Spirit of the Season

by Cate Dean

  Maggie covered her mouth when she saw the sleek black car pull up in front of her house.

  “Oh, Martin. You didn’t need to—”

  “Yes, I did.” He kissed the top of her head, then led her to the back door. The driver had already opened it, and tipped his hat to Maggie. “Thank you, Ashton.”

  “Ashton?” Her eyes widened when she recognized him. “What are you doing here?”

  “The Professor helped me secure a position at the car service, over in Portsmouth. We do make exceptions, and travel out of the area, when the client is nobility.” He saluted Martin. “Your secret is safe with me, sir. But thank you for pulling out the noble card to help me.”

  “My pleasure.” And it was. Ashton had been a revelation in the last few days, taking over at the shop when Geoffrey phoned Martin in a panic, needing paperwork done to keep the funding for the dig from being pulled. “You’re certain you will have enough time to get ready for the performance?”

  “Absolutely, Professor.” He grinned, and gave Martin a deep bow.

  “Martin will do. Why don’t you assist Maggie into the back seat?”

  Ashton held out his hand, and Maggie smiled at him, looking absolutely radiant. Martin fingered the small, carved rosewood box in the pocket of his trousers. He would find the right moment, and propose to her.

  Nerves had him swallowing; he hoped he wouldn’t break out into a sweat before he managed to get the question out. Marriage had never been part of his plan, but meeting Maggie had changed that, almost from the off.

  He realized that Ashton was waiting for him, the door open to the cold. Woolgathering and worrying would not help him.

  “Sorry about the wait, Ashton.”

  “Something on your mind, Professor?”

  Martin didn’t bother correcting him again. “Thinking about the evening. We can head straight up to the castle.”

  Ashton smiled and saluted him. “Right away.”

  Martin climbed in and settled next to Maggie. “All right, love?”

  “Perfect.” She kissed his cheek, color flushing her cheeks. Heaven help him, but he loved her. “Thank you, Martin. For all of this. It’s already a magical evening.”

  He hoped the magic would extend to the end of the evening, as well.

  ***

  The play turned out to be better than Maggie anticipated.

  It had some rough spots, especially with the Ghost of Christmas Past, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Ashton, on the other hand, was a delight as the Ghost of Christmas Present. Overall, Maggie thoroughly enjoyed her first Holmestead Christmas festival.

  She stood after the lights came up, and turned to find Martin still sitting, staring at the deserted stage.

  “Martin?”

  He jerked at her voice, and smiled at her. “Sorry, Maggie. I was—”

  “Woolgathering?”

  This time his smile was genuine. “Guilty.” He stood and offered his arm “Shall we walk the grounds?”

  She took his arm. “I’d love to.”

  Martin led her outside, to the courtyard of the centuries’ old keep, where the play had been performed. The stone walls, and the echo of the actors’ voices had added another layer to the atmospheric play.

  Maggie loved the castle, and the extensive grounds. Every century since the keep had been built, in the 13th century, had left its mark. For the festival, the buildings had been lined with bright white lights, or lit with red and green floodlights. The trees created shadows on the sweeps of lawn, and the sloping hills, creating a magical, mysterious surrounding.

  “How did you like the play?”

  Martin turned his head, flashing lights from the tower next to them dancing off the lenses of his glasses. “It was interesting. The poor man playing the Ghost of Christmas Past looked lost.”

  “I thought so, too. More like preoccupied, when I took a closer look.”

  “You would take a closer look, Maggie Mulgrew.” He brushed a curl off her cheek. “I love your generous spirit.” He started walking faster, and Maggie tightened her grip on his arm, afraid she would lose her balance in her new heels. She almost did trip when he stopped without warning. “This is a good place,” he muttered, and pulled her toward a light-wrapped hedge.

  It stood at the edge of one of the sloping stretches of lawn and trees; she had always loved the landscaping of the castle grounds. The lawns made it feel spacious, even with all the buildings that made up the complex.

