by Cate Dean
She joined Spencer, not sure she wanted to see what damage she had caused. Leo was slumped against the wall, whimpering, and apparently, talking to his dead brother.
“This is all your fault, Craig. You had to have the money, one way or another. But could you be patient? No—you had to try and run her down the second she left Cragmoor.” Maggie covered her mouth, stifling a gasp. “Now who is paying for your stupidity?”
He kicked at Craig’s leg, and let out a scream when the move shifted his impaled hand.
“Go, Maggie.” Spencer’s gentle voice jerked her around. “I can watch over him until Ian arrives. Don’t you ever second guess what you did.” He cradled her cheek. “You saved us.”
She nodded, and gave him a one-armed hug before she stumbled out of the room, reaching the closest chair before her knees buckled. Her left side throbbed, she felt like she was going to throw up, and she knew she had to be as pale as the ghost who’d led them here.
Ian strode into the storage room, a handful of constables right behind him. He ordered them to deal with the suspect, tape off the room, and headed straight for Maggie.
“Sit,” he said, when she tried to stand. “You don’t look all that steady yet.” He crouched in front of her and took her right hand, studying her. “Are you all right?” His quiet concern nearly broke her.
“Not really,” she whispered. She had used her skill to deliberately hurt someone. Part of her didn’t regret it one bit—and that scared her. “What happens now?”
“I take your statement, along with Martin and Spencer’s. It’s a clear case of self-defense, Maggie. I want you to stop looking at me like I am about to slap handcuffs on you.”
“Sorry.” She let out a shaky breath. “Leo stabbed his brother. We all heard his confession.”
“That should be enough. I am guessing he was in too much of a hurry to wipe his prints off the knife he used.”
“Since it’s still in Craig’s chest, I doubt it. Prints—Spencer is holding Leo’s pistol. I also touched it.”
“Was holding it.” Jackie, one of the new constables, held up an evidence bag containing the pistol. “Since the suspect claimed that it was his when I relieved Spencer of it, I’ll be saying with confidence that it belongs to him.”
Ian shook his head. “Sometimes, they make it so easy for us. Ah, Professor.” Ian stood and let go of her hand. “I’ll hand her over to you.” Martin stepped around Ian, moving to Maggie’s side. “We can take your statements tomorrow, once you have recovered. Don’t take any sudden trips.” He winked at Maggie before he strode over to the hidden room.
“You’re going to be all right, love.”
She nodded, afraid that if she tried to talk, the tears she fought to contain would burst free. Martin pulled her to her feet, and she jerked when Spencer appeared on her left.
“Just me, sweetheart.” He cradled her left elbow, gently, like he knew she hurt. He looked like he was the one who needed propping up; blood stained his face, and his normally clear blue eyes were dark with pain. “Let’s get out of here.”
Ian had assigned Jackie to drive them to the clinic, and he helped them get settled in the police sedan, driving straight up the pedestrian street. He parked in front of the clinic, and both Dr. Smith, and his wife, Lydia—who was also his nurse—met them on the sidewalk. Ian must have called ahead.
Dr. Smith took charge of Spencer. “They can go straight to the exam room,” he said, pointing at Maggie and Martin. “I want to examine his head wound first.”
“Lucky me.” Spencer smiled, then flinched when he stumbled. Dr. Smith led him inside before he could make another comment.
“Did you need assistance, Miss Mulgrew?” Jackie glanced over at Martin. “Oh, Mrs. Martin. Sorry.”
“No worries. It’s still new to me. Thank you.” She held out her hand and Jackie helped her out of the car, leading her into the clinic. Lydia and Martin were just ahead of her. “What will happen to Leo?” She knew, but she needed a distraction.
“If he did kill his brother, you won’t be worrying about him, ever.”
She nodded, and let him settle her in a chair in the exam room. Martin was already sitting on the edge of the table; he slid off and moved to her, cradling her cheek. Jackie slipped out, leaving them alone.
“All right, love?”
“No,” she whispered. “Craig was the one who tried to run us off the road. Leo revealed it, when he was talking to Craig.”
She leaned forward and wrapped her arm around his waist, tears stinging her eyes. In the moment, she had been calm, thinking only about the need to stop Leo before he hurt Martin. Now, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop shaking.
“It’s a normal reaction.” Martin’s deep, quiet voice soothed her, his hand gently rubbing her back. “You have been cool under pressure since I first met you. Falling apart after you saved the hero is perfectly normal.”
She let out a choked laugh. “Saved the hero.”
Martin cradled the back of her head, and she looked up at him. “You did, Maggie. Leo had decided when he returned that killing us was his only option. You took that option away from him.”
“I throw knives because I enjoy hitting a target. I never expected to use that skill on another person.”
“I, for one, am grateful you did. I believe Spencer would second the sentiment.” He smiled, and cradled her cheek. “You have been my heroine since you distracted Drew Cooperman, then managed to throw frankincense oil in his and Edward Carlisle’s eyes with your hands tied. Even without my glasses, I saw the precision of that throw, the courage it took to stand up to them. I believe that’s when I fell in love with you.”
“For assaulting our kidnappers?”
