right for the village. He tightened the scarf around his neck, tucked his hands in his pockets. A warm fire would help ease the ache in his shoulder; Maggie would help him forget the ache altogether.
He opened the door of The Ash Leaf, looking for her bright ginger hair. Instead, he found Ashton, alone, and arranging some of the items Maggie had brought from London on the display table near the window.
“Martin.” Waving, Ashton placed the last two items in his hand, and walked over to Martin. “Back already?”
“Geoffrey overstated my need to be there. Where is Maggie?”
“I—I don’t know. She left with Spencer, about an hour ago.”
“To the museum?”
Ashton shook his head. “I was not supposed to be listening, but I overhead them in the back room, and Maggie mentioned Cragmoor Manor.”
Dread gripped him. “Are you certain?”
Ashton nodded. “She brought in a journal, and said it had come from there.”
“Anthea,” he whispered. He headed for the back room, pulling his keys out of his trouser pocket. “The weather is headed back this way. If it breaks, I want you to close the shop. I will be taking Maggie home once I catch her up.”
“All right. Is she in danger, Martin?”
“I hope not.” He clapped his hand on Ashton’s shoulder, and forced a smile. “She can take care of herself. Trust me, I’ve seen her handle more than one dodgy situation.”
He didn’t want her to handle another one. Not on her own.
His sports car was parked behind the shop, since they had been using Maggie’s Rover. He unlocked the driver’s door, threw his satchel in the space behind the seats, and slid in, firing up the engine.
Best case, he would meet Maggie and Spencer on their way back from Cragmoor. She didn’t know, but Martin had done some research on the new owner. Craig Cragmoor was a bitter, angry man, who, by all reports, thought he deserved the money Maggie had inherited.
She had no idea what she was walking into.
Martin swung out of the alley behind the shops and shot down the road leading out of the village.
***
Maggie knocked twice on the cracked oak door, ready to give up when no one showed.
“Try one more time,” Spencer said.
Maggie shook her head, but she pounded her fist against the door one last time.
The door opened, shocking her. A tall figure appeared, his red blonde hair almost hiding his eyes. But she saw enough to know he was annoyed.
“What?”
“Good morning.” Spencer held out his hand, dropping it when the man glared at him. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
“I am the owner. Craig Cragmoor.”
Maggie braced herself. Spencer didn’t disappoint.
“Craig Cragmoor? Oh, mate, I am so sorry.”
Craig’s upper lip curled, and Maggie rushed to repair some of the damage.
“Hi, there. My name is Maggie Mulgrew, and I was hoping we could—ˮ
“I don’t bloody care what you were...” His voice faded, and he stared at Maggie. “You.” He raised his fist. “You bloody thief—ˮ
Spencer stepped in front of her. “Touch her, and you will regret it.”
Maggie rarely heard that tone from Spencer—it took a lot to spark his temper. But the man halted, color draining from his face.
“Get off my property! You may own everything else, you lying thief, but this place is mine.” He stalked inside and slammed the door.
Maggie looked at Spencer, still shaking. “I guess he knows who I am.”
He pulled her into a tight embrace, rubbing her back. “The Cragmoor side of the family leaves so much to be desired.”
She let out a watery laugh. “You can say that again. But don’t.”
He chuckled. “Let’s get out of here. Maybe there’s another relative you can—hello, who’s this, then?”
Maggie lifted her head, and her heart skipped when she saw the familiar spots car roar up the driveway. “Martin?”
He skidded to a halt, out of the car almost before it stopped. “Maggie—thank heaven.”
Spencer let her go, in time for Martin to sweep her off her feet and into his arms. She held on, until her shock at seeing him wore off.
“Martin—what are you doing here?”
“I am happy to see you, as well, love.”
She smiled. “That’s not what I meant. I’m thrilled that you’re back, but how did you know I was here?”
“Ashton eavesdropped. Unintentionally, so don’t be shouting at him when you see him next. Did Cragmoor threaten you?”
“How did you—ˮ Maggie looked up at him. “You researched him, didn’t you?”
