Dancing on Her Grave

by Cate Dean

She smiled, and kept smiling when Martin leaned down to kiss her.

  Ten

  Maggie insisted on having Ashton drive Martin home. He had been outside long enough, and Ashton needed a break. He had been covering for her more than he should have, and it was time to get back to doing what she loved most—selling collectibles to people who fell in love at first sight.

  Once she was alone in the shop, she moved to the mirror on the wall behind the counter and spent the next few minutes untangling her hair, mostly one-handed. It took twice as long, and would never look neat, but at least she could keep it out of her face for the day. The shop door opened just as she tucked the last wayward strands into her bun.

  She turned, a smile on her face. “Welcome to The Ash—” Her voice cut off when she saw Spencer. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Spence—” She rushed around the counter and took his hand. “Come and sit down.”

  “I’m all right,” he said, but he sounded far from all right.

  Maggie led him to the chair she kept in front of the wood-burning stove in the corner and settled him, pouring a cup of tea. Fortunately, Ashton had brewed a new pot just before she and Martin had arrived.

  “Drink,” she ordered. He did, and some of the color crept back into his cheeks. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  “Someone broke into the museum last night.”

  “Oh, no.” She crouched in front of him and took his hand. “Was anything taken?”

  “So far, no. They are still doing an inventory, but it looks like the vandals were scared off, or broke in to see if they could.” He sighed. “I had talked to the director, Dr. Givens, about getting a better alarm system just after I was hired, and it was rejected. I’m not certain if I’m going to be blamed because I didn’t push for the new alarm, or blamed because I am low man on the totem.”

  “If they even try, they’ll get an earful from me. It’s hardly your fault that you were right.”

  He shook his head, giving her a pale version of his smile. “I happen to be an easy target. One that won’t create a potential issue with administration. I don’t know what to do, Mags.” He set the mug on the top of the wood stove, and scrubbed at his face.

  “Look at me, Spencer Knight.” Surprised, he obeyed. “You are going to march back down to the museum, and tell that pompous excuse for a director that you had nothing to do with the break in, that you suggested a new system months ago, and they will have to find another scapegoat.”

  “I—I can’t say that,” he whispered. “Dr. Givens will have heart failure.”

  Maggie sighed. “You need to stand up to him, Spencer. Why are you afraid to?”

  “He doesn’t like me.” Spencer stood and started pacing. “I was hired in spite of his objections, and he has been looking for a reason to fire me since the day I started.”

  “Spence.” She joined him, knowing that the pacing helped work off his nervous energy. “You should have said something before now. I don’t know this Dr. Givens, but the museum hired you because you’re talented, and know your stuff. One man’s grudge shouldn’t be enough to blame you for something you warned them about.”

  “It might be.” He sighed and dropped back into the chair. “If I am fired from my first position, I will be hard pressed to find anything again in this field.”

  Maggie’s temper rarely flared these days, but she could feel it bubbling, and she needed an outlet. “I’m going to go talk to this thick-headed director.”

  “No.” He leapt out of the chair and beat her to the phone. “You won’t help, Maggie. He’s always muttering under his breath about ignorant Yanks. He won’t listen to you.”

  “What about Martin? I know he’d be happy to talk you up. I’m sure your director has heard of him.”

  For the first time since he walked in, he looked hopeful. “Do you think he would?”

  “I’m sure of it. He was impressed by your first exhibit. Let me call him.”

  “Thank you.” Spencer picked her up and swung her around. “Thank you, Mags.”

  She laughed, and kissed him. “Anything for my best friend. Why don’t you go in the back and eat something? I have some of Lilly’s blueberry scones left over from this morning.”

  “Will you hate me if I finish them?”

  She smiled. “Only a little.”

  His laughter warmed her. “I’ll take the pain.”

  “Spencer—have you reported this to Ian?”

  His humor faded. “I rang him as soon as I saw the damage. He’s been and gone.”

