by Cate Dean
Geoffrey’s eyebrows shot up. “You do realize he is no longer a professor, my good man? He was booted after being falsely accused once before. I refuse to allow him to suffer the same fate again.”
“He will be treated fairly, I assure you.”
Geoffrey lifted his chin, and Martin braced for the verbal assault.
“And I assure you, Inspector, that I will bring to bear every ally I have if Pembroke is not exonerated posthaste.”
DI Chamberlain glanced over his shoulder at Martin, one eyebrow raised, but he didn’t comment. He turned back to Geoffrey and crossed his arms.
“There is no need to threaten, or grandstand, Mr. Drummond-Doddington. Martin is being released tonight, on the condition that he stay in Canterbury for the duration of the investigation. I will investigate, thoroughly.”
“Ah—excellent.” Geoffrey sounded less than enthusiastic. Having his performance cut off mid threat would hardly endear DI Chamberlain to him. Of course, he would take his temper out on Martin. “I will happily cover any accommodation cost, as I am the lead archaeologist on the dig, and Pembroke my employee.”
“I will have the B&B he chooses forward you the bill, then. Now, if you will excuse us, I’d like to send him on his way while there is still a moon in the sky.”
“Of course, of course.” Geoffrey strode over and clapped Martin on the shoulder. “See you bright and early, Pembroke.”
“I will be there.” He waited until Geoffrey walked out of the station before he turned to the DI. “I am truly sorry for him.”
“No apology necessary, Professor.” Chamberlain headed back to the counter. “I just need your signature, and you’re free to go.”
Martin met his eyes. “I did not harm her.”
“The evidence will tell the truth, Professor. That is what I believe.”
“I understand.”
Martin followed him to the counter, signed the papers without reading them, and made his way out of the station. Only after he left did he remember he had no transportation.
When he turned to head back, DI Chamberlain stood in front of the station. “It just occurred to me that you may not have a way back to your dig site, Professor. I can offer a ride, or a place to stay for the night, if you would rather have four solid walls and a real bed. I am assuming you have no accommodation here, since you have been staying out at the dig site.”
Martin wanted solitude, and time to think, but his leg told him he would be better off staying in a warm, dry place.
“I will accept your generous offer, Inspector, if it is not too inconvenient.”
Chamberlain smiled. “My wife Sara would disown me if I stranded you. Please,” he held out his hand. “Call me Jamie.”
“Martin.” He shook the offered hand. “Should you be consorting with the suspect in your case?”
“You have a sterling reputation, Martin. I also rang a few associates, who confirmed what I already knew.” He freed Martin’s hand and headed down the sidewalk. Martin limped faster to catch him up, his cane tapping on the sidewalk. “I expect Sara will have a table full of food waiting for us.”
“This late? I am sorry for the trouble.”
Jamie slowed his pace, frowning when he glanced down at Martin’s leg. “Recent?”
“Not really. An injury I thought healed has flared, and I exacerbated that injury by spending time on cold, windy digs.” He shook his head. “I have no idea why I told you.”
“I have that way about me.” He grinned. “My wife claims it gives me an unfair advantage.”
“I would agree with her.”
Jamie clapped Martin on the shoulder. “I’ve always enjoyed your documentaries, Professor. Good to know the man behind them is just as witty.”
They walked the rest of the way at a slow pace, Jamie pointing out local sights. Exhaustion began to drag at Martin, and his leg gave him no warning before it buckled under him.
“I’ve got you now, Professor.” Jamie caught his arm, draping it across his shoulders before Martin could open his mouth to object. “Nearly there.”
He didn’t lie; they stopped two houses down, and Jamie led him up to the door. It opened before they reached it, a tall, pretty woman rushing out to them.
“Is he hurt, Jamie?”
“Old injury, love. Do you have your bag handy?”
“Always. Bring him into the blue bedroom.” She ran back inside.