He chuckled, and some of the weight on her heart eased. “For refusing to give in to them. You are still the most interesting woman I have ever known, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”
This time, she couldn’t stop the tears.
Martin let her go long enough to drag a chair over and sit next to her. Then he held her as she cried, whispering to her, gently kissing her temple, her cheek.
When her crying jag slowed, she straightened, and took the handkerchief he offered to wipe at her face. She knew she looked terrible—she wasn’t pretty when she cried, her skin turning blotchy, her eyes red.
Dr. Smith walked in before she could clean herself up.
“Spencer is going to be fine. I am keeping him overnight, for observation. Both of you will be joining him. Martin, why don’t I look at you first, while Maggie splashes some water on her face.”
He was so matter of fact she didn’t feel embarrassed.
After helping Martin to the exam table, he offered Maggie a hand up.
“Thank you.”
“I rarely have a genuine heroine in my care.” He smiled as he led her to the sink. “You did exactly what you needed to do, Maggie. Remember that.”
He left her and walked over to Martin.
She took his advice and turned on the faucet. The cold water felt good on her overheated skin, so she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the rack, then grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and wet them down, using them to cool the back of her neck.
By the time she turned away from the sink, Dr. Smith was ready for her—and Martin was gone.
“No need to panic, Maggie. I sent him with Lydia, back to his bed. You have one with your name on it back there. All three of you will be staying overnight. Detective Inspector Reynolds’ orders. He beat me to it.”
“Okay.” She was too sore, and too exhausted to argue. Besides, she would feel safe surrounded by thick walls, with constables between her and any other possible relative with a grudge. “Most of the damage is on my left side.”
He carefully helped her out of her sweater, shaking his head at sight of the wounds. She was grateful she had worn a camisole today; she felt less naked than she would have in one of her lacy bras.
After a thorough
check, he handed her a flowered hospital gown and matching robe. “Did you need help changing?” She shook her head. “I will have Lydia come and take you back in five minutes.”
“Thank you, Dr. Smith.”
He winked at her. “Do me a favor, and darken the door of my clinic for another reason next time.”
He left her alone.
She took her time changing, her arm throbbing, and a headache forming by the time Lydia came to take her back to her bed.
They had curtained off the back of the small ward, giving the three of them some privacy. Fortunately, there wasn’t anyone else in the clinic tonight.
Maggie halted next to the curtain. “My shop,” she said, her voice scratchy with exhaustion. “I have to go and put up a sign that I won’t be open tomorrow—”
“By tomorrow, Mags, everyone in the village is going to know what happened.” Spencer waved at her from his bed, a bandage peeking out from under his hair. Maggie wasn’t surprised to see Grace sitting in a chair next to his bed, gripping his free hand. “I think you’re good. Besides, you would have to get past however many constables Ian has standing guard.”
“Sorry.” She leaned against Lydia, and let her lead the way to the empty bed. “I’m not thinking straight.”
“Trauma can do that,” Lydia said, smiling as she lowered Maggie to the edge of the bed. “Use the call button if you need anything. I left a sleeping pill for each of you, in case you need it. Not you, Spencer—with that head injury, you will have to tough it out.”
He sighed, and touched his bandage. “I don’t think I will have any problem falling asleep, if I’m allowed to.”
“No sign of a concussion, but one of us will be checking you every half hour. Good night.” She pulled the curtain closed, leaving them alone.
“I’m staying,” Grace said, gently brushing hair off Spencer’s forehead. “No argument.”
“None from me.”
She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
Maggie braced herself when Grace headed for her. But Grace must have been apprised of Maggie’s injuries, because instead of hugging her, she took Maggie’s right hand.
“Thank you, for what you did. I hardly know what I would do if I lost Spencer.”
“I’m glad I had the ability to stop him, before anything undoable happened.”
Grace kissed her cheek. “I’m glad Spencer knows you, that you’re part of my life now.”
Maggie swallowed, and managed a pale smile, watching Grace move back to Spencer, and fuss over him. If she hadn’t been part of Spencer’s life, he wouldn’t have been in danger—
Stop it. That’s the guilt talking, and you know it.
Martin touched her hand, pulling her out of her funk. He studied her, brushing hair off her cheek. “All right, love?”
“I’ve been better. Thanks for letting me cry all over you.” She ignored Spencer’s raised eyebrows.
“One of my husbandly duties.” He kissed her forehead, and helped her climb into bed. “Do you want the sleeping pill?”
“No. I want to be able to wake myself if I have a bad dream.”
She let out a sigh and laid her head on the soft pillow. It felt like it had been days since she’d been at Spencer’s flat. Martin leaned over and kissed her. “Sleep well, love.”
“You, too.”
She watched him slide into bed, looking for any signs of pain. He kept his right arm as immobile as possible; the confining sling helped him with that. When he was finally settled, he smiled at her, then closed his eyes.
His glasses were in evidence, after they had been found in Leo’s pocket. Martin had a spare pair—at home. Maggie knew he would be unable to get around until he managed to acquire them.
