Dancing on Her Grave

by Cate Dean

  Maggie was drawn to one case, where two shelves were filled with what looked like journals. She reached out to touch one—and Leo caught her wrist. Anger flashed across his face, disappearing so quickly she almost missed it.

  “One of the rules I spoke of? No one is allowed to touch certain items without express permission of the estate. These journals are included in those rules.”

  “Sorry. I just—”

  “May I ask a question?” He freed her wrist, and clasped his hands together. “Is Anthea really here?”

  “What?” That was the last thing she expected him to ask her.

  “I heard about Cousin Stasia’s ravings—that she saw her dead mother. But I also heard that she did see something, and that something was Anthea’s ghost.”

  “Sorry. I don’t remember much about that day. I hit my head.” It was a blatant lie, but she wasn’t about to confirm his suspicion. Anthea trusted her.

  “Oh. That is disappointing.” He looked over his shoulder as Craig stomped in. “Please, excuse me.”

  Maggie watched him stride over to Craig, meeting him near the massive desk. They started arguing, with Craig pointing and gesturing in her direction. It didn’t take a genius to guess they were talking about her.

  “They’ll find out about—” Craig’s near shout echoed through the library. Before he could finish, Leo grabbed his arm and hustled him out.

  “What was that about?” Spencer joined Maggie, his blue eyes narrowed. “He didn’t try anything, did he?”

  “Leo? No. he asked about Anthea, and if what Stasia saw last year was her.”

  “And you said?”

  “I didn’t remember much. You know, because of my head injury.”

  Spencer’s laughter relieved some of her growing unease. Something about this place left her uncomfortable. Maybe because she knew that Anthea was most likely murdered here. Maybe it was more—Jeremy Cragmoor had never returned from his last trip to London, according Anthea’s journal. She had feared that he was dead; that she was left to face the hate and scorn without him.

  “Are you all right, love?” Martin laid his hand on the small of her back. His touch calmed her, and she managed to nod.

  “I told you there was more. Anthea wrote about Jeremy’s disappearance in this journal. And she hints at possible suspects for her own murder. I think she died here, Martin.” She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her coat pocket. “I made a list.”

  He smiled as he took it. “Of course you did.” He kissed her forehead, then unfolded the paper, scanning it. “Good heavens, how many enemies did she have?”

  “Quite a few, apparently. Most of them were Jeremy’s family. She was a commoner, who worked in a neighbor’s household. Jeremy met her during a house party, and fell in love with her. It’s romantic, but the objection from his parents, and most of his immediate family, forced them to marry in secret. I can imagine she wasn’t popular when they showed up, and Jeremy announced that she was the new mistress of the house.”

  Martin handed the paper to Spencer. “In the first journal, the one you found in your church sale box, she spoke of being left alone, of fearing she would go mad from the isolation.”

  “You’re forgetting about the other journals,” Maggie said. “They were less about the daily running of the household, and more about her love for her husband. Jeremy traveled several times a year. Leo wasn’t exactly accurate in his description; Jeremy owned a shipping company, but he didn’t captain any of them.”

  “You constantly surprise me, love.”

  Heat flushed her cheeks, but she didn’t care. The two men she loved the most were the only witnesses, and she wasn’t embarrassed. “I hope I keep surprising you.”

  Smiling, Martin kissed her. It felt like forever since he had kissed her goodbye at the train station, and she turned into him, forgetting that Spencer was there. Martin smiled against her lips when Spencer started to hum and walked away from them.

  Martin finally freed her, both of them more than a little breathless.

  “Are you finished over there?”

  She laughed at Spencer’s shouted question. “It’s safe.”

  He sauntered over, winking at Maggie. “We should probably find our way out of here. I doubt our host will be in a good mood when he returns.”

  Maggie sighed. “You’re probably right. But I want to check one thing before we go, now that eagle eye Leo isn’t here.” She walked over to the book case holding the journals, and ran her finger along the bindings. “No,” she muttered. “It will be later.”

  “What are you doing?” Spencer joined her, Martin right behind him. She had a feeling Martin already knew, and was waiting on her.

  “Hush, Spence. I’m focusing here.”

  He snorted, but kept quiet. Maggie bit back a smile, and moved along the shelf. She had about given up when the second to last journal listed the date she was looking for—along with one she didn’t expect to find.

  She gently pulled the journals out, and ran her fingers over the cover of the top one. “This is it,” she whispered. “Anthea’s last journal.” Setting it on the shelf, she opened the second one, and the first page confirmed her suspicion. “This is Jeremy’s last journal. Anthea mentioned more than once that he had given her the first journal as a wedding gift. He had been writing journals since he was a boy.”

  Martin and Spencer stood behind her as she slowly turned the pages. She started reading one entry out loud.

  “My darling Anthea has suffered greatly for my love of her. When I return from London, we will quit this manor, and live our lives out together in the great city I have come to love.” She looked at the two men. “He was going to take her away.”

  “But someone stopped him before he could put his plan into action,” Martin said, his deep voice thoughtful. “Someone who felt threatened by the thought of his departure...”

