Written on the Wind

by Cate Dean

  His laughter made her smile. She couldn’t imagine her life without Spencer Knight in it. A glance at the clock had her double-timing.

  “Where did the last two hours go?” She had fifteen minutes until she needed to open the shop, and she knew the tour buses would converge soon after. “Warp speed, Maggie.”

  Spencer rushed out with a stacked rolling cart. He must have seen the time as well. Together, they ran through the shop, stocking empty shelves and open spots on tables, sweaty and breathless when they finished—with one minute left before opening.

  “Thanks,” she gasped, clutching the mahogany counter. “I couldn’t have finished without you.”

  Spencer grunted, all but stretched out next to her on the counter. “Want to Roshambo for who gets to unlock the front door? I doubt I can take another step.”

  “I’ll do it. Detach yourself from the counter, Spence, or I’ll sell you to the first customer.”

  She straightened her bright blue shirt, tucked whatever stray hair she could find into her bun, and wiped her hands on her jeans, thankful she’d worn her lighter pair. They didn’t show the dust.

  A crowd of women stood on the sidewalk, and Maggie could hear their excited chatter, even through the heavy glass and wood.

  “Here we go.”

  ***

  Martin walked into the shop—and into the middle of chaos.

  He jumped in to help, scanning the crowd of women for Maggie. She stood at the far end of the shop, surrounded by more women, showing off her collection of glass paperweights. Martin knew she would most likely sell out of them by the time she finished.

  Spencer stood behind the tall mahogany counter, ringing up sales as fast as he could. He waved at Martin, and looked a bit frantic, so Martin headed his way to assist. Maggie looked like she was holding her own.

  “Need a hand?”

  Spencer waved at the counter. Items covered the top of it, crowded together in small, and not so small, groupings. “If you can wrap and bag those, I will be forever in your debt.”

  They worked together, chatting with the women, and packaging up their purchases. Martin didn’t expect to enjoy the experience as much as he did. Now he understood Maggie’s joy in the shop; sharing her passion with like-minded people must be a pleasure, day after day. These women were certainly passionate about their shopping.

  Once the last group left, Maggie walked behind the counter, and sank to the floor. “Good heavens. Are they all gone?”

  Spencer walked over to the door and pushed it open. “The buses are leaving as I speak.” He let the door close and draped himself in the closest chair. “Please tell me that was the last of them.”

  Maggie shook her head, and since Spencer could not see her, Martin shook his head at Spencer for her. He bit back a smile at Spencer’s groan. It blossomed when Maggie laughed.

  “One invasion down,” she said. “One to go.”

  Spencer pushed himself out of the chair. “I’m going to go in the back and commit hara-kiri before they get here. I’ll apologize now for the mess.”

  “Just clean it up before you keel over.” His laughter filtered out of the back room. “Thank you, Martin,” she said. “You were a lifesaver.”

  “I enjoyed it.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. You’re good with people.”

  He shook his head. “Not normally. But surrounded by antiques, I suppose I have something in common with the people who walk in here. In normal social situations, I tend to be—painful.”

  Spencer leaned out of the back room to comment. “Interesting choice, Professor.”

  “Not Professor, not anymore.”

  Maggie took his hand, and he looked down at her. “Does it still bother you?” Her voice was gentle as she asked, and he appreciated her more.

  “Losing my position? For the most part, no. I am honestly relieved to be free of the politics and infighting. I do miss my students.” She squeezed his hand, and he smiled at her, grateful that she was in his life. “But that will ease once I start working dig sites come the fall.”

  “I’ll miss you.” Her voice was soft, and pitched so only he could hear.

  “Perhaps—ˮ He had wanted to offer before, but she had so little time to herself, what with running the shop. “Perhaps you could join me on one of the digs. Just for a day or two, or however long you can manage to get away.”

  Her crystal blue eyes lit up. “I’d love to. Thank you for asking me.”

  He crouched down and cradled her cheek. “I’ve wanted to, for some time now. Having you with me would be incredible.”

