by Cate Dean
“I see her.” She grabbed Spencer’s hand, and they backed toward Martin, neither of them taking their eyes off the approaching ghost. “Her name is Karina Jones. She’s attached to one of the objects that were stolen...” Her voice faded as the implication registered.
“Which means that object is here.” Martin joined them. “I believe your break in was not to steal, Spencer, but to hide. Ian showing up at Cragmoor Manor must have spooked them.” He stepped in front of Maggie, keeping himself between her and what could be a violent spirit. “Hello, Karina. That is your name?”
She nodded, and floated back to the wall, glancing coyly over her shoulder.
“Do you really think they’d be crazy enough to hide stolen art in a public building?” Spencer whispered. He sounded odd; when Martin glanced over at him, he saw that most of the color had drained from his face.
“It would have been a clever move, if they had not left behind evidence that they had been here. Do you know anything about hidden storage rooms here, Spencer? Or perhaps a vault?”
“The vaults are on the other side of this level. These rooms are for temporary storage.” Spencer sounded steadier. “Giles used this room as his personal storage for years, so if there is a door in that wall, it’s been buried behind file boxes and other assorted items he crammed in here. The bulky things were moved out just last week. Before that we wouldn’t have even seen the back wall.”
The ghost slid through the wall until only her left arm remained. Her hand gestured for them to follow; Martin had to physically keep Maggie from doing so.
“Martin—”
“I will check for any possible traps.”
She huffed, but let him move ahead of her. He carefully checked the length of the back wall, halting when he spotted a seam, almost hidden by boxes that had been recently shoved against the wall. Their path in the dust proved that.
“Spencer, can you help me move these boxes? I believe I may have found something.”
“Sure.” Spencer and Maggie both shoved at the tall pile of file boxes, slowly revealing what Martin suspected lay behind them; a door panel, cleverly designed to blend in from even a short distance. “How did you see this?”
“Years of practice.” He ran his left hand up the seam, and found the latch at the top.
Maggie moved to his side as the door opened. He took her hand, and gestured to Spencer to push it wide.
Light flickered on as they followed Spencer into the room—and nearly ran into him when he halted. Peering over his shoulder, Martin understood why.
Every missing art object he had read about in the paper was stacked along the back wall.
***
Maggie patted Spencer’s arm as she walked past him. She recognized at least half a dozen of the items from the lists she had found online. The jeweled knife winked in the overhead light, resting on top of an Egyptian oil jar.
“How did they know the room was here? Oh, wait—Rich Danner worked here, remember, Spence? He was an intern. Giles sent him after me when I started getting too close to the truth about the apothecary jar.”
“And he could have told one of his cousins,” Martin said. “I’m guessing Giles knew about this hidden room, and took advantage of the knowledge.”
“So.” Maggie looked at him. “Some of this may not be part of the stolen art haul.” She moved toward the knife, watching Karina as she reached for it. The ghost nodded, and Maggie closed her hand around the scabbard. “It’s heavier than I expected.”
She carefully unsheathed the blade, not surprised to see dried blood near the hilt. If it had been evidence, it wouldn’t have been completely cleaned. The overhead light slid along the blade, and it looked as sharp as the day it had been forged.
Martin and Spencer joined her, examining the rest of the objects. “This is a Titian,” Spencer whispered, touching the edge of the gilt frame.
“That’s from the last gallery.” Both men looked at her. “I saw it the paper. Which one of the Cragmoors is the thief?”
“I would choose Leo,” Martin said. “He showed a genuine love for art, when he was taking us to the library. The paintings had been recently cleaned, the other valuable objects we passed were dust free. Craig did not strike me as the type to wield a cleaning cloth.” He kept moving along the wall. “Leo clearly knew fine art, because the reproductions, and cheaper objects, had been left behind. Ah,” he lifted a familiar object from the pile. It seems Ian was correct—the same thief. “This is one of the missing artifacts from the—ˮ
He cut himself off, staring at the floor.