  His voice faded, and Maggie understood why when cold washed over her.

  “Martin—ˮ

  “We have company.”

  Spencer’s eyes widened, and Maggie knew he saw the ghost hovering at the end of the book case. “What the—ˮ He swallowed, and looked over at Maggie. “It’s not—Anthea, is it?”

  “No,” she whispered. “The clothes are more recent. It looks like she’s from the early 20th century.”

  Martin stepped closer. “Hello,” he said, his voice gentle. “Do you know why you’re here?”

  The ghost nodded, and gestured to the book case.

  “Is it one of the books?”

  She shook her head and floated forward, moving right through Martin. He shuddered, rubbing his right shoulder as he turned around. Maggie moved to his side.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  “I’ve always hated the sensation when a ghost moves through me.”

  She wanted to ask how it felt, but the ghost caught her attention when it stopped, hovering next to the spot where Maggie had found Jeremy’s journal. One transparent hand slid into the empty space, and the ghost looked at Martin.

  “I am afraid I don’t know what—ˮ

  “I think I do,” Maggie said. She walked over to the ghost, shivering at the proximity. “There’s a latch behind the books, isn’t there?”

  “How did you know?”

  She glanced at Martin. “I’ll explain later.”

  Taking a deep breath, she reached into the space, her fingers brushing the back of the case. She twisted her arm and kept searching. Her fingers caught on an obstruction; her heart pounding, she closed her hand around it. Definitely a latch, and it felt exactly like the one in her library at home.

  “Maggie.” Martin touched her arm. “What did you—”

  The library door opened, and Craig stomped in. The ghost winked out of sight. Both Martin and Spencer stepped in front of her, giving her time to remove her arm before Craig noticed what she had been doing.

  “Out,” he said. “I want you out.”

  “Of course,” Martin said
. “Please forgive any distress we may have caused.”

  “I—” Craig shook his head. “Whatever. Just get out.”

  Martin took her hand, Spencer at her back as they left.

  “I don’t remember the way out,” she whispered.

  “I do.” Martin tightened his grip on her hand. “Don’t even think of coming back here, Maggie, do you understand? I will not have you in the same building with these men again.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out with what I have.”

  She held tightly to his hand as he led them through the maze of halls, half expecting Craig or Leo to pop out of a side corridor. As far as she was concerned, she’d be happy never to step into Cragmoor Manor again.

  Eight

  Martin waited until they were in his car and off the cracked driveway before he glanced over at Maggie.

  “What did you find?”

  “A latch. There’s one just like it in the library at home. The ghost knew it was there, Martin. What if one of them is the art thief?” She rubbed her arms, still unsettled.

  “It would hardly surprise me. Coming from a background such as theirs, they would know about art. We need to learn more about the objects that were stolen, before we start throwing accusations about.”

  “You mean find out if a ghost is attached to one of them. It wouldn’t be proof, but I think Ian knows us well enough that he would investigate.”

  Martin flashed a smile. “He knows your skills well enough, love.”

  They drove in comfortable silence, and Maggie studied her list again. Until they did more research, she was going to put aside the possibility of art thieves in the family and focus on Anthea.

  The most likely suspect was Anthea’s brother-in-law, Jacob. He also topped Anthea’s list of who would have a grudge her husband.

  “I think I have a direction, but I’m going to need a public library, with an extensive history archive.”

  “I may have just what you—” He cut himself off, glancing at the rearview mirror. “What is that fool doing?”

  Maggie looked at the side mirror. A large, older sedan sped down the road behind them. “If they don’t slow down—”

  “They are going to ram us. Hold on.”

  Martin accelerated, and the little sports car jumped forward. They gained a small lead, but the bigger car’s engine gave it an advantage, and it closed the space between them.

  “Martin—”

  “I know, love.” He floored the gas.

  They flew along the narrow road, and Maggie kept glancing at the edge of the cliffs. The road gradually turned away from the edge, but not soon enough, if that was the driver’s intent.

  She screamed when the sedan slammed their rear end.

  Martin tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and urged more speed out of the car.

  The sedan swung around to the driver’s side of their car, and swerved into them. Its weight shoved them off the road, and confirmed Maggie’s worst fear. The driver was forcing them to the edge of the cliffs.

  Martin wrenched the steering wheel. “Hold on to something, Maggie.”

  She understood why a second later when he slammed on the brakes.

  The sedan shot past them, brakes squealing as the driver tried to slow. Martin took advantage and gunned the engine.

  They passed the sedan, and Maggie got a glimpse of a furious male face, half hidden by the raised collar of the coat he wore, and sunglasses. There wouldn’t be much time before the sedan caught up with them.

  Maggie looked over at Martin, and saw that he was driving one-handed. He had his right arm pressed against his side.

  “Martin—ˮ

  “Fine. Watch for him, will you?” He sounded remarkably calm, but she saw how tightly he gripped the steering wheel.

  “Okay.” Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat. Fighting the panic that threatened to strangle her, she twisted around and looked out the small back window. “He’s coming.”