  He kissed her, not caring if Spencer, or anyone who happened to lean over the counter, saw them. When he released her, both of them a little breathless, he looked up to find Spencer leaning over the counter, grinning at them.

  “I’ll go get us some lunch,” he said. He reached into the till. “Your treat, boss.”

  Maggie nodded, her eyes still a bit hazy. Martin liked that he could throw her off balance like that, with a simple kiss. She did the same to him.

  Once Spencer left, he helped her to her feet, and gathered her into his arms. “I enjoyed last night,” he whispered, and knew without looking that she blushed. It was one of the small quirks about her that he loved. “I would enjoy doing it again soon.”

  “Me, too.” She met his eyes, the blush fading. “I need to do something about that book, Martin. I’m afraid it’s tied into what happened at the bookshop.”

  Her words sobered him. “I agree.” He freed Maggie, and took her hands. “You do realize, don’t you, that the book might be what’s keeping your ghost here?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh. I was so freaked out by her appearance that I didn’t even think beyond that. Why would she be attached to the book...” She let out a gasp, and he knew she understood what he wasn’t trying to say. “You think she wrote the note, don’t you?”

  “It makes sense, Maggie, since it reads like it had been written by someone already dead.” He squeezed her hands. “I have a feeling your ghost is still around because of the book, and whatever legend is behind it. Spirits often stay behind due to unfinished business. You told me that your aunt did not believe. I wouldn’t be surprised if she never saw the ghost, and blamed any mishap on faulty wiring.”

  “She does like to mess around with the lights.” Maggie sighed, and laid her head against his shoulder. “I think I need to talk to Patrick Tucker again. If she’s tied to the book, that means there’s more behind it than just a rare book and a note.” She hesitated, and when she spoke again, Martin had the distinct feeling that she was not telling him what really bothered her. “The note mentioned a treasure. I think the book may be worth money. And that there’s more than one.”

  He frowned at her. “What haven’t you told me, Maggie?”

  She hunched her shoulders. “It’s just a theory at this point.”

  “Based on?”

  With a sigh, she looked at him. “Something I overheard—unintentionally, before you start accusing me of eavesdropping. It was hard not to hear, since there was shouting involved.”

  “And who was doing the shouting?”

  She raised her eyebrows, but humored him. “Stasia and Theodore Moody. They were fighting when I went into Green Goddess for lunch the other day. Theodore sold some books that belonged to Stasia, so they must be worth enough to keep the café from closing. And Rich started to mention a set, the day I went to Cragmoor Manor. I think he meant a set of books.”

  “That would make sense. If she was as lonely as the entry we read indicated, there are more than likely several journals. They would have been her way of coping. And depending on what is in those books, they may be worth a great deal of money.”

  “And the complete set would be worth even more. No wonder Rich was so desperate to buy my book. And I’ve never seen the Moodys like that before, Martin. They always seemed happy to me. Quirky, but happy.” She sighed, and leaned against him again. “Now they look like they wou
ld strangle each other with the least provocation.”

  Martin hated to, but he agreed.

  Money changed people—and rarely for the better.

  Nine

  By the end of the day, Maggie didn’t want to do anything except go home and soak in a hot tub.

  But she had made a promise—and she had put Enid off long enough.

  With her sketchbook and list in hand, she locked the door to The Ash Leaf and made her way down the high street, stopping long enough to study the front of Enid’s shop.

  Holmesania still had a tacky look, but not as bad as before. Enid had taken the transformation seriously, and started changing her window displays. She still had some tacky tchotchkes, but mixed in with them were some new, quality pieces Maggie had never seen before.

  “Good start, Enid.” She walked inside, and immediately wanted to take back her compliment. If anything, the interior looked even more like a souvenir truck exploded. “Enid? It’s Maggie.”

  The older woman bustled out of the back room, wearing a frilly apron with a drawing of Sherlock Holmes on it. Maggie blinked, trying to wrap her mind around the lace, floral, and Holmes, all on one apron.

