Written on the Wind

by Cate Dean

“I’m fine, Spence. And if that’s the best you can do, then I feel sorry for your love interest.”

  He lifted her off her feet and squeezed. “I was so scared, Maggie,” he whispered. “I was down at the pub when Martin rang me. You were in trouble, not even a block away, and I was drinking—”

  “Last I checked, you’re not my babysitter. I’m okay.” She squeezed him back, and he set her on her feet. “I’ll be better once I get some answers.”

  “You will have to wait on that,” Martin said. “Tucker has been moved, and will be in hospital for at least a week. It was close, Maggie.” She swallowed, and met his eyes. “If you had not found him when you did, he would have died.”

  “That was the plan,” she whispered. “And framing me on top of it. Did Ian find Theodore?”

  Martin nodded. “He was in the back of the café, grabbing everything of value. Ian told me that he broke down and confessed the moment Ian appeared.” He paused, and Maggie was ready to drag the rest out of him when he continued. “Theodore killed Rich, after following him to your shop. It seems he was trying to recover the books, so he could get back in Stasia’s good graces. When he realized that Rich had the same idea, he decided to eliminate the competition.”

  “That’s interesting, because Stasia claimed that she killed him. She even had scratches on her arm.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “It sounds like Ian is going to have his hands full.”

  “Stasia confirmed that Theodore was your attacker.”

  “That was his second confession. To his credit, he did ask after me.”

  “That’s enough,” Spencer said. He kept his arm around her waist as he turned her to the door. “Let’s take you home. We can talk more there.”

  He led her outside, where his van waited. After settling her in the front seat, he helped Martin climb in, and slid into the driver’s seat. She leaned against the window, the cool glass soothing on her bruised cheek. Just thinking about what had almost happened left her shaky, and she expected it would for some time to come.

  For now, she was safe, and the people she loved were safe. The rest could wait.

  ***

  Three endless weeks passed before Patrick Tucker came back to Holmestead.

  Maggie filled the time by getting her shop back into shape, and helping Enid with her own sidewalk sale, hoping to get rid of the last of her more tacky merchandise.

  To their surprise, they were cleaned out by the tour groups that came through, delighted by the kitschy and cheap souvenirs. Enid used the profits to buy more stock, and with Maggie’s help, had a brand new shop ready for the first stage of upcoming holiday season. Halloween.

  Her own shop had finally bounced back from two bouts of vandalism. It wasn’t until after she was somewhat recovered that Martin and Spencer broke the news to her. Stasia had taken out her rage at not finding the book on the last of Maggie’s surviving stock.

  She had also officially confessed to stabbing Rich, despite Theodore’s gesture to protect her.

  Finally, after nearly two weeks of hard work, the grand reopening of The Ash Leaf was finally happening. Maggie was almost more nervous than she had been at the original opening.

  “You will do fine, Mags.” Spencer stood behind the counter, looking dapper in a button down shirt and colorful tie. Maggie didn’t ever remember seeing him in a tie. “Everyone loves the shop, and with all new merchandise, it will be like letting kids into a candy shop.” He walked around the counter and draped his arm across her shoulders. “Look at all the people waiting out there.”

  “That’s the part scaring me the most,” she whispered. “What if it doesn’t meet their expectations? You played up the shop so much in the adverts. I don’t think what I have for sale is as amazing as—”

  “What you have is better.” He rubbed her arm. “Look around, Maggie, and tell me they won’t love every inch.”

  She did what he said, and tried to be objective. It was difficult, since she personally loved every piece, and had chosen them with care. But she also knew her taste was more on the eclectic side, and didn’t appeal to everyone. As much as she liked Enid now, the older woman refused to shop here. Not up to her snuff, as she liked to say.

  Maggie had to remember that Enid’s opinion wasn’t everyone’s opinion.

  “Thanks, Spence. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  He patted her arm and let her go. “I was going to talk to you about that.”

  Panic skated down her spine. “What is it? You’re not leaving, are you?”

  “In a way.” He scuffed his foot against the newly refinished wood floor, reminding her of the little boy she’d loved like a brother. “Mags, the museum offered me a position.”

  “Spencer, that’s incredible news. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because.” He finally met her eyes. “I received the offer the day you found Patrick in your back room.”

  “Oh, Spence.” She took his hand. “I would have been happy to hear about it, no matter what was happening. You accepted the offer—please tell me you accepted the offer.”

  He looked at her for endless seconds, and grinned. “Looks like my time in university won’t go to waste, after all.”

  “I’m so proud of you.” Maggie wrapped her arms around his waist. After a long hug, she let him go. “How long do I have to find a replacement?”

  “A fortnight.”

  “Okay, I can do that. I think.”

  He frowned. “If you need longer—”

  “Don’t you even think about it, Spencer Knight. I’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, she will.” Martin limped out of the back of the shop, where the door to his flat was. He had graduated to a cane in the last few days, and insisted on moving back to his flat. Maggie missed having him with her. “I can fill in, until she finds a suitable replacement.”

  “Martin.” Maggie frowned at him. “You have—”

  “No current plans.” He tapped his leg. “Not until this heals. I will be doing some long distance consulting for my current job, but aside from the phone consultations, I am all yours.”