  “Right.” Martin pushed for more speed. “We will not be able to outrun him, love. My goal is to get us past the cliffs, then we can slow down, and figure out his real intention.”

  The road had started its gradual curve inland. Maggie was terrified that they wouldn’t have time to get a safe distance from the cliffs before the sedan rammed into them again.

  “He’s about to hit us.”

  She turned around and braced her arms on the dashboard right before he smacked them. Metal crunched, and they both jerked forward.

  “One more hit like that, and we will blow a tire,” Martin said. Pain edged his voice, but he drove with precision, turning them back onto the road. “Bloody hell­—hang on, Maggie.”

  She stared at the sedan as it roared straight at them. Every muscle tensed, waiting for the hit that would disable them, at the very least.

  A familiar van slammed into the side of the sedan, inches from the front of the sports car.

  “Spencer,” she gasped.

  Martin slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailing. He turned them around in time to see Spencer’s van back up, ready to ram the sedan again. He stopped when the other car made a wide U turn, and headed back toward Cragmoor Manor.

  Before she could process what had just happened, Spencer yanked her door open and crouched next to her.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  “I—yeah. I might have heart failure in a minute.”

  He smiled. It faded when he looked at Martin. “All right there, old man?”

  “I’ve been better.” Martin clutched his right arm. “You will have to drive us home, love.”

  “You must feel bad,” Spencer said. He kept his voice light, but Maggie saw the concern in his blue eyes. “Follow me, Mags. I’ll ring Ian on the way, let him know what happened. You are going straight to the clinic, Professor.”

  Martin didn’t even try to argue, which told her how much pain he must be in. She unbuckled her seatbelt and slid out of the car, following Spencer around to the driver’s side.

  “Did you see who it was?”

  He shook his head. “Bloody windows were tinted, and the bastard wore sunglasses. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.” He gathered Maggie into his arms, both of them shaking from the adrenaline rush. “Grace rang me, and I didn’t want to miss it.”

  “You couldn’t have known, Spence. I’m just glad you showed up when you did. I’m doubly glad you brought your van, instead of your two-seater.”

  “So am I.” He tightened his grip on her. “He was planning to push you off the edge.”

  “Yeah.” She swallowed, and squeezed him before she let go. “It had to be one of the cousins. Who else would have a reason to run us off the road?”

  “I could think of a few.” He winked at her, and took her hand as they moved to the driver’s door. “I may have to subdue the Professor if he protests. Do I have your permission?”

  “If it gets him to the clinic faster, do whatever you need to.”

  Their plan wasn’t necessary; Martin came quietly, and accepted Spencer’s arm without argument.

  “I will see you at the clinic, love.”

  “You do whatever Dr. Smith tells you, Martin. Do you hear?” Tears leaked into her voice, and she gave in to her need, wrapping one arm around his waist. She could have lost him out here, because she went haring off after another mystery. “I love you.”

  “I love you back. Take care with my car; she’s been through enough for one day.”

  “I’ll follow Spencer all the way back.” She managed a smile. “That will keep me on the wrong side of the road.”

  “The correct side of the road,” both men said at the same time.

  Maggie just shook her head and slid into the driver’s seat. Once the men were out of sight, she lowered her head to the steering wheel and took slow, deep, uneven breaths. That was the closest she had come to dying, and she nearly took Martin with her.

  Anthea would have to be content with Maggie
trying to solve her murder from the safety of her own library.

  She refused to put anyone else in danger.

  Nine

  Martin ended up spending the night at the clinic.

  He chafed at the necessity, but he understood the reason. His still healing knife wound had partially opened, and Dr. Smith wanted to be sure there was no infection before he let Martin go.

  Once he was settled in the only private room, Maggie peeked around the door.

  “Hi,” she said. “Up for some company?”

  He held out his left hand and she walked over to him, gripping his hand. They had been close to dying, out on the cliffs; Ian’s frown when he talked to Martin earlier told him that the Inspector would be making a visit to Cragmoor Manor.

  “We’re all right, love.”

  “I was so scared. But I knew that if anyone could drive their way out of it, you could.” She sat on the bed, studying his face. He knew he looked tired; he hoped he didn’t look as exhausted as he felt. “You look terrible.”

  So much for that hope.

  “Thank you, love.”

  “Sorry.” She shook her head, her wild ginger hair falling over her shoulders.

  At some point, she had taken it out of her usual upsweep. That rich, untamed hair suited her as much as her smile, and her vibrant clothing. He had come too close to losing everything he loved on that remote road.

  If Ian failed to find a reason to arrest the Cragmoor boys, Martin would do some further research.

  Someone with Craig’s volatile temper would have a history—likely more than Martin found during his first look.

  Leo was a wild card he hadn’t known about. For some reason, his name never came up linked to Craig.

  Before the end of tomorrow, he would learn as much as he could, about both of them, and call in favors if necessary. He knew, in his soul, that one of them had been driving the sedan. He was determined to never allow them the chance to try to hurt anyone else.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Maggie said.