  “Maggie! Thank you so much for coming. I’ve laid tea in the back room. Let me just close up, so we can get started.”

  She rushed past Maggie and locked them in, as if she was afraid that Maggie would try to run after seeing what she was up against. Maggie wanted to, but she smiled instead, and followed Enid into the back room. To her surprise, it was empty, the shelves bare.

  “Is all your stock on the floor?”

  Enid nodded. “I plan to hold a fire sale, to get it out of here. I know it looks a mess, but taking it out of the back room was one step closer to taking it out of the shop.”

  “Clever.” Maggie sat at the table, her stomach rumbling. Enid had laid out a high tea. “This looks amazing.”

  Enid hadn’t held back; there were tiered trays of what looked like egg and cress sandwiches—Maggie’s personal favorite—along with at least two other kinds of sandwiches, a variety of biscuits, macarons, scones, clotted cream, and strawberry jam. A beautiful porcelain teapot sat next to each place setting, the scent of bergamot calling her. She didn’t know where to start.

  They both sat, and Enid handed her a plate that matched the tea pot. “Take whatever you like, my dear. Spencer told me you favored egg and cress.” Enid smiled at her. “It is a family recipe. I hope you like them.”

  “They look great.” Maggie filled her plate, her lunch of salad and bread hours ago, and burned off after an even busier afternoon. She took a bite of the egg and cress, and her eyes threatened to roll back in her head. “Enid— this is the best I’ve ever tasted. It’s delicious.”

  Enid flushed, her hands fluttering. “I—thank you, Maggie, dear. I wanted this to be perfect, since you are going to do so much for me.”

  “Speaking of that,” Maggie poured a cup of tea, and let the calming scent of Earl Grey waft around her. “I brought some sketches, and a list of suppliers I think you should take a look at.”

  They pored over her sketchbook, and her notes, eating and talking. Maggie didn’t expect to feel so at ease with the fussy, older woman, but Enid had a wicked sense of humor, and a good eye for quality.

  “I think,” Enid said, pouring the last of her pot. “That we have come up with something quite magical.”

  “I think you’re right. I’m so excited for you, Enid. It will take some time, but I know we can have the shop of your dreams by the fall. Just in time for the next round of village tours.”

  Maggie had learned from one of the guides today that the tour had become so popular, they were offering two; one in the summer, and a slightly different one in the fall.

  Holmestead was a highlighted stop on both, due to the owner of the tour company, who had fallen in love with the quaint village. She wanted to share it with the people who took her tours, and share her love of this part of the coast. Maggie couldn’t have been more thrilled to hear about their plans.

  Fall was a slow time for the village, but a tour, with them as a highlight, could spread the word, and bring in more business. Personally, Maggie thought Holmestead was at its best in the early fall. She loved the abundance of flowers in the spring, and the warmer weather—sometimes—in the summer.

  But the rich colors came out in September, and on the cliff overlooking the village, the castle looked spectacular, surrounded by trees, their leaves brilliant as they started to change color.

  After they both finished off the tea, and everything but the crumbs, they headed out to the front of the shop, and Maggie started doing a quick inventory. Not much would stay, and she wasn’t all that sure that what had to go would sell, even at a seriously reduced price.

  They could deal with that when the time came.

  Once they hit the back of the shop, Maggie was fast running out of steam. Enid obviously noticed; she laid her hand on Maggie’s arm.

  “Why don’t you go on home, my dear. We’ve done more than enough for one night. I need to take it all in, and I believe I would like to be alone to do so.”

  “Right. Good night, Enid.” She headed to the front of the shop, Enid behind her, and picked up her bag. “I’ll phone you in the next couple of days, to see how you feel about the changes.”

  “I will wait to hear from you. Good night, dear.” She let Maggie out the front door, and Maggie waited until the door lock clicked into place before she headed for home.