  Maggie stared at him, not knowing what to say. She loved him, but she had never liked him more than she did now. He really was a good man.

  “I’ll take you,” she said.

  Spencer pretended to gag, and danced out of range when she reached over to smack him.

  “I’ll go open the door, if you’re ready, Mags.”

  She took a deep breath, and nodded.

  It was time for the next chapter of her life to start.

  Twenty

  Flushed from the success of her opening, Maggie wanted to celebrate. Patrick Tucker showed up right before she closed, and his appearance changed those plans.

  He looked tired, but much healthier than the last time she saw him. She waved to him, and finished wrapping the purchases for her final customer.

  “Thank you, Lilli. You didn’t need to buy anything.”

  “I absolutely did.” Lilliana smiled at her. “Your stock is even lovelier than before, Maggie. I restrained myself, with great difficulty. You will hold those other items for me?”

  “With pleasure. They’re already safely tucked in the back room.”

  “Thank you.” Lilliana took the handle bag, and closed her free hand over Maggie’s, squeezing gently. “Congratulations, love. You’re a hit.”

  Maggie nodded, all she could manage, since her throat was tight with emotion.

  After Lilliana left, Spencer practically sprinted to the front door and locked it, sagging against the wall.

  “We did it.” He grinned at Maggie, and pushed off the wall, headed straight for her. “You did it, Mags.”

  She let out a shriek when he grabbed her around the waist and spun her. They were both laughing by the time he set her down. Martin took his place, and pulled her into his arms, whispering against her ear.

  “Congratulations, Maggie.”

  She held on to him, knowing that when she
let go she would have to face Patrick, and whatever family secrets he came to tell her.

  “Stay,” she said, leaning back so she could look at him. “I need an objective set of ears for this conversation.”

  “I would be honored. What about Spencer?”

  “He has a date.” Maggie had been teasing him about it all day. “I might even get to meet this one, since this is date number three.”

  “You don’t usually meet his girlfriends?”

  “Spencer has a rule—three dates before he introduces her to anyone. The last few haven’t gotten past date two. He is really picky.”

  “Not picky.” Spencer joined them. “Selective.” He butted Maggie’s shoulder with his. “They have a lofty goal, since Maggie here is my ruler.” He kissed her cheek, and saluted Martin. “Enjoy your evening. I want all the details, Mags.” He glanced at Patrick for emphasis. “All of them.”

  “I’ll take notes.”

  “Perfect.” He winked at her, and strode across the shop, disappearing through the doorway to the back room.

  Martin pulled her in for another squeeze before he let her go. “Ready?”

  She let out her breath. “Yes.”

  He took her hand, and they walked over to Patrick. Maggie almost smiled when she saw him fingering the display of letter openers. He turned to her, new wire rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose, his hands clasped together. She was relieved that he looked as nervous as she felt.

  “Thank you for your patience, Maggie.” He pushed his glasses up. “I did not expect to take so long to recover.”

  “I’m just glad to see you doing so well.”

  He gripped her free hand. “I would not be here at all if not for you.” After a long moment, he freed her hand. “It is long past time for you to know about your heritage, Maggie. Shall we sit?”

  She led them to the table she had set up as an informal tea for the opening. It was out of view of the front window, and there were table lamps, so she could turn off the overhead lights. She left the men to seat themselves and slipped into the back room, switching off the lights before she pulled three bottles of water out of the small fridge.

  By the time she returned, Martin and Patrick were settled, and obviously waiting for her. She passed out the bottles, and sat next to Martin. Having him close by helped settle her nerves—and she had nerves in spades.

  “I know about my aunt being married to Arthur Cragmoor,” she said. “But how does that put me in line for an inheritance?”

  Patrick clasped his hands together and focused on Maggie. “The money came to Arthur from his mother’s side. You are actually related, Maggie. Your aunt and Arthur were distant cousins. The woman who wrote the note, and who haunts your delightful shop, is your many times removed grandmother. The money was hers, and has been held in trust, by the male descendants, until a female they deemed worthy was born. One who would use the money for good, and not personal gain.” He smiled. “Your aunt knew after your first summer here that you were the one Anthea had described in her will, as well as her post death note.”

  She wasn’t surprised that he knew so much about her ghost. What had her reaching for Martin’s hand was the knowledge that Aunt Irene had believed in her, from the start. Tears stung her eyes at the thought of her aunt.

  Not a day went by that Maggie didn’t miss her sharp tongue, her wicked sense of humor. The Ash Leaf, and her life here, had all been possible because of Irene’s belief in her.

  “What does this mean for Maggie?” Martin took over for her, his grip on her hand warm, secure.

  Patrick looked from Martin to her, his rich brown eyes gentle. “It means that Maggie is now one wealthy young woman.”

  ***

  After letting Patrick out of the shop, Maggie locked the door, and leaned against it, still in a daze.

  There has been talk of solicitors, and appointments in London. Apparently, the money had been sitting in several accounts, gathering interest for decades. Patrick refused to give her a final number, but she knew he had told Martin something when they shook hands.