  “Martin—can you slow down a little?”

  “Sorry.” He did, turning to her. “I am sorry.”

  “Are you okay?” He looked so nervous, his gaze scanning their surroundings, his hand damp.

  “Yes. Of course.” He gave her a faint smile, and she saw the sweat sliding down the side of his face. “Are you doing well? Not too cold?”

  “I’m fine. Tell me what’s wrong, Martin.”

  He let out a sigh, and led her toward the hedge. “There is nothing wrong. I am simply—Maggie, I wanted to—” He grabbed for her free hand, and knocked the program she held to the ground. “I am sorry—so clumsy.”

  “No worries.” She leaned down to grab the glossy festival program, and froze when she saw a hand sticking out from under the hedge. “Martin.” She knew her voice sounded strangled.

  Martin crouched next to her, and reached out to press his fingers to the exposed wrist. “Cold,” he whispered. “No pulse.”

  He didn’t ask her to stay this time; he obviously knew better. Together, they stood, and leaned over the hedge.

  Maggie recognized the costume right away, and covered her mouth with one hand when she saw something protruding from the victim’s back. “Oh, no.”

  “Stay put.” He climbed over the waist high hedge, and checked the man’s neck for a pulse. “Call Ian. I know he planned to be here, for possible crowd control.”

  Maggie nodded, and fumbled in her coat pocket for her phone. She shook out her hand before she tapped in Ian’s mobile number, and stared at the sprawled figure while she waited for him to answer.

  Someone had killed the Ghost of Christmas Past. With a holly branch.

  Seven

  Ian took charge of the murder site within minutes of arriving.

  Once he had the area around the hedge secured, he headed over to where Maggie stood with Martin, his arm wrapped around her waist. She knew before Ian opened his mouth what he was going to say.

  “Maggie—I hate to ask this, but can you come take a closer look at the victim? See if you recognize him?”

  “He was in the play tonight, but with the makeup, and the way he kept wandering around the stage, I never got a good look at him.”

  Ian held out his hand. “I will only keep you long enough to look at him.”

  “Okay.” She looked up at Martin. “I’m okay.”

  With a sigh, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Did you want me to tag along?”

  “I’d like that.”

  He let her go long enough to take her hand, and they followed Ian over to the hedge. All the photos had been taken, and the local doctor had checked the body, so they had turned him over on his side, to try and identify him.

  The damp grass had melted most of his stage makeup, and Maggie swallowed as she recognized the white, splotchy face.

  Ian rubbed her shoulder. “I didn’t check his identification at the time, but I want you to confirm that this is one of the men I chased away from the front of your shop.”

  She nodded, feeling sick. “That’s him. He’s a new arrival to Holmestead. I didn’t recognize him until I saw him later. His name is—was Nick Reed.”

  “He had identification in his wallet, with that name.” Ian studied her. “He must have been on his way to the gateway at the back of the grounds, as he had trousers on under his costume. He has a London address on his ID, but his business card is a local address.”

  Ian showed her the card, which had one of the estate agencies listed at the top, with his name
underneath.

  “I didn’t know him.” She decided not to tell him about the incident at the pub. It was pointless now. “But I would recognize the man who was with him. The last time I saw them together was at The Tea Caddy, glaring at each other across one of the tables.”

  Ian frowned. “Why didn’t you ring me?”

  “They weren’t threatening.” She wished now that she had mentioned it to Ian. “Just angry. I’ve seen more than a few unhappy couples, with the crowds and long queues in the village.” An icy gust of wind had her huddling in her coat.

  Martin tucked her into his side, his body shielding her from the next gust. “I would like to take Maggie home now, Ian.”

  “Of course.” Behind him, the PCs were rushing to finish. “A storm is headed our way. Bad one, according to the report up from London. It’s already hit them—and they’ve had close to a foot of snow so far.”