  “Okay.” She walked over to the window and laid her hand on the glass. It was icy. “If you don’t mind, I’ll have you pick up Martin and drive him down to the museum. I don’t want him walking in the cold.”

  “No worries.” He disappeared into the back room, and she heard him thank heaven, in a reverent voice.

  Spencer had a serious addiction to those scones.

  She headed back to the counter and reached for the phone, turning when the door opened. Martin and Ashton rushed in, both of them looking cold and windblown.

  ‘Martin—what are you doing?”

  “Coming to visit my wife. Stop frowning at Ashton, Maggie.” He ran one hand through his tousled hair. “It was my idea. We drove here, but one of your neighbors decided to take advantage of the empty space behind your shop, so we had to park in the car park at the top of the street.” He moved toward the wood stove, stopping to kiss her on the way. “I missed you.”

  “You’ve been gone, what, an hour?” She was flattered, but she didn’t want Martin out in this weather. He needed rest, and warmth, and...

  She sounded like his mother, instead of his wife.

  “Plus an entire night,” he said. “I am also counting the time I spent at the dig site.” He stretched his left hand out to the fire and let out a sigh. “This feels wonderful. I didn’t think it was quite as cold out, with the wind dying down.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows. “It looks pretty blustery out there.”

  “Now. But it was a mere breeze when we started walking from the car park. Wasn’t it, Ashton?”

  He raised his hands and shook his head. “I simply followed orders.”

  Laughing, she shook her head. “I don’t blame you, Ashton. I know how stubborn Martin can be.” She walked over to Martin and sandwiched his hand, shocked by how cold it was. “Gloves. I’m buying you a pair of gloves. Today.”

  “I have several pair. Somewhere.” He turned his hand, closing his fingers around Maggie’s halting her brisk rubbing. “I am not so easily breakable, love.”

  “Sorry. I just—ˮ She lowered her head, mortified that tears stung her eyes. “If anything happened to you—ˮ

  “I feel the same.” He pulled her in, and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Aren’t we the lovesick pair?”

  She let out a watery laugh. “I swore I’d never be like this. Hovering, overprotective.”

  “I find that I don’t mind it, when I am not at one hundred percent.”

  They stood together, watching the fire. Behind them, Maggie heard Ashton waiting on a couple who had wandered in to get out of the cold. Bless him—he was a godsend, and such an asset to the shop. She had always felt safe leaving him alone here, confident that he could handle any situation that came up.

  She was about to do it again, and would owe him at least a week off before this was done.

  “I was getting ready to call you when you walked in.”

  Martin glanced down at her. “Would I have ended up finding my way here?”

  She let out a sigh, willing to admit defeat now. “Yes.”

  His smile pulled a laugh out of her. “What were you needing?”

  She told him what had happened at the museum, and about Spencer’s precarious position.

  “I know I promised before asking you, but—ˮ

  “Of course I will speak on his behalf. The museum is fortunate to have him. He could have obtained a position in any well-known museum, with his skill and in
nate understanding of visual display.”

  Maggie looked up at him. “You think so?”

  “Absolutely. What he did with his first exhibit showed the skill and finesse of an experienced curator. I will be happy to point that out to Dr. Givens.”

  “You don’t—know him, do you?”

  Martin shook his head. “But I am fairly certain he will know who I am. Shall we head down?”

  “I’ll talk to Ashton. We’re going to owe him, big time.”

  “I will stand in for him, if you wish to give him some time off.”

  “Thanks.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “I’ll tell Spencer—ˮ

  “No need.” Spencer stepped out of the back room. “Sorry to eavesdrop. I was just about to walk back in when I heard you mention my name.” He turned to Martin. “Did you really think that about my exhibit, Professor?”

  “Every word.”

  Spencer looked humbled. “Thank you.”

  “Tell me about your director. I would like to be prepared before I speak with him.”