“Martin?”
“Stay put, Maggie.”
She knew that tone.
Avoiding Spencer’s reaching hand, she ran over to Martin—and covered her mouth when she saw the foot sticking out from under a rich Persian rug. Martin set the artifact down, reached for the edge of the rug, and carefully lifted it.
Craig Cragmoor stared up at them, blood soaking his white shirt, and a small knife sticking out of his chest.
Twelve
Martin crouched down to check for a pulse, and glanced up at Maggie, shaking his head.
She let out her breath. “That proves that there was more than one thief. Craig couldn’t stab himself and then drag a heavy rug over his body.”
“I will ring Ian.” Spencer pulled his phone out. “These walls are too thick—I’m not getting a signal.” He headed for the door, tapping on his screen.
“Even when I’m not looking for a body, I seem to find them.”
Martin wrapped his left arm around her waist and guided her away from Craig.
“Once Ian arrives, we can go.”
“I’m not dainty, Martin.” Not anymore. Her first body was a shock, and it didn’t get easier, but she was able to handle it much better than she had the first time. She let out a not-so-steady breath. “I really thought it was going to be Leo under there.”
“Why would you think that, my dear Maggie?”
Martin shoved her behind him as Leo stepped into the room. She gasped, and tried to move around him when she saw Spencer. Leo was dragging his too-still form along the floor. Martin kept himself between her and Leo.
“Please, stay back.” Leo hauled Spencer’s limp body up and pressed the barrel of a pistol to his chest. “If you resist, I will be forced to shoot him. My poor brother did not listen, and you see the unpleasant result.” Maggie stared at him, not able to reconcile his conversational tone with the threat. He clarified by cocking the hammer. “Move.”
They did, Maggie letting go of Martin’s left arm. He would need to be able to maneuver freely if he saw an opportunity. She slipped her hand up her leg, tucked the knife in her waistband, at the small of her back, under her sweater. Hopefully, Leo wouldn’t search any of them.
Leo lowered Spencer to the floor, and aimed the pistol at Martin. “Please forgive the bluntness, but if you blink wrong, I will kill you all and lock you in here with Craig.”
“That would be counterproductive,” Martin said, his voice mild. “Since every item you and Craig took is here.”
Leo snorted. “I have no desire to keep it. The thrill is in the acquisition, the challenge.” He smiled at Martin. “There was no challenge at your dig site, but knowing that I would be taking something important to you almost made up for it.” His gaze swung to Maggie, and she swallowed. “Do you really think Craig had any part in choosing this stunning collection? All he cared about was the money we could get for selling the items. Imagine his surprise when I told him I was not selling any of it.”
“That’s why you killed him?”
He looked at Maggie, and shook his head. “I am not so sensitive. I know Craig’s crude and base needs. We did grow up together, after all. No, I killed him for you, dear Maggie.”
She covered her mouth, horrified by Leo’s confession. But since he seemed inclined to talk—which gave her more time to figure out how to keep them alive—she stayed quiet. When Leo walked over to her, pressing his p
istol against Martin’s throat when he started to block her, she stepped out from behind Martin.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I want to hear more.”
“When you were stupid enough to show up at the manor, Craig wanted to take you, hold you in exchange for our money.” Leo frowned in the direction of Craig’s body. “But I told him it would be too risky. He called me a fool, passing up a golden opportunity to retrieve the money that was rightfully ours. The money you stole from us.” Shaking his head, he turned away from Craig, and brushed Maggie’s cheek. It took all her control not to recoil. “He told me I was risking us both, breaking into public places and stealing.”
Maggie shuddered at the thought of being under the control of her cousins. For all his finesse, Leo was clearly the crueler brother. She doubted she would have survived the ordeal, even if her solicitors had given in to their demands.
Leo finally retreated, and waved at Martin. “Against the wall, if you please, Professor, your good arm in plain sight. I must warn you, that if you do anything foolish, I will shoot our dear Maggie.”