Another detail to deal with. Tomorrow. She stifled a yawn, and turned on her right side. Martin faced her, on his left. She smiled at him, glad his face would be the last thing she saw before she fell asleep.
Thirteen
After more paperwork than she ever wanted to see again, Maggie and Martin were free. Poor Spencer was stuck for at least another day, but he had Grace for company, and two fresh constables to keep out any curious locals.
For the first time since they had nearly been run off the road, Maggie and Martin went home together.
She braced herself when Martin opened the door, ready for another mess. Instead, everywhere she looked, it was immaculate.
“We owe Henry a bonus,” she said. “He did an incredible job. Maybe all the cleanup left Anthea feeling guilty.”
Martin wrapped his arm around her waist. “She wanted your attention, love. Once she got it, there was no need to keep misbehaving.”
“It’s her turn, Martin.” She looked up at him. “I want to find her murderer, so she can finally rest.”
“If you are up for it, I will speak with my contacts. Anthea deserves justice.”
The house smelled musty; in spite of the cold, she opened several windows on each floor. Martin started a fire in the library, and they snuggled together on the leather sofa, sipping tea and eating the sandwiches Lilly had sent over as soon as she learned they had been sprung.
“I’m sorry, Martin.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “What I thought was a safe puzzle turned out to be deadly.”
“No need for you to apologize, love.” He kissed the top of her head. “You hardly knew that a visit to Cragmoor Manor would set off such a chain of events. Speaking of Cragmoor, do you know what will happen to it now?”
Maggie had spoken to one of her solicitors at the clinic this morning, after they had called in a panic, learning what had happened when the police called asking about Craig and Leo.
“It’s mine. I don’t want it; that place has some seriously bad karma attached to it. But there is one thing I want to do before I get rid of it.” She lifted her head and met Martin’s eyes. “I want to find out what’s behind that book case.”
***
It took almost two weeks to jump through all the legal hoops, but the property finally belonged to Maggie. She didn’t plan to keep it long.
Like he promised, Martin talked to a couple of his contacts, about Anthea, and the possibility of handing over the manor. Two of them were interested enough to make the trip out to look at the manor. Before they did, she, Martin, and Spencer had a final date with Cragmoor Manor before she let it go.
Maggie spent the time rereading Anthea and Jeremy’s journals, bringing them with her to the shop, after spending that time absolutely stir crazy.
She halted half a block from The Ash Leaf, spotting the last person she wanted to see.
Floyd Wilton paced in front of the shop, a determined look on his face. He must have been ordered off by Ian, because she hadn’t received one of his usual probing calls, claiming the public had a right to know—every intimate detail of her personal life, apparently.
She squared her shoulders, shifted the journal in her hands so they were tucked in the crook of her arm, and strode up to him.
“Waiting for me, Floyd?”
He spun, his phone already headed for her face. “Spare no gory details, Maggie. The public has a right—ˮ
“The public can read it in the Times, or come and ask me personally. I have nothing to say.”
She started to move past him.
“Not without a quote I can print—ˮ
He shocked her by grabbing her arm. Her still achy left arm. What little patience she had for his games snapped.
“Let go of me, or so help me, Floyd Wilton, or I will sic my solicitors on you.”
He blinked at her quiet voice—then the threat sank in.
“Strangling the voice of the media! I will—ˮ
“You will let her go, this instant, or I will be happy to strangle your voice.” Ashton stepped out of the shop, his green eyes narrowed. “Now, Wilton.” He had about as much respect for the sneaky, underhanded journalist as Maggie.
Floyd let her go and backed off, both hands raised. “I will have
a quote about this latest threat to our village, whether it comes from you or not.”
His eyes widened as Ashton headed for him, and took off, running down the pedestrian street.
“Maggie.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry you had to face him. I’ve had to chase the leech off at least three times a day since the news broke.” He held her at arm’s length, and studied every inch of her. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Okay.” She was still shaking from Floyd’s outrageous actions, her anger needing a release. She took several deep breaths as she followed Ashton into the shop. Once the familiar walls surrounded her, the anger started to fade. “It’s so good to be back.”
“I am so relieved you’re all right.” He crossed his arms, and she knew he wasn’t happy with her. “Why did you keep this from me?”
“I didn’t want to burden you during your holiday. I left you the letter in the flat, so you knew as soon as you got back.”
“You need to go home.” He turned her toward the door. “You have to rest—”
“I’ve been resting for a week now, Ashton. I’m on the edge of crazy from the boredom.” She took his arm. “Why don’t you show me what’s new.”
He walked her around the shop, shyly pointing out some of the changes he’d made, constantly glancing at her. She approved of everything he had done; he had a good eye for retail display, and his montages set off to new advantage some of the pieces she hadn’t been able to sell.
She had a feeling they would be going to new homes soon.
“The shop looks amazing, Ashton.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I do. You rearranged just enough that customers who come in on a regular basis will see items they haven’t noticed before. I tend to get in a rut with my displays, so they needed some shaking up. Thank you.”
She kissed his cheek, smiling when he blushed.
“I love working here, Maggie.” He stared at the far wall. “I was hoping, if it was possible, that I could go with you to the next estate sale.”
