The Case of the Chinese Boxes (A Justice and Miss Quinn Mystery Book 4)

by Felicia Rogers

  Mud splashed beneath the horse and spattered over her boots and hem.

  The rain didn’t sting quite as much. She took a chance and lifted her head. Hanging limbs sheltered them.

  Up ahead a tiny cabin was nestled between tall pines and white maples. The porch roof sagged on one side, but wood was still neatly stacked underneath.

  The horse came to a sudden halt and she was pried away from Justin’s neck.

  “Magnolia, I’m going to dismount then I’ll help you. All right?”

  She nodded, sending a spray of water into his face. He didn’t chastise her; instead he plucked a strand of hair from her cheek and placed it behind her ear.

  “Are you ready?”

  He knew she feared storms. He’d often comforted her during them, but generally with witty banter. Never with gentle touches.

  “Yes, please get me inside.”

  He dismounted and reached up for her. She slid into his arms and shivered for more reasons than just the cold water running down her spine.

  He placed his hand at the small of her back and urged her forward.

  The cabin door stuck, and he pushed with his shoulder until it screeched open. Birds or bats or something flew at them, and she squatted and covered her head. She might have screamed—she wasn’t sure. She had wanted to find the cabin and search for the mystery item, but this hadn’t been what she had in mind.

  Hot breath struck her cheek and a hand clasped hers.

  “Magnolia, the birds have flown away. It is safe to enter.”

  She lifted her rain-streaked face. Justin’s smile was timid as if he worried she might bolt. His concerns were well founded. She needed to lighten the mood, if just for herself.

  “You mean they flew the coop?”

  He guffawed. “Yes, but I didn’t want to be the one to say it.”

  He hauled her to her feet.

  “Do you want me to go in and check things out before—”

  Thunder boomed and she ran in.

  “I guess not.” He entered and closed the door behind him.

  ****

  For years of no use the cabin looked remarkably well maintained. No water dripped from the ceiling. The rafters weren’t bowed. And other than the birds that had escaped when he opened the door, no other creatures appeared to inhabit the place.

  The furniture was still covered in linen sheets. He plucked one from the settee. “Why don’t you sit?”

  “B-but I’m wet.”

  Really she was drenched. Here he was stuck, alone, with the woman he loved in a cabin while a storm raged outside. The bounds of decorum had already been breached in their relationship, but staring at her, wet, lovely, he was almost undone.

  Her teeth clacked together. He would need to start a fire and retrieve the picnic basket before the food was ruined. And he needed to secure the horses and—

  Magnolia hugged his middle, shocking the breath from him. Her wet hair soaked his damp shirt, but he didn’t care. He wanted her to always feel comfortable in his arms.

  She pulled back. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” What more could he say?

  She stepped completely out of his arms and hugged herself. As much as he wanted to have his arms wrapped around her, there were things he needed to do. Things that would distract him from the things he really wanted to do, such as kissing the woman he loved until her cheeks turned rosy.

  “Since we don’t know how long the storm will last, I’m going to secure the horses and gather wood for a fire. Will you be all right until I return?”

  She swallowed before nodding.

  He could sense her dread. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

  He released her, but she grabbed his hand. “Please be careful.”

  He cupped her cheek. “I have every reason to.”

  ****

  Magnolia’s cheek felt warm as she glanced longingly at the window. Justin was fighting wind and rain to secure the animals. She should have offered to help, but her fear of storms kept her inside. That and it might be the only time she could search the cabin.

  She started by lifting every linen cloth, but all she found was furniture. Tables, chairs, a longue. Lots of pieces for a two-room cabin.

  The mantel held miniatures of dogs and birds. Probably to fit with the hunting motif. Any one of these could be the yashchiki. If only she knew what the word meant?

  Above the mantel was a linen cloth. She lifted it. A portrait of a young Randall Blakemoor and Justin as a child. She brushed away dust from the corner of the frame while studying the face of the boy she’d known and was growing to love. In the corner Miranda Blakemoor’s name had been signed. Her heart rate increased. She hadn’t known that Miranda was a painter. Apparently she was a woman of many talents.

  A quick glance out the window revealed that Justin was still struggling with her horse. The animal was obviously as afraid of storms as she was, and the mare wasn’t moving without a fight. Even if Justin was trying to rescue her.

  Magnolia turned away. The bedroom door was open, but no light filtered in. She parted the curtains, but with the dreariness outside the room was still bathed in darkness. She could see a bed. A massive bed that covered most of the back wall. Heat flushed her cheeks. Had the room belonged to Miranda and Randall? It was possible.

  Stomping echoed from outside. Justin would enter any moment.

  She bit her lip and raced back into the front room. Her foot struck something and knocked it over. She bent down and picked up the wooden object.

  The door opened, and a breeze fluttered her skirts.

  “That storm is scary.” He paused. “Oh, you found Mother’s boxes. I wondered what happened to those.”

  He dumped logs into the fireplace and squatted.

  She held the boxes in her hands. Now what?