Martin nodded, not looking at Maggie as he headed to the back wall. When he reached it, he stretched his left arm out and pressed his hand against the wall.
“Now, Maggie.” Leo smiled at her, and she stilled, forcing herself to keep eye contact. He scanned her from head to toe, and left her feeling dirty. “If you can please move to the corner.” His ugly smile had her heart pounding. “And drop to your knees.”
She nodded, and obeyed him, every step taking her farther from Martin and Spencer. With her arms spread, she lowered herself to her knees. Martin cursed when Leo grabbed her chin.
“Shut up!” The temper Maggie had gotten a glimpse of when they first met finally revealed itself. He leaned in, and she flinched. “Why did you not give up? Craig became obsessed with you, making a new plan every other hour to lure you back out to Cragmoor. I had to stop him. You understand, don’t you? He would have taken us both down with him.”
“I understand,” she whispered. “You were protecting the family name.”
“I was protecting myself.” He shoved her, and she fell backward, letting out a pained cry when her left side slammed into the wall. She scrambled to her knees again, terrified that any vulnerability would leave her open to his growing rage. “I don’t care about the Cragmoor name—I hated Arthur, and his precious need to honor the request of a dead ancestor. A dead female ancestor, who wasn’t even real family. The money should have been mine. I would have known what to do with it.” He sneered. “And it would not have included a second rate antique shop in a nowhere village.”
He backed away from her, his pistol moving between her and Martin. Maggie understood what he planned to do, and she pushed to her feet when his attention was on Martin.
Leo fired. The bullet missed her by inches, imbedding in the wall next to her shoulder.
“No, Maggie.” Martin’s deep voice halted her.
“Listen to the honorable professor.” Leo headed for Martin, and reached out to pull off his wire-rimmed glasses. “You won’t be needing these, since you won’t be able to see. I’ll take your mobile, as well. Now.”
Martin handed it over. Leo strode to her and held out his hand. “Mobile, dear Maggie. No sudden moves, or I will have to retaliate, and shoot your unconscious friend.”
She nodded, and pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. Leo caressed her fingers as he took it, and she used every ounce of control she had left to keep from snatching her hand away.
“I wish this had ended differently,” he said, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand. “We could have been good together, my beautiful cousin. I could have taught you all that I know, and the money would have taken us anywhere we wanted to go.”
He finally freed her and backed toward the door, glancing down at Spencer. Maggie swallowed; he was still unconscious, and she could see blood sliding down the right side of his face, from under his tousled hair.
Leo stepped across the threshold, and flashed a smile, waving to them as the door closed. A second after the door clicked, the lights went out.
***
“Maggie!”
“I’m okay, Martin.”
“Stay where you are. I have a torch in my pocket.”
She heard fumbling, and him cursing under his breath. Finally, a beam of light flared out from where he stood, shining in her direction.
“Check on Spencer,” she said. “He’s bleeding. I’ll make my way to you, since that part of the floor is clear.”
If she remembered right, most of the obstructions were along the back wall. To be safe, she got on her hands and knees and crawled forward, trying to keep as much weight off her left hand as possible. It still screamed at her by the time she reached the small pool of light next to Martin.
She heard Spencer groan, and picked up the torch, holding it up so Martin could examine his head.
“Sorry, Mags,” he muttered. “I didn’t hear him until it was too late.” He patted his coat, flinching at the movement. “The wanker took my mobile.”
“He confiscated ours, as well.” Martin produced a linen handkerchief and pressed it to the wound on Spencer’s head. He had started carrying them, after Maggie proved how handy they were to have.
Maggie stood. “I’m going to check for a latch on this side.”
Not that she expected to find one—though it would have been a fatal design flaw not to have some way to get out if the door somehow closed on the occupant. She just needed to do something constructive, to keep from thinking about the fact that they were trapped in a room with no light.
She brailled her way to the wall with the door, and lifted her hand. When they had first come in, she didn’t think to look for ventilation. The storage room had been cool, with adjustable climate control for whatever was stored there. Here, she felt no air flow, from any direction.