Jamie flashed a smile at Martin and headed for the door. “Did I mention my wife is a doctor?”
***
Maggie gripped the Rover’s steering wheel, her knuckles white from the force. The drive had given her time to think—and time for her temper to build, slow and hot.
Oh, she understood exactly what Martin had been trying to do—protect her and Kit.
She hated that he felt he had to shut her out in the process.
“I should have knocked some sense into him, Kit.” Her son gurgled in response, and she let out a laugh, some of the knots in her stomach loosening. “Your dad is the most stubborn man I know. We’re going to help him,” she glanced in the rearview mirror, smiling when she saw that Kit had started to fall asleep. “Whether he wants that help or not.”
After she pulled into the long driveway, she slid out of the driver’s seat, stretching before she took Kit out of his car seat. He woke halfway up the stairs.
“Oh, no—you’re going to bed. At least one of us should get some sleep.”
She changed his diaper and got him ready for bed. He protested when she lowered him to his crib, but not for long. Maggie rubbed his back, slow and soothing, until his breath evened out.
Exhausted, she leaned against the crib and watched him sleep, the ache she had managed to ignore until now tightening her throat.
Martin had never been so—cold, not even when they first met, after she had nearly run him down. Understanding his reasons didn’t ease that ache, or the tears that stung her eyes.
Once Kit was asleep, she headed downstairs, too restless, too heartsick to sleep. She padded into the library—and felt the cold brush her cheek before she spotted Anthea.
Her outline wavered as she glided forward, so transparent Maggie could read the book titles on the shelf behind her.
“I’m fine, Anthea.” She had a feeling the ghost’s state was because of her. “Okay, I’m not, but I don’t want you to worry about it. Martin and I—”
The tears she’d been fighting finally won, choking her voice.
She stumbled to the closest chair and curled up in it, hugging herself as she let the pain and the frustration out. Anthea hovered nearby, her presence calming.
After a minute of shameless self-pity, Maggie straightened, wiping at her wet cheeks.
“You’re not seeing me at my best.” She let out a choked laugh, then sighed, exhaustion crashing in on her. “Martin’s in trouble, and he won’t let me help him. I know,” she waved her hand, “he wants to protect me and Kit. We’ve never left an argument unresolved before, and I—I don’t know how to deal with that.” She ran one hand through her unruly hair. “He didn’t hurt that girl—I know it—but the police in Canterbury don’t, and he’s all alone—”
She cut herself off when Anthea moved in front of her, hands on her hips. She shook her head once, and Maggie had a distinct feeling that the ghost was—disappointed in her.
“I know he can take care of himself. But there was the attack in the gardens, and now this. He was alone out there. I don’t want him to be alone this time.”
Anthea tilted her head, and Maggie hunched her shoulders.
“Yes, we fought about it. I have the right to stand by my own husband, especially when he’s accused of attempted murder. The girl identified him, Anthea,” she whispered. “How are we supposed to get past that?”
When Anthea glided forward and let one hand hover over Maggie’s shoulder, Maggie knew the ghost was trying to comfort her.
“Thank you—for listening to me, and not disappearing. It he
lped.” She would have done this with Kit, but part of her was afraid he’d remember it, and she didn’t want him to have the memory of his own mom breaking down. “We finished the renovations on Blakeney Manor. I hope you can find your way—” Anthea disappeared. “There. That you like what we did.”
Since Anthea had died in a hidden room in the manor, Maggie knew she would be able to go back.
Alone again, Maggie leaned back against the chair, physically and emotionally exhausted. If she had any hope of helping Martin, she had to be at her best.
“A list,” she muttered, groaning as she pushed to her feet. “I need to make a list.” She clutched the arm of the chair, lightheaded. “Tomorrow. List and plan of action, first thing tomorrow.”
Tonight, she would sleep—and hope that Martin was able to do the same.