  ****

  Justin covertly snuck glances at Magnolia. She stroked the yashchiki, a set of Chinese boxes that nested inside one another. Her expression was of a child that had been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

  The boxes had been at the old cabin for as long as he could remember. Mother had brought them from his grandmother’s home when she passed.

  “Where did you find those?”

  “I tripped over them.”

  She was staring at the boxes with an odd expression. Was the storm bothering her?

  He started a fire then stood and dusted off his hands. Butter and biscuits! He’d just ruined his new breeches. How was he supposed to enamor Magnolia in filthy clothes?

  His lips tilted sideways. He would have to find other ways. Challenge accepted.

  Magnolia still studied the boxes. He held out his hands but she didn’t readily hand them over. What was wrong with her?

  “May I see the yashchiki?”

  Her eyes glazed over and she blinked.

  What was wrong with her? He’d try again. “May I see the boxes?”

  She held them out. He took them and set them on the table. “Do you know how they work?”

  She shook her head.

  He removed the lid and set it aside. He pulled out the next box, removed the lid, then pulled out the next box. On and on he removed them until he reached the last box. It was barely two inches by two inches. Bold, rich colors decorated the sides in a swirling pattern.

  “Where did they come from?”

  “My grandmother journeyed to China and an artisan there taught her how to make them.”

  “She made those?”

  “Yes, but she was forced to leave them behind when she came to England. One day she was in the market and she happened upon them, but someone else was trying to purchase them. When she asked how much the merchant would charge for her to buy them instead, the fellow offered to take her to dinner. It was the beginning of my grandparent’s relationship.” Warmth spread through his heart. The story always made him believe in the impossible.

  She picked up the smallest box and rolled it arou
nd in her hand. “Why are they so special?”

  She wasn’t talking to him, but herself. Had she known about the boxes before she found them? But how?

  Thunder shook the floor. Magnolia dropped the box but quickly grabbed it. She held it to her bosom. He pried it from her fingers and laid it on the low table.

  She was wide-eyed and staring around his side. Her behavior was disconcerting.

  He grabbed her clasped hands and led her to the settee. She shivered. They were both soaked. Maybe that was her problem. The dampness had affected her mind to where she thought the boxes would warm her. He really should do something. Multiple layers of wet fabric would take forever to dry. Maybe his mother had left something behind.

  “Wait here.”

  He entered the dark bedroom and rifled through the contents of an old trunk. Two items came out—a yellowed blouse and a long black skirt. He held them aloft. There were considerably larger than his mother, so he was unclear how they had arrived in the trunk, but at least they weren’t wet.

  He brought the items to the living area. “Want to be dry?”

  She snatched the clothes and disappeared into the bedroom.

  He plopped back onto the settee. His shirt stuck to his chest, and he peeled it away. He should hang it above the fire. He could wrap in a linen sheet until it dried. The rain was coming down so hard they would be waiting a while to leave the old cabin. He might as well be comfortable.

  ****

  The clothes were overly large. She rolled up the sleeves, and she stepped on the hem even after hitching it up in her hands.

  She found the edge of the bed and sat down. The wooden boxes had been what the book referred to. Justin had opened every one except the last one. But what could be secreted away in such a small container that would be a treat for Miranda Blakemoor? She just didn’t understand.

  And what of Justin’s defensiveness? He had acted upset by her desire to study the boxes. Did he know of the treat and not wish for her to know? That didn’t sound like him. He often shared too much.

  She fell back on the mattress. She was stuck in an old cabin, during a terrifying storm, wearing overly large clothes, with Justin. Matters could be worse. She could have been stuck with Roskin. Or Cunning. The latter gave her the shivers. He seemed to look right through her. She would never get over the way he faked his sadness over losing Hesper the day they revealed the stolen jewelry. He’d had something to do with it, she was sure of it. But why? And how was she going to prove it? The man was well known and liked. Yes, he was dark and foreboding, but that seemed to draw certain people.

  A crash and yelp echoed from the other room. She rose quickly and opened the bedroom door. She froze. Justin stood before the fireplace with his arms lifted and his chest exposed. The flames lit his muscled chest. His shoulder muscles relaxed as he lowered his arms. She couldn’t look away. He was even more perfect than she’d imagined. And prude though she was, she had imagined plenty.

  He grabbed a linen sheet and attempted to wrap it around his bare middle. “Sorry. I was trying to change before your return.”

  What did he have to be sorry for? That he’d just raised her expectations so high no other male could ever reach them?

  He wrapped the sheet around his body, but it kept falling, giving her a continuous view of his perfection. She could offer to help—but she didn’t want to. The sight would end soon enough, and then she would only have her imagination and dreams to remember it by. That wouldn’t be enough.

  The linen dragged the floor, and he swore beneath his breath. Justin was hopeless. She stepped forward to help, but she had dropped her skirt. She toppled forward. He caught her, loosening his sheet further. Her hand rested against his bare chest. His heart was racing. Could he hear hers?

  She closed her eyes. Maybe she needed the mystery more than she thought. The holiday wasn’t working out as she’d expected. Stuck alone with Justin, not knowing if he cared for her more than a friend.

  She should have stayed behind and read her book, the book, any book.