  Maggie left them to talk, and headed over to the front counter, where Ashton was finishing up with the couple.

  “I know you will enjoy the secretaire. I can have it delivered sometime this week, as long as the weather stays clear.”

  “Thank you, young man.” The woman beamed at him, then at Maggie. “Are you Maggie Mulgrew?” She continued after Maggie nodded. “You have a treasure here. We came in for a respite from the cold, and ended up buying the most charming furniture. I adore your shop, and took most of your business cards to hand out to my friends.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed your time here. That secretaire is so darling, and I know you’ll love using it every day. To be honest, I almost kept it for myself.”

  The woman smiled. “Thank you for giving it up. I’ve been looking for something like it for ages. I will be back.”

  Maggie thanked them again, walked them to the door, and suggested The Tea Caddy for a hot drink and delicious snacks. She closed the door after them, and grinned at Ashton.

  “Congratulations. I never thought I’d sell the secretaire at that price.”

  “She fell in love at first sight, and didn’t even haggle. She simply picked up the tag and told me that it was hers.”

  “You earned the commission for it, as well as a few days off with pay.”

  He blinked at her. “Maggie, I cannot possibly—ˮ

  “You can, and you will. I have one more favor to ask.”

  “Anything. I love working here, and I feel so fortunate to have met you and Martin, so honored that you believed in me.”

  She took his hand. “I need you to close up tonight. I will pull your commission, this week’s pay, and your holiday pay out of the safe before I leave. No arguments,” she said, when he opened his mouth. “The second you lock the door at five, you are officially on holiday.”

  He squeezed her hand before he let go. “Will it be all right to make some calls with the shop phone? I have a few ideas about where I would like to go.”

  “Feel free. I’ll get your money for you, so you know how much you’ll have to spend.”

  She winked at him, and headed to the back room. Once she closed the door, she pulled back the rug in front of the small desk to reveal the floor safe. Only a few people knew it was even here; she had missed dropping off her daily deposits at the bank more than once. Installing a safe was a no-brainer for her.

  She punched in the combination, pressed her thumb against the print plate, and waited for the quiet click. Inside, she had a few items that were too pricey to keep on the floor, important papers, and enough cash to make her feel comfortable, in case she couldn’t make it to the bank. Or learned about an estate sale at the last minute.

  After grabbing an envelope from the desk, she counted out two weeks’ pay, commission for what he had sold today, and added a note. From this point, Ashton would no longer be paying rent for the flat. He had more than earned his place.

  She would make sure to hand him the envelope right before they left, so she wouldn’t be around to argue with when he read the note. By the time he got back from his holiday, it would be a done deal, as far as she was concerned.

  Smiling, she stood, grabbed her Kelly green coat off the rack, and headed back out to the shop.

  Martin and Spencer waited for her near the door. She stopped at the counter, and slid the envelope over to Ashton. “Have an amazing time, whatever you end up doing.”

  “Thank you. For everything, Maggie.”

  She patted his hand. “You earned all of it, Ashton.”

  Shrugging into her coat, she joined the men and headed out.

  It was time to give Spencer the accolades he deserved.

  Eleven

  Martin’s shoulder ached by the time they reached the museum. Even driving down in Spencer’s van had not helped; the cold had seeped in, and refused to leave. Martin would have to ignore it until he could find his way into a hot bath.

  They parked at the back of the museum, Spencer leading them inside via the loading dock. Unfortunately, Martin knew this part of the building well. His shoulder twitched when they passed the spot where he had been injured.

  As if she knew, Maggie took his left hand, twining their fingers together. Her presence soothed him, and he could hardly remember his life before she became part of it. He did remember that he had been lonely, and more than a little bitter.

  Maggie had smoothed the rough edges, accepted him for who he was, and loved him in spite of his past. He hardly deserved her, but he was never giving her up.

  They reached the back offices of the museum, and Spencer led them down a long hall, stopping at the ostentatious double doors at the end.