  The long, busy day caught up with her all at once, and she debated going around back and driving her Rover the short distance home. Just the thought of walking it made her feet ache.

  A sharp crack echoed down the street. Maggie forgot about being tired, and peered through the lamp lit darkness. She started running when she saw the light pouring out of the open door of Only Old Books.

  She skidded to a halt outside the door. Martin would kill her if she walked in there alone. Instead, she set her bag down and peered inside. “Mr. Tucker? Are you here?” She heard a groan, and her heart skipped when a figure appeared in the doorway leading to the back—too tall to be the diminutive owner. She backed into the street, stumbling on the raised cobblestones. “I’m calling the police—”

  The figure sprinted forward. Maggie moved at the same time, snatching up her bag. The deposit from today’s sales was inside, the coin making it twice as heavy. She waited, gauging where her target would be. When the figure appeared, she swung her bag and let out a scream.

  The coin-filled bag smacked the hooded figure on the side of the head. The person stumbled, stopping long enough for Maggie to get in another whack before they pushed off the wall and disappeared into the closest alley. Lights started coming on—more than one shop owner lived upstairs—including the lights over her own shop.

  “Uh, oh,” she whispered. Even though she had come out of it unharmed, Martin was going to be furious with her.

  She made good on her threat, and called Ian. He would need to check the shop before anyone went inside. After she called, she stood just outside, and checked for any other signs of life. She did hear a groan, and it probably didn’t come from whoever she walloped with her bag.

  “Maggie!” Martin appeared, wearing a wrinkled button down blue shirt and jeans. She almost smiled at his bare feet. “What are you doing?”

  “I just—I was leaving Enid’s shop, and I saw the light. The door was already open, Martin, so stop glaring at me. The second I got here, someone ran out. I hit them with my purse.”

  His lips twitched. “You hit them, with your purse.”

  “It has the shop deposit in it.” She handed him the bag, vindicated when he hefted it, his amusement fading. “I was going to take my Rover and drive home. That’s where I was headed when I saw the light.” She felt like she was trying to explain herself to an angry parent.

  “I thought you had gone home hours ago.”

  “I told you I was going to go over ideas with Enid. We jus
t finished, and I was—”

  “It’s after midnight, Maggie.” His quiet words had her blinking up at him.

  “What?” She glanced at her jacket lapel—and remembered that she had forgotten to put on her watch pin this morning. “I had no idea. We got so caught up—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I was hardly the only one who heard you scream.”

  “It was reflex. I didn’t...” Her voice faded as she looked past him, and saw almost a dozen people, gathered together and whispering. Fantastic—she was about to be the center of attention. Again. “I didn’t plan on stumbling across a robbery, Martin.”

  He sighed, and ran one hand through his hair. He’d been in such a hurry, he forgot his glasses. His grey blue eyes looked vulnerable without them, and she could see that he was worried about her.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t walk at night on your own, not until whoever is behind the murder is caught.”

  She wanted to stamp her foot and say no—but he was right. And he had every reason to be worried, after what had happened in June. She opened her mouth to tell him, and Ian strode up, wearing jeans and a sweater.

  “Dispatch rang me,” he said. “Did you go inside?”

  “No. I wanted to wait for you to check things first. But I heard someone groan, Ian, like they were in pain.”

  “Stay here.”

  He stepped inside, holding the torch in his hand like a club. Maggie didn’t blame him. He disappeared into the back, returning after less than a minute.

  “Well?”

  “No one. And as far as I can tell, nothing was disturbed. We still have the front of the shop marked off, from the murder.”

  “Someone was in there, Ian.”

  “I believe you, Maggie. I trust your word, more than anyone else in this village. Present company excepted, Professor.” He nodded at Martin. “Let me call Patrick Tucker.”

  He stepped away from them as he pulled out his mobile, tapping in a number. Martin wrapped his arm around Maggie’s shoulders, pulling her into his side. She didn’t notice how chilled she was until she leaned against him. He started rubbing her arm when she shivered.