“After our unpleasant encounters with the other Cragmoors, you had best believe I researched him. I wanted to be prepared, in the event he came calling, demanding a share of your inheritance.”
“Right.” She tended to forget that she was wealthy, until the bank in London sent her another sheaf of papers to sign. Her shop was doing well enough to support her, and because she owned the house and the shop outright, thanks to Aunt Irene, her monthly expenses were minimal. “I didn’t think about that, since the rest of the Cragmoors are in London, or at the other estate in Devon.”
Martin let her go just long enough to wrap his arm around her waist. “Let’s go back to the shop, and you can tell me exactly why you ventured out here. I will take her in my car, Spencer. Thank you, for keeping her safe.”
“My pleasure, mate.”
Martin had obviously been close enough to see the confrontation. With a sigh, Maggie let him lead her to the passenger side, and waited for him to open the door for her.
“This isn’t the last I’m going to hear about this, is it?”
“Not by a long shot, love. Unless your reason is a bloody good one.”
She knew he was angry, but now she knew he was really angry. Whether that anger was directed at her—well, she’d find out soon enough.
“Hello!” The pleasant voice turned them around. A shorter man stood in the doorway, waving at them. “Please, ignore my brother’s inexcusable rudeness. I am Leo, and you are all most welcome to Cragmoor Manor.”
He stepped out of the doorway and gestured for them to enter.
Martin’s arm tightened around her waist. “Maggie.”
“I promised Anthea that I would try, Martin. I’ll explain later,” she said, when he frowned at her. “Ashton didn’t overhear everything. Please, Martin, trust me.”
He let out a sigh, and released her. “I do, love. Always.”
Relieved, she smiled at him, and led the way back to the front door. Spencer bounded up the flagstone walkway, reaching Leo first.
“Happy to meet you, mate.” He shook Leo’s hand. “Care to give us a tour of the stone pile?”
“It would be my pleasure.” He reached for Maggie’s hand. “I am happy to meet you at last, Maggie.” He bent over her hand
, like a 19th century gentleman, then turned to Martin. “You must be Professor Martin. It is an honor, sir.”
They shook hands, then Leo led them inside Cragmoor Manor.
Maggie had only gotten as far as the front parlour before, so she was happy for the escort. Leo chatted as they walked through the maze of halls, pointing out details.
He stopped in front of a life-sized oil painting. “That is Jeremy Cragmoor. He was a ship captain, importer, and invested in risky ventures. He built this place, for his beloved wife, Anthea.”
Maggie stepped closer, studying the man’s face. He had been handsome, with a kind face, dark red hair falling to his shoulders. Maggie could understand why Anthea fell for him.
“You favor him,” Martin said, moving to her side. “I imagine his hair was actually a brighter ginger in real life. But those eyes—they are yours, love. Sharp, clear, and ready for the next adventure.”
She smiled up at him and took his hand. “I’d like to think I got my sense of adventure and detecting from someone like him.”
“Shall we continue?” Leo’s voice sounded less pleasant. “This way, please.”
Spencer raised his eyebrows before he followed Leo, Maggie and Martin behind him. They didn’t talk again until they reached a beautifully carved double door. Unlike the rest of the mansion, this door had been lovingly cared for, the wood gleaming from a recent oiling.
Leo cleared his throat, resting his hand on the elaborate brass latch. “This is Jeremy’s library. It was his favorite room, and every descendent who has resided here has agreed to certain rules—in writing—and to keep it as he left it.”
Maggie tightened her grip on Martin’s hand. They were about to enter a room she knew Anthea had spent time in. Maybe the room she had died in. To learn that it had not been changed since Jeremy Cragmoor’s death—her antique lover’s heart pounded in anticipation.
Leo opened both doors and led the way in.
The interior was even more beautiful than Maggie expected. She heard Spencer’s gasp, and knew he would love to spend hours examining every inch, coveting items for his museum. Floor to ceiling book cases covered every wall, and clever cases surrounded the windows. Library ladders were attached to each book case, the hardware looking as new as the day it had been installed.