  “We’re leaving now, Maggie.” Martin pulled his mobile out of his tuxedo jacket, and tapped in a number. “Ashton—we have weather coming. Please meet us at the car.” He listened for a minute. “Thank you. Maggie and I enjoyed your performance.” Even from here, Maggie could hear Ashton’s enthusiastic response. “My pleasure. We will see you there.” He ended the call and held his hand out to Ian. “I appreciate you not dragging Maggie into this.”

  “She does have a habit of stumbling across dead bodies.” He winked at Maggie, then sobered. “I won’t need anything, unless I find his arguing companion. Then I would need you to identify him.”

  “Of course. Just let me know.”

  He clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Stay safe, both of you.”

  “Thank you, Ian,” Maggie said. She tightened her grip on Martin’s hand, still spooked by finding someone they had watched onstage less than an hour ago.

  Just feet away from the edge of the crime site, Floyd Wilton pounced.

  “What did you see?” He shoved his recorder at Maggie. “The village deserves to know what happened—”

  Martin stepped between her and Floyd. “You will not speak to her, now, or tomorrow, or the next day. Are we clear?”

  He grabbed the collar of Floyd’s coat and escorted him up the sloping sidewalk, surprising Maggie and Floyd.

  “Maggie!”

  She turned at the shout, surprised to find Terry Harmon sprinting toward her. One of the PCs stopped him, and he started arguing.

  She headed over to the PC, who now had both hands on Terry, trying to keep him in place.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “You sure, Maggie?” She recognized the PC. Jackie, one of Ian’s new recruits. His Yorkshire accent always made her think of moody moors and fog shrouded fields. “I can be hustling him out.”

  “I’m sure. Thanks for the protection, Jackie.”

  He let go of Terry and headed for the next group of lookie loos trying to get too close to the crime scene.

  Terry took her hand, concern on his face. “Are you all right? I heard a body had been found, but I had no idea until I saw you with the DI that you had been the unfortunate innocent to stumble over it.”

  “I have a habit of doing that.” She smiled when he looked puzzled. “Not my first dead body, unfortunately.”

  “I am so sorry you had to experience the trauma again.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “May I see you tomorrow, at your shop?”

  “Terry. I’m so flattered, but I’m involved with someone.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes, so quickly she wasn’t sure she even saw it. He smiled, patting her hand. “I wish to negotiate for a piece I saw yesterday. I wanted to make certain you were there, so I could enjoy the back and forth with you.”

  “Oh—oh, I’m sorry.” She could feel the blush heat her cheeks. Hopefully, the shadows cast by the lamp behind them helped conceal her embarrassment. “I’ll be there tomorrow, and every day until Christmas.”

  “Excellent.” Terry raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I look forward to our retail battle.” He looked past her, and his eyes widened. “Please, excuse me. I lost track of the time, and am late for an appointment.”

  She watched him run down the hill, and turned to find Martin striding toward her.

  “Who was that?”

  “A tourist I keep running into. Why?”

  Martin frowned after Terry’s departing figure. “I could have sworn—”

  “You’ve seen him before?” Martin nodded. “I get the same feeling, but I don’t know where, or when. He’ll be gone by the time we figure it out.”

  “So, I won’t have to fight him for your affection?”

  “He’s not my type. Loves himself a little too much. I like your type.”

  He looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. “And what would that be?”

  “Smart professor, obsessed archaeologist, fellow antique hoarder.”

  “I can live with that label.” Smiling, he leaned down and kissed her. Maggie had to grip his arm when the kiss turned her knees to rubber. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” She cleared her throat, and took a few deep breaths. It helped clear her head. “I want to stay at the shop, in case the power goes out. I have a generator in the back room. If the house power goes, we’re doomed.”

  He laughed, and kissed her forehead, then started heading down the hill, toward the car park behind the castle keep. “I can get behind that argument. What about Ashton?”

  “I was thinking that he could sleep in the living room. He’ll have the fireplace upstairs, and I don’t want him trying to stay warm in the back room.”