  Chapter Six- A Moment…Ruined

  His first impression had been correct; the clothes couldn’t have possibly come from his mother. They sagged generously on Magnolia’s petite frame. The shirt leaned to the side, revealing a creamy shoulder with a smattering of freckles. Then she was in his arms. He was holding her. Intimately.

  He placed his hand behind her hair and pulled her close. Their lips touched. He hadn’t meant to, but she’d looked so kissable with her hair tousled and her clothes falling off her body.

  He pulled back first and rested his chin atop her head. He drew in a long breath. She hadn’t protested his touch or the kiss, but she probably would soon. She had no idea of his feelings for her. The platonic nature of their relationship had been the only reason her father had let them cavort around London. That would end once he revealed his intentions. Then they would have to court the official way. They wouldn’t be alone in such a manner again until they married.

  She stepped from his grasp. Emptiness and cold invaded the space. She grabbed a linen sheet and wrapped it around his middle, stuffing the end in the waistband of his breeches and causing him to gasp.

  He waited for her to mention the kiss, but she didn’t. Had it been so horrible? Did she dislike him so much?

  “May we eat?”

  Her voice cracked, the only way he knew she’d been affected by their shared affection.

  “Of course. You take a seat and I’ll spread everything out on the low table.” Was that his voice? It sounded deeper.

  She held the skirt aloft as she settled on the paisley cushion. He arranged the food on the table, only sneaking a few glances at her between courses. The dress sleeves kept sliding over her hands. “Let me help you.”

  She didn’t move as he rolled up her sleeves. Her skin was smooth against his fingertips and he almost kissed her again, but he feared if he did he would never stop.

  “Tell me about the boxes.”

  “What?” Was she changing the subject?

  “The boxes, tell me more about them.”

  He settled beside her. Maybe she wished to think about the kiss later when she was alone and now she needed a distraction. Or maybe she hated him. He didn’t understand women at all.

  He scratched the spot between his brows. “Let’s see, my grandmother—”

  “Angelina Sukolov.”

  “Yes. She was Russian from a wealthy family. She traveled extensively and as I said, she visited China. There an artisan showed her the nesting boxes, and she came home and made her own. But the boxes were accidentally left behind—”

  “I remember that part. I want to know why they are so important.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  She bit her lip—she was hiding something. It hurt. “Magnolia?”

  She jumped to her feet and grabbed a biscuit, devouring it between steps. “I found a book or journal, I’m not sure, in my room at the hunting cabin, and it mentioned the old cabin and the boxes, or at least it said yashchiki and I couldn’t figure it out, but when I saw the boxes stacked inside one another and you called them by their Russian name, I realized that must be to what it referred. And the book said there was something special about the boxes and—”

  “You tried to investigate without me?” He couldn’t keep the hurt from his voice. She’d been against Justice and Miss Quinn from the beginning, and now she was working without him.

  She sighed. So she knew what she was doing. That made it hurt more.

  “I wanted to, I don’t know, be distracted.”

  “Distracted from what?”

  “I can’t explain.” She paused, he waited. “Do you know what is in the last box?”

  Had he heard correctly? She was ignoring his feelings and focusing on the boxes?

  “Your grandmother left something in them for your mother—a treat. But I didn’t see anything when you opened them. So it has to be in the last box.”

  He had
n’t seen anything either, and he didn’t care. She had just ruined a special moment. A time when he could have revealed his true feelings. Feelings he was now starting to doubt.

  Chapter Seven: The Puzzle

  She knew she’d ruined the moment. She had to. He’d kissed her without thought. He hadn’t meant to, and he didn’t mean it. Even though the relationship with Hesper had ended, he would always want a woman like her. Ostentatious. Bold. Beautiful. She was none of those things.

  He had acted hurt, but it was only because she’d investigated without him. He didn’t care about the kiss—he probably kissed girls all the time.

  “So?” He didn’t answer. “If you don’t want to answer then how about letting me look in the boxes myself. Maybe one of the sides come off. Or maybe it is in the artwork.”

  He still didn’t move. Had she just ruined everything?

  He stretched out his hand toward the boxes. He was giving permission. She dropped to her knees before the low table and took the boxes apart, carefully studying each one as she went.

  Dark colors decorated the wooden sides and lids. The colors created an intricate pattern that seemed to flow into the next box. Almost as if they were trying to tell a story.

  She arranged them in order on the table, but as if a puzzle, the pieces looked out of order. She sucked on her bottom lip as she moved and shuffled the pieces around. She leaned back.

  “Have you found what you’re looking for?”

  She lifted her eyes. Justin was unnaturally stiff. She had hurt him. But she didn’t understand why. The kiss had been in the heat of the moment—he couldn’t have meant it. It was much better to focus on the boxes now. Later she could analyze the kiss. When she wasn’t in the room with him half-naked. When she could close her eyes and think about him scantily clothed, because that would be all she would see for the rest of her life.

  “Well?”

  She patted the floor beside her. At first she didn’t think he would join her, but then he moved. The settee creaked and the floorboards groaned as he knelt beside her.