Eleven
Martin spent a surprisingly peaceful night in Jamie and Sara’s blue guest bedroom. After she had finished working over his leg, he could hardly keep his eyes open. The painkiller she gave him finished the job.
A knock on the door turned him around; he kept one hand on the tall spindle of the four poster bed, his balance still more than a bit unsteady.
Sara peeked around the door, smiling when she saw him. “Good morning. I hardly expected you to be up already.”
“I slept well. Thank you, for tending to me last night.”
“May I?” She waved at his leg.
He nodded, and lowered himself to the edge of the bed. She had thoroughly examined his injury last night, so he didn’t expect to be showing it off again.
Sara knelt beside his leg, her fingers gentle as she poked the area around his scar. “How is the pain this morning?”
“Better.” Tolerable, which he had not expected.
“You need to spend less time on a windy field, and more time recuperating.”
“My own doctor gave me the same diagnosis.”
“Which you promptly ignored.” She shook her head, but a smile crossed her face when she looked at him. “I can prescribe something to keep the pain manageable, if you like.”
“I will be fine.” He refused to become dependent on a pill. Once he knew Maggie and Kit would be safe, once he was home, he would follow doctor’s orders and rest. Until then, he would, as Maggie said, suck it up.
Thought of her sent a wave of guilt through him, followed by regret that he had thrown those words at her. Words meant to anger her, have her stomp off and leave him behind. While he might have accomplished his objective, he may also have damaged the most important relationship in his life.
“Martin.” Sara’s quiet voice jerked him back to the moment. “Jamie is going to take you back to your dig site, but I want you to sleep here, out of that punishing wind.”
He started shaking his head halfway through her invitation. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to inconvenience—”
“Hardly that. Jamie didn’t tell you, but he took responsibility for you.”
Shock left him speechless for a long moment. “He vouched for me?”
“Your documentaries impressed him, and he did his own research on you. Jamie is a good man, and a better Inspector, but he tends to follow his instincts—sometimes to his detriment.” She stood, her blue eyes sober. “Please don’t disappoint him.”
Before he had the chance to respond, she walked out, closing the door behind her.
Martin lowered his head, humbled by Jamie’s gesture. That a stranger would step forward like that, when he had just met Martin; it humbled him.
Determined to find Sandra’s assailant, and clear his name, he grabbed his cane, using it to lever himself up.
Jamie met him in the short hallway. “Ready for breakfast, Professor? Sara makes a deadly delicious omelet. I am her humble bacon cooker.”
Martin smiled. “Both sound delicious. Thank you, for taking me in like this.”
“My pleasure, and my honor.” He took Martin’s arm and led him toward the back of the house. The enticing scent of bacon wafted out of the kitchen. “Come and sit, while I pour you some juice.”
Martin slid into a ladder back chair, relaxing for the first time since Sandra had recoiled from his assistance.
With Jamie on his side, he would find the person responsible, and clear his name.
Then he could get down to the business of figuring out who was after him, and the seal box.
Twelve
Kit’s cries jerked Maggie out of a vague dream.
She clawed her way free of the tangled sheets and ran down the hall to his bedroom.
Kit stood in his crib, gripping the bars, his cheeks damp.
“Oh, sweetheart—I’m so sorry I overslept. Let’s get you out of that wet diaper.”
She picked him up and set him on the changing table, pulling off the heavy diaper. He chattered at her as she changed him, waving his hands.
“You keep talking, Kit. I’ll start understanding it sooner or later.” She bent down and kissed his bare tummy, blowing raspberries until he squirmed, his laughter bouncing off the walls.
After dressing him in pants and a long-sleeved shirt, she carried him downstairs, the list of what she needed to do already in her head. She set Kit in his highchair and grabbed his porridge out of the cupboard.
“We’re going to eat, then figure out how to help your dad. I don’t care if he wants to shut us out—we’re a team, and he’s not going to face this alone.” While his porridge cooked, she pulled a bagel out of the bread box and ate it standing in front of the stove. “I wonder if Spencer is free today.”
