by Cate Dean
“I—no, Miss.” He backed away from her. “I canna be stayin’.”
“Henry—no—ˮ He sprinted away from her, too fast for her to catch him.
Martin came around the side of the house. He must have spotted Henry, because he took off after him.
Maggie opened her mouth to call him back, but he disappeared around the corner.
She took a shaky breath, and headed inside. Angus might just be hurt, and if so, he’d need help. The dark cottage left her unsettled. Angus hated the dark. It was common knowledge, and Enid brought it up whenever she could, in her “pretending to care but really putting you down” tone.
Maggie slid along the wall until she found the switch, and flipped it on. After a heart-pounding hesitation, the lights flickered on. Her first glimpse made her gasp. The small entry looked like the victim of a fight. Every one of Angus’ pottery jars had been smashed, the colorful shards spread across the floor. Some of them had been crushed to powder.
Maggie stayed close to the wall, trying not to step on any of the shards, moving as quickly as she could to get to the study she had seen once. Martin caught up with her and blocked the door to the study.
“Maggie.” His face was white. “I want you to go outside.”
“How do you know—”
“I saw the study light on, and glanced through the window. We can’t do anything for him now, except call the local police.”
“I want to see him, Martin.”
He blinked, and she realized he had taken his glasses off. Without them, he looked—vulnerable. After a long second, he nodded, and stepped aside.
Angus was curled up in the middle of his study. Like the entry, it had been trashed—furniture turned over, a couple of the pictures hanging almost sideways.
She carefully made her way to Angus. Despite what Martin said, he might still be alive—
One look at his face told her otherwise. But she crouched next to him, and pressed two fingers to his throat. His skin was still warm, but no pulse beat under her finger, and his chest was still.
Crouched next to him, she saw why he was curled up. The apothecary jar was cradled in one arm, miraculously unbroken. His hand gripped the neck of the jar.
Blood stained the ugly floral carpet, and she saw the source. The back of his head was soaked with blood, one of his prized Egyptian replicas on the floor next to him, the head of Ra covered in blood.
A small marble box and a couple of books were on the carpet next to his outstretched arm. They must have tumbled off the overturned side table.
There was also something clutched in his hand. Maggie leaned down to see what—and Martin jerked her to her feet, right before the screech of tires braking on gravel.
“We need to go.”
“Martin—”
He started to drag her out of the lounge, and toward the back of the cottage.
“Police! Halt right there, and turn around.”
Martin’s shoulders slumped, and he turned, one hand covering his eyes when the flashlight jumped up to his face. Maggie waved her hand, recognizing the short, stocky figure.
“Hi, Drew.”
“Maggie?” Drew Cooperman lowered the flashlight and stepped into the cottage. “Someone rang through, said there was a robbery in progress. What are you doing here?”
“I—we—came to talk to Angus. He bought a rare jar at the auction today, and Professor Martin—well, it’s kind of a long story.” She swallowed. “Angus is in the lounge, Drew. He’s dead.”
Drew changed in an instant from friend to cop. “Stay here. Touch nothing.”
He strode into the lounge, leaving Maggie and Martin alone. She took the opportunity to touch his wrist.
“Are you okay?”
He swallowed. “I am used to the long-dead, not a body of someone I once worked with. Forgive me,” he rubbed his forehead, and slipped his glasses on. “I left you to deal with it, and I am sorry.”
“I found a friend, when I was in high school.” The memory still tugged at her, even after all these years. “She took a bunch of her mom’s sleeping pills, to avoid going to court for shoplifting. I started taking CPR and first aid classes after that. I felt so helpless. I never wanted to feel like that again.”
Like she did now. It was hard to resuscitate someone who was already dead.
Poor Angus.
She shuddered, trying to push the image of him out of her head.
To her surprise, Martin wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “That must have been horrible. I could not even begin to imagine walking in on a friend as a teenager.”
She leaned into him, just for a minute. It felt good to lean on someone else, someone who understood the need for support. Her parents had never—
Don’t go there.
They were quiet, until Drew came back. Martin dropped his arm, and Maggie missed the warmth of his touch.
“He hasn’t been dead long,” Drew said.
She let out her breath. “We saw someone, as we were walking up to the cottage. They ran away when they spotted us.” She decided not to mention Henry, for now. When Martin glanced over at her, she shook her head.
Drew’s eyebrows twitched. “Any idea who?”
“Sorry,” Martin said. “I went after him, but he managed to hurl himself over the back fence before I could get to him.”
“And you are?”
“Professor Martin.”
He held out his hand. Drew ignored it and studied him.
“You came to talk to Angus. Why?”
“He purchased a rare jar at auction today. A jar that had been stolen from me. I wanted to buy it from him, if possible.”
“If it was stolen, you could have put a claim in.”
Martin shook his head. “Angus spent good money on the jar, unaware that it was a stolen item. The university would put up the money for its return, if I could not afford to buy it on my own.”
Maggie frowned. “But then they’d own it.”
“Yes,” Martin said. “But I would have been able to study it, and follow what leads I had about the story surrounding it. Now, I have nothing.”