  “I believe I can sacrifice privacy until the storm passes.”

  She smiled up at him. “So generous of you, Professor.”

  “I like to think I am the epitome of generous.”

  He sounded so pompous that Maggie burst out laughing. When he stopped and pulled her in for another kiss, she kept smiling against his lips. Heavens, she loved him.

  And every day, she was more grateful that he was part of her life.

  ***

  Ashton didn’t say a word, helping Maggie into the back seat of the car before he walked around to the driver’s side, leaving Martin to climb in and close the door. Ashton looked pale, shell shocked, and Maggie swore she saw fear in his eyes.

  By the time they pulled up to the back door of Maggie’s shop, he had recovered enough to ask his first question.

  “Who was it?”

  Maggie leaned forward and touched his shoulder. “His name was Nick Reed. Is he the someone you saw at the B&B?”

  Ashton shook his head. “That was—never mind. I knew Nick, in London. He followed me to Holmestead. I hardly expected him to stick. He is a city boy, through and through.” He swallowed. “Was a city boy. Who would do this?”

  She glanced back at Martin, who shook his head. “Ian will find out. He’s a good man, and a fine detective.”

  After a long minute, Ashton lifted his head. “I will leave you here, and head back to—”

  “You’re staying with us.” Maggie raised her hand when he started to protest. “There’s a storm coming, and I don’t want you trapped in a house with no power. I won’t sleep, because I’ll be too busy worrying about you.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and color started to seep into his cheeks. “Since you are providing the warm space, I’ll provide the food.”

  “Ashton, you don’t—”

  “You’ve been beyond kind, Maggie, to a stranger. It will be my pleasure, and my honor, to repay that kindness.”

  “Okay. Just hurry back—Ian didn’t know when the storm would hit us, and I don’t want you caught out in it.”

  “I will be back before you can miss me.”

  She smiled, glad that his humor was back. She had been so afraid that he wouldn’t snap out of the shock of hearing about his friend’s death.

  “We’ll let you go, so you can get back quickly.” She grabbed Martin’s hand and opened the door. �
�Thank you again, for a lovely evening.”

  “I’m sorry it ended so badly.”

  She winked at him. “Not my first dead body.”

  His jaw dropped open. Before he could close his mouth, Maggie climbed out of the car. She let out a gasp as wind whipped down the narrow alley. Fumbling for the keys in her coat pocket, not waiting for Martin, she hustled over to the door and unlocked it. Martin joined her as she stepped inside to punch in her alarm code. The normally cold back room felt warm in comparison.

  She felt even warmer when Martin slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest.

  “Martin—”

  “I want a bit of private time with you.”

  “I need to close the—”

  His lips cut her off, and she forgot about closing the door, or the keys dangling from her limp fingers, or the cold wind lapping at her. All she could do was hold on to Martin and remember to breathe.

  “Maggie.” He traced the line of her cheek with one finger, and started to kiss her again. Headlights splashed over the opposite wall, and he sighed, lifting his head. “That would be Ashton.”

  With a laugh, she kissed his cheek. He captured her lips one more time, his hot, fast kiss leaving her breathless.

  “A promise,” he whispered against her lips. “For later.”

  He gently leaned her against the wall before he stepped outside to help Ashton carry in their takeaway. Maggie locked her knees so she wouldn’t sink to the floor, and fought to compose herself.

  No man had ever made her feel breathless, much less unable to stand on her own after just kissing her. There was only one solution to her dilemma.

  She’d just have to marry him.

  Eight

  Martin’s mobile startled him awake. He snatched it off the night table before another ring could wake Maggie, and answered the call as he slipped out of bed.

  “This had best be important, Geoffrey.”

  “I need you back here, Pembroke.”

  Martin swallowed the curse at Geoffrey’s use of his hated first name, waited until he walked past Ashton’s huddled figure on the sofa, and closed the front door to the flat before responding. “What have you found?”