“Add no ventilation to no light,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” Spencer said, his voice raw. “I noticed that. But it’s a big room, and I doubt the door is air tight.”
She reached down, and felt cool air on her fingers. “You’re right. If I don’t find a latch, we might be able to pry the door open.” Using the wall to stand, she moved back to the men. “How are you doing? Both of you,” she added.
Spencer sat, groaning. “I’ve been better.” He cradled his head in both hands.
“I will survive,” Martin said. He took Maggie’s hand. “As will we all. Have faith, love. Givens knows we are here, and Ashton will—ˮ
“Be gone before he can miss us.” She sank to the floor, gripping Martin’s hand. “Leo is bound to come back at some point. Next time, he probably won’t leave us unscathed.”
As if she had summoned him, the door opened, triggering the overhead lights. Maggie covered her eyes, the light painful, even after a short time in absolute darkness.
Leo sighed, studying them. “I thought I could simply leave you all here, and make my escape. But then, I thought more on it, and I figured you might be able to get yourselves out.” Leo smiled at Maggie, and she flinched. “You do have a reputation for cleverness, so I am afraid I can’t leave any witnesses.” His smile faded, and he pointed his pistol at them. “Now, get up, all of you. I need you to move to the corner, your backs to me.”
“Sorry, mate,” Spencer said. “We’re not going to become target practice for you.”
“Do as I say!” Leo grabbed Martin’s right shoulder and jammed the pistol into his side. “I will kill him if you don’t move. Now!”
Maggie helped Spencer to his feet, and let him go ahead of her. She backed toward the wall, her hand creeping up her leg, toward the knife still tucked in her waistband. If she could reach it before Leo noticed, she could—
What, Maggie? Knife doesn’t beat gun.
She shut down the argument. If she didn’t try, they would all die here, locked inside a room that might never be found.
Leo dragged Martin to the corner and
shoved him forward. Martin gasped as his right shoulder slammed against the wall. When Leo followed him, aiming the pistol at his back, instinct took over.
She yanked the knife out of her waistband, out of its sheath, flipped the blade and threw it.
The blade flew across the room and impaled Leo’s hand just as he was pulling the trigger.
Instead of hitting Martin, the shot imbedded itself in the wood box next to him.
“Martin!” Maggie stumbled forward.
Spencer beat her there, tackling Leo. They hit the floor, hard, and she flinched when Leo’s impaled hand bounced off the floor.
He screamed, staring at his right hand. Maggie darted forward, scooping Leo’s pistol up. He was too busy screaming to notice he had dropped it. Spencer picked himself off the floor, looking dazed.
He blinked, and held out his hand. “Give me the pistol, sweetheart.” He took it before she could think to object. “Martin, get her out of here.”
Martin limped forward, caught her right arm, and kept going. He stopped once they were out of the hidden room, then he yanked her forward, holding onto her.
“That was foolish, love.”
“He was going to shoot you.” She pressed her face against his chest, shaking. Funny, she had been dead calm when she threw the knife. “My need to protect took over.”
“That was incredible, Mags.” Spencer stood in the doorway, the pistol aimed at Leo. “You still practice? I taught her how to throw,” he said to Martin, obviously proud of her skill. “She was always scary good with a knife.”
“Still is,” Martin said, his voice mild. “I will hunt down a phone and inform Ian. Why don’t you close the door, Spencer?”
“No.” Maggie eased out of Martin’s embrace. “I won’t subject him to the dark. He’s going to be punished enough.”
Martin nodded, then caught her chin in his left hand and leaned down. “I have always admired your courage, Maggie Mulgrew, but never more than now.”
He kissed her, and she knew any anger at her rash move was gone. After a gentle kiss on her cheek, then her temple, he let her go and limped out of the storage room. Maggie watched him leave, worried about the way he held his right arm. They would all be heading to the clinic once this was done.