  “This is Dr. Givens’ office,” he said, glancing at Martin. “You don’t have to do this, Professor.”

  “Actually, I am looking forward to it. Why don’t both of you wait out here. I won’t be long.” He lifted Maggie’s hand, kissed it before he let go, and opened the door. “Dr. Givens.”

  The stout, balding man sat behind an equally ostentatious mahogany desk. He rose from his chair, his gaze never leaving Martin. “Professor Pembroke Martin.” Strike one. “I have watched every one of your programs. Even the less historically accurate ones.” Strike two. “What can I do for you?”

  “I am here on behalf of Spencer Knight.”

  Givens sneered. “I am composing a letter demanding his termination. Imagine, allowing our prestigious museum to be cast in such a poor light! If our benefactors hear about—ˮ

  “As I understand it, Spencer suggested that you install a newer, more secure system not long after he joined the museum.”

  The man’s nostrils flared. “I—he has been impudent from the moment he opened his mouth.”

  Martin strode forward and braced his left hand on the desk. “You will tread carefully from this point, Givens. I happen to know several of the people who oversee the institutions in this county.”

  “Is that a threat?” Givens was starting to turn beet red. “I will not be threatened in my own museum! I have every right to throw that unskilled, common boy out on his ear.”

  “And that was strike three, sir.” Martin straightened, using considerable control to hold on to his temper. “If you dismiss Spencer, without cause, I will be happy to explain to my friends that the real reason for the break in was your inability to listen to anyone but yourself.”

  Givens sputtered, his eyes wide. “They know nothing of it—such a report would destroy me—ˮ

  “Then tread carefully, Givens. Spencer Knight is well-respected in Holmestead, and I am guessing that you are not.”

  Martin turned on one heel and walked out, afraid he might say something he would regret if he stayed in the office a moment longer.

  Spencer joined him, and Maggie gripped his left hand, as if she knew his temper was on the edge.

  “You were brilliant, Martin.” Spencer sounded awestruck. “Do you really know those peopl
e?”

  “Archaeology is a small world. Yes, I do, and yes, I would happily stand for you with them. Givens is a pompous ass.”

  Spencer grinned, and Maggie stifled a laugh. Neither one of them reprimanded him for his language, or for expressing an unpopular opinion. It had been years since he had lived in his father’s house, but sometimes, the deep, stern voice would haunt him. He had never been able to live up to his older brother’s accomplishments, or his father’s impossible standards.

  He pushed aside the memories, and nodded to Spencer. “Why don’t you show us where the break in happened?”

  “Right. Ian cleared it before he left, since nothing had been taken, and there were no fingerprints, aside from those left by employees.” He smiled. “I now have my fingerprints on file. I suppose I’ll have to behave myself.”

  Maggie’s laughter helped push out the last remnants of Martin’s memories. He and Maggie followed Spencer through the museum, into a service lift, and down two levels. He led them out, and down a long corridor, stopping at an open door.

  “This is the storage room. If the lift had been keyed, as I proposed months ago, they never would have gotten this far into the building.”

  “Wow,” Maggie whispered as they stepped inside. “I had no idea these were here.”

  “Few people outside the staff know about them. We keep traveling exhibits stored down here, as well as some of the rarest pieces the museum owns. Fortunately, this room was empty. Since it’s not close to the lift, it doesn’t get as much use as the other rooms. Until about a month ago, it had been filled with Giles Trelawney’s files and personal stash.”

  Martin wandered around the space, noting the marks on the concrete floor. Most likely left by whatever held Trelawney’s files. Fingerprint dust stained the door handle, the wall just inside, and the long metal table. Maggie and Spencer explored the other side of the cavernous room, talking quietly as they poked into file boxes.

  Familiar cold brushed his cheek.

  He stilled, and a moment later, the ghost appeared, gliding through the wall at the back of the room.

  “Maggie.”