“Not quite.” Drew pointed at the study. “Angus is curled around some brown and beige jar. Has a death grip on it, to be specific. The coroner will have to free it from his hand.”
“I saw it,” Maggie said. “I went in to see if I could help...” Her voice faded, and she cleared her throat. “Why didn’t whoever did this take the jar? It’s obviously what they were after.”
“My guess—you interrupted before they could. I need you both to stay until the scene is secured. For questions.”
“Sure.” Maggie glanced up at Martin. He nodded, clearly distracted by the news of the jar. “Where do you want us?”
“The kitchen will do. It’s out of the way. Excuse me, I need to call this in.”
He turned away, talking into the small radio in his hand.
The reality of what she’d found finally sank in.
“I think—I need to sit down,” she whispered.
Martin wrapped his arm around her waist and led her to the small kitchen, easing her into the closest chair. Maggie distracted herself from her need to throw up by studying her surroundings. It always worked when her nerves kicked in during one of Mom’s lectures.
Unlike the rest of the cottage, the kitchen was untouched, and as neat as Angus. It had no feminine touch, but he had clearly enjoyed cooking; high-end appliances filled the space, including a beautiful, creamy yellow Aga range that she immediately coveted.
Maggie took off her bloodstained jacket, hoping Drew hadn’t spotted the handprints. Martin rummaged in the narrow fridge, and handed her a bottle of water. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”
“Thanks.” She opened the bottle, and took a sip. It helped settle her stomach, but she would never be able to erase the image of Angus, curled up on the floor like he was trying to protect himself from his attacker.
Or protecting the jar.
T
hat would be so like Angus—protect the precious object before himself.
Martin paced, running one hand through his already wild hair. “What could be taking so long?”
“It’s a crime scene, Professor.” He seemed so distant, so cold, Maggie didn’t feel comfortable using his name anymore. Something about him changed the second he heard about the jar. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know this Martin. “Don’t you watch any crime shows? It could take most of the night.”
He halted, shock on his face. “Are you joking?”
“Sorry. No jokes here today.”
“I have no time for television.” His tone stung.
“Right—of course you don’t.” She stared down at the table, picking at the label on the water bottle.
“Maggie—I am sorry.” He sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table, and took his glasses off. “I don’t do well when I am not in control.”
“A control freak? I get that—I grew up with two of them. They could teach classes in control.”
The distance in his eyes faded, replaced by amusement. “Parents?”
“Oh, yes. I do enjoy having control over my own life now. Though it took a week of screaming arguments and moving across an ocean to get it. I love my parents, but they don’t understand me.”
When she didn’t want to be a doctor like her father, or a lawyer like her mother, and fought loudly against being forced into either role, they gave up on controlling her career path—and just tried to control her life.
“I can sympathize.” He sighed, spreading his hands on the table. Maggie noticed the small scars that marked his fingers, along with a couple of nasty scars on the back of his left hand. “I may not be the first son, but I was expected to become politically active, at the very least. My announcement to them about my intention to continue my education in archaeology was not met with approval. I had to make my own way, with no monetary assistance.”
“You paid your own way through university?”
“Shocking, isn’t it?” He gave her a crooked smile. “My classmates didn’t believe it, and were constantly hitting me up for loans. After I received my doctorate, I believe I slept for a week straight. But, my tenacity paid off. I was a doctor of archaeology, and I managed to come out of university almost debt free.”
“Wow.” She was beyond impressed—and found herself liking this mercurial man. Someone with enough determination to defy their family was someone she could understand. “That must feel amazing.”
He looked surprised, like no one had ever told him that. “It does. I have been too busy establishing myself to take the time to acknowledge my own accomplishment.”
“You should. I would have been dancing in the street if I’d managed what you did.”
“Thank you, Maggie.”
They were quiet after that, and for her, part of it had to do with the exhaustion that slammed her without warning.
Finally, Drew appeared, carrying what looked like an evidence bag. The jar was inside. Maggie felt Martin tense.
“Professor.” Drew held up the bag. “Can you identify this as the stolen jar?”
Martin held out his hand. “May I?” Drew hesitated, then handed the bag to him. After turning it in his hands several times, Martin gave it back. “That is my jar.”
“And you know this because—ˮ
“There is a slight chip on the lip, in the back. I did manage to create a detailed description of the jar before it was stolen.”
“Thank you.” Drew shook his hand. “If you could stay for the next day or so, in case I have any other questions, I would appreciate it.”
“Of course.” He glanced down at Maggie. “There are accommodations nearby?”
“Plenty.” She had one in mind, but she wasn’t going to say anything in front of Drew. Gossip traveled faster than wildfire here.
Drew cleared his throat. “You can both go. I will ring you in the morning, Maggie. You will need to come in and make a statement. Both of you.” He studied Martin, then turned back to her. “The morning will be soon enough. I know you’ve had a long night already.”
He touched her wrist, and looked like he was about to say something else. But he nodded instead, dropped his hand, and headed back to the study.