  Martin joined her, lowering himself to the chair next to the door. His leg must be aching by now, after most of the day spent on his feet, waiting on customers. He held out his hand and Maggie moved to his side, sitting on the arm of the chair.

  “All right, love?” His question had her sighing.

  “Still in shock. Why didn’t Aunt Irene ever tell me?”

  “I am certain she meant to. She did become ill unexpectedly, Maggie.”

  “I will always regret that I wasn’t here.”

  Martin pulled her into his lap, kissing her when she protested. “My leg can support you just fine. Now, talk to me, Maggie. Tell me what is going on in there.” He gently tapped her forehead.

  “Too much to sort it out tonight.” She laid her head on his shoulder, so glad that he had been with her when she learned about her surprising history. “I think...” Her voice faded when Anthea appeared, gliding through the door to the back room.

  The ghost stopped in front of them, her hands clasped at her waist, amusement in her blue eyes. Martin tightened his grip when Maggie tried to stand.

  “I believe she approves of us,” he said.

  Anthea tilted her head, studying them, and to Maggie’s shock, she reached out and touched Martin’s cheek, just before she disappeared.

  “Martin.” Maggie cradled his cheek, not surprised to find his skin cool. “I want to find out more about Anthea. I want to tell the world her story, and how she changed the life of her descendant, centuries after her death.”

  “You would like my help?”

  “Only if you want to—”

  “I would love to help you find your ancestor, Maggie. I am quite charmed by her, and I would love to learn more.”

  “Thank you.” She stood, and held her hand out. “Let’s go out and celebrate the start of a new life.”

  He pushed to his feet, leaning on his cane. “I would prefer to stay in and celebrate.”

  “Takeaway?”

  He smiled, “That sounds perfect.”

  “My place, or yours?”

  “That depends.” He pulled her in, and whispered. “Did you want to help me climb the stairs, or spend that time engaged in other, more enjoyable activities?”

  She smiled, knowing he was thinking about the first floor bedroom he had recovered in. “My place it is.”

  Maggie grabbed her bag, and went to turn off the table lamps before she joined Martin at the doorway to the back room. She took a moment, and looked at the shop, the glow from the lamp post outside her shop highlighting fine lines, and silky wood.

  Today had been a new start for her, full of surprises.

  She couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring.

  ~ ~ * ~ ~

  Thank you for joining Maggie and Martin as they solved their latest mystery! Spirit of the Season, the next Maggie Mulgrew Mystery, is now available.

  If you enjoyed Written on the Wind, I would love it if you took a moment and left a review. They are so important, and help other readers discover the books they want to read. Thank you!

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  I’ll leave you with a sneak peek of Spirit of the Season. Enjoy!

  Excerpt from Spirit of the Season

  It took some rearranging, and collecting favors, but Martin managed to leave the site a week earlier than planned.

  With less than two weeks to Christmas, he wanted to spend his time with Maggie. The new year was early enough to announce the news of their discovery—a fact he spent hours arguing over with Geoffrey.

  It was worth all the pain and effort.

  He walked down the high street, hands tucked in his coat pockets. What felt like an arctic wind was blowing o
ff the Channel, and it had already chilled him, two blocks down. He walked faster, knowing that Maggie’s shop would be warm and welcoming, that she would be even more welcoming—

  A figure stumbled out of the narrow side street and slammed into him.

  Martin caught the man’s arm when he stumbled. He wore only shirtsleeves, his skin under the thin cotton like ice.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Sorry,” the man mumbled. He straightened, pushing curly brown hair off his face. “I need to go.”

  “Come with me.” Martin tightened his grip when the man tried to pull away. “You’re frozen to the bone. I’m headed just down the next block.”

  “Right.” He pushed the unruly hair off his face again, and Martin got a better look at him. He was younger than Martin first thought, with fine, chiseled features, and an air of vulnerability. Maggie would gather him right in. “I didn’t realize how cold it was when I—left my room.”

  The hesitation had Martin listing the questions he wanted to ask. He decided to get the young man inside and warm first, before he started interrogating.

  “Come.” Martin led him down the street, toward Maggie’s shop. “There will be hot tea and a warm sweater for you.”

  This was hardly the romantic reunion he had envisioned, but he could hardly leave the young man on the street, half frozen and obviously disoriented.

  By the time they reached The Ash Leaf, the man was shivering. Martin opened the door and pulled him inside, looking for Maggie. His heart started pounding when he saw her, bent over a twee plate, deep in discussion with the customer next to her.

  The wild, beautiful red hair he loved was in a barely contained braid today, hanging down her back. The bright blue sweater she wore made him smile; he had bought it for her during a trek into the village closest to the dig, and sent it to her as a surprise. It warmed him that she wore it now, and he was relieved to see that it fit her perfectly.

  She must have noticed the door opening, and glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll be right with—Martin?” She set the plate on the table in front of her and walked toward him, surprise in her crystal blue eyes. “What are you doing here? Oh, heavens.” She rushed forward, catching the young man’s arm when he started to sink to the floor. “Come over by the fire. You must be freezing.”