A knock at the back door startled her. No one came in that way—except—
Spencer appeared in the kitchen doorway, and Maggie knew from the look on his face that he had already heard about Martin.
Before she could open her mouth to say hello he strode forward and wrapped her in a hug.
“How can I help, Mags?”
“Just do this, for a minute.” Tears choked her voice, and Spencer tightened his grip on her, whispering as she fought for control.
Kit pounded on his tray, and Maggie eased back, wiping at her eyes. “My boy is hungry.” She dished up his porridge, heading for the chair next to him. “You’ve been so patient, Kit. Here you go.”
She scooped up a spoonful, his mouth open before she got halfway. He took in the porridge, opened his mouth again as she started to scoop up more.
“Slow down, Kit. You know what happens when you eat too fast.”
“What happens?” Spencer leaned against the other side of the table, waving at Kit.
“I do more laundry.”
Laughter burst out of him, and Kit grinned, his mouth still full of porridge.
“You’ve been lucky with this one, Maggie.”
She smiled, and spooned up more porridge. “You should have seen me a month ago. He spit out every breakfast food I tried. The porridge was a last ditch effort, but like his father, he loves it.” Kit chattered at her. “Sorry, sweetheart. Here’s the last of it.” Once he swallowed the porridge, she gave him the spoon to gum on while she cleaned him up. “Is there anything new about that poor guide?”
Spencer’s humor faded. “Nothing. He had been stabbed—sorry,” he said, glancing over at Kit. “I rang Ian this morning, and he is up to his nose in evidence. Too many people at the manor last night, so he has hundreds of possible suspects, instead of a few.”
“As long as Martin isn’t one of them.”
“Since he was attacked, I doubt he will be on Ian’s list. How much trouble is the Professor in this time?”
She sighed. “A student accused him of assaulting her, out at the dig. It was dark, so I’m hoping she’ll recant once she’s had time to think about it. Martin had to stay in Canterbury, and he refused my help.” She set the bowl and damp rag on the table, twisting her hands together. “We argued, Spence, in a way we never have before.”
“Bound to happen, love.” He cradled her cheek, sympathy in his blue eyes. “You two are brill
iant together, but every couple fights, even in the best relationships.”
“Oh, we’ve had our share.” She closed her eyes, fighting the tears that threatened. “But we’ve always found our way to a resolution. This time,” she swallowed, “I walked away before I gave in to my urge to smack him.”
“Mags, look at me.” Maggie knew he’d wait until she obeyed, so she opened her eyes. “You did exactly as the Professor intended. He wanted you safe, even if it meant pushing you away.”
“He did that, all right.” She took a deep breath, and managed a smile. “But now I’m going to help him, whether he wants it or not.”
“Maggie.” Spencer laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not just you anymore.”
She looked over at Kit, who was in the process of trying to scoot under the tray. “Oh, no you don’t, little man.” Easing out of Spencer’s grip, she strode over to the highchair and lifted Kit, settling him on her hip. “I want him to grow up with both parents.”
“As do I. You can make lists and scheme all you’d like, sweetheart, but I am not going to stand by while you throw yourself into danger.”
“I don’t—fine.” She could hardly argue with him, when there was too much evidence on his side of the argument. Even if she did just stumble into that danger—most of the time. “Will you go to Canterbury if we need to?”
“Just for you, Mags.” He kissed her cheek, then leaned down and tickled Kit. “Ready for an adventure, sport?” Kit laughed, bouncing on Maggie’s hip. “Only on paper, but it will be grand.”
He looked at Maggie when he said the last part, one eyebrow raised. She sighed, nodding at him.
As much as she hated the idea of leaving Martin on his own, she knew he was only trying to protect them.
“Let’s have some breakfast, and start that list.”
“There’s my Maggie. How would I ever go through life without one of your lists?”