Maggie knew he was attracted to her. She liked him, but not enough to go beyond a casual friendship. She kept waiting for him to ask her out, still not sure how she would answer.
“I’ll worry about it if it happens,” she muttered.
“What was that?”
She jumped at Martin’s voice. “Nothing. I tend to talk to myself. Old habit.” She gave him a wry smile. “Only child.”
“Ah.” With a smile, he rested his hand on her lower back and guided her outside. Her cheeks warmed at his touch, and she was grateful for the darkness. “I wished to be an only child every time one of my older brothers decided that throwing me in the river was good fun.”
“You’re the youngest?”
“Of five.” He sighed, then smiled at her. Her heart skipped, and she knew she was in trouble. She liked him. “The happiest day of my life was leaving for Oxford, with the knowledge that I would have a single roommate. The silence nearly deafened me for the first month.”
Maggie smiled. “I get that. Silence was a huge part of my childhood. Except when I came to visit my aunt here. She hated silence, and always had the radio or the television on. I loved my time here so much, it felt like I left myself behind when I went home.”
“And now you live here.”
Maggie nodded. “Thanks to my aunt.”
Before she could say anything else, a car pulled up next to them. Ian Reynolds, the Police Constable who had been in Holmestead as long as Maggie could remember, rolled down the window.
“Sorry, Maggie, but I’m afraid Drew wants to see Professor Martin down at the station. He has a few questions.”
“What—ˮ
“It’s all right, Maggie.” Martin laid a hand on her shoulder and turned to Ian. “I will be happy to go with you.”
“I’m going, too.”
Martin frowned. “There’s no need—ˮ
“I think there is.” She took the hand on her shoulder and pulled him in. “You’re a stranger, in a village where there hasn’t been a murder in decades. I don’t want them to make a scapegoat out of you.”
“Right.” He opened the back door of the car. “Shall we?”
“I think I’ll sit in front. Just in case.”
Seven
Drew waited for them in front of the station. Not a good sign.
He opened Maggie’s door, frowning at her. “You didn’t need to come tonight, Maggie.”
“Yes, I did.” She gave him a pointed look, and he dropped the hand obviously headed for her shoulder. “What’s this about, Drew?”
“I have some questions, regarding the professor’s relationship with Angus.”
“Of course.” Martin looked tense. “I would like to phone my solicitor.”
“Hey—that’s not necessary, Professor. Not yet.” Drew turned to Maggie, and she knew what he was about to say before he opened his mouth. “You can go on home. If I have any questions, I’ll ring you to come down to the station.”
“I’m staying, Drew. Professor Martin isn’t from around here, and I think he might need someone to vouch for him.”
Drew’s eyebrows twitched. “And how long have you known the Professor?”
“Long enough to know he isn’t a killer.” She crossed her arms, daring Drew to keep interrogating her.
He let out a sigh, and nodded, leading the way inside.
The small police station boasted a tiny waiting area, with three plastic, uncomfortable chairs, and a counter tall enough that Maggie had to stand on tiptoe to see over the top. Drew took Martin’s arm, and shook his head when Maggie started to protest.
“This is an official inquiry. Which means I’m talking to him. Alone.”
He guided the Professor around the tall counter,
past three scarred oak desks, and into a windowless room. After he firmly closed the door, Maggie sank to one of the chairs, anticipating a long night.
***
“Take a seat, Professor Martin.”
Martin did as requested, forced a calm he did not feel, and clasped his hands together, resting them on the table.
“My phone call?”
Drew waved his hand. “I will be present for it.”
“I expected no less.” Martin pulled his mobile out of his jacket and rang through to the family solicitor. Not surprisingly, he answered after the first ring.
“Beaumont here. What have you stepped into now, Pembroke?”
Martin did his best not to flinch at his given name. “I am being questioned in the death of a former schoolmate.” He summarized quickly, ignoring Drew’s avid attention. “I wanted to alert you, in case it escalates beyond simple questions.”
“You are officially on my radar. Shall I pass this on o your father?”
“Only if it becomes necessary, Beaumont. If I ring you again—ˮ
“That means it’s become necessary. Watch your words, Pembroke. You are well spoken, but I know how your temper can override common sense at times.”
“Thank you for stating the obvious.”
Beaumont laughed. “Your father pays me well to do so.” His voice lowered, serious now. “If you need anything, lad, do not hesitate. Your family may have washed their hands of you, but I am not your family.”
“Thank you.” Some of the weight that always pushed at Martin when he dealt with his family eased. “Hopefully, you won’t hear from me again until the next holiday.”
“The offer stands—and not just for this. I am your solicitor as well, and a friend, if you need one.”
“I—I am grateful, Beaumont.” His throat tightened, and he stared at the table. “I will ring you if I need anything.”
They said goodbye, and Martin rang off. He took his time putting his mobile away. Time to compose himself after the surprising conversation with a man who cared more than Martin ever suspected. Time to prepare for the questions meant to ignite his temper.
Finally, he looked up at Drew. “You have questions for me?”