by Nancy Warren
Gemma made a funny sound. “Babe Magnet?”
I nodded. “See?”
“I’m not saying it wasn’t Darren’s bike that tried to run you down, what I’m saying is that Darren wasn’t driving it.”
“Then who was?”
“Sanderson,” Martin Hodgins said. “Must have been.”
Ian looked at me with raised eyebrows. I knew he trusted me to tell him the truth as I knew it. I looked at Gemma. “Is it okay if I fill Ian in on what you were telling me?” I didn’t want her to tire herself out unnecessarily. She nodded, looking weary. Quickly, I related the story she’d told me. I explained about the manuscript, that she’d spoken to Sanderson and told him she had the manuscript and could prove her father’s authorship.”
I could see that Ian was almost more interested in this than in his murder investigation. He put up a hand. “Wait.” He looked at Martin Hodgins. “Can you really prove that you wrote the Chronicles?”
“I can.” He unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out a few pages. “You can see my scribbled notes in the margins. I’ve got all my source materials.” While Ian looked at the papers with a slightly stunned expression, Martin Hodgins dug to the bottom of the bag. “Wait, this is the best of all. I’d actually forgotten all about it.”
He rummaged and it sounded like he was scratching through fallen leaves. Then he said, “Here it is,” and pulled out a large envelope. He pulled out the contents, cleared his throat and read, “Dear Mr. Hodgins. Thank you for submitting your trilogy of fantasy novels, The Chronicles of Pangnirtung to our publisher for consideration. Unfortunately, while we enjoyed aspects of the novels, we do not feel we can accept your novels for publication. We wish you success in your literary endeavors.” He waved the pages about. “It is dated six months before Sanderson presented the novels as his own. And, since I’d sent a self-addressed stamped envelope, the publisher kindly returned my pages, with notations.”
Ian handed back the pages he’d been looking at. “Sir, if your claims are true, and I’m beginning to believe they are, then may I be the first of your fans to apologize for what’s been done to you?”
“You can,” said Martin Hodgins. “And when I get them published under my own name, I’ll sign a set for you.”
“We’ve gone off topic,” I reminded Ian. “The point is, that Gemma spoke to Dominic Sanderson and told him she had her father’s manuscript. He told her he was willing to meet. She informed him she had a stall at the holiday market. She was strangled later that day at the holiday market.”
He had his cop face on, now. When I’d finished speaking, he said to Gemma, “Did you see him?”
She shook her head.
“All right. You rest up. I’m very glad you’re all right.” He walked out into the corridor and I followed him.
“Ian. Aren’t you going to arrest Sanderson? What more does he have to do? Walk around with a sign saying, “I did it?”
“You should do us both a favor and apply to join the force. Oh, wait, you can’t. You’re American. What a shame.” He turned and took a step toward the exit.
“Ian!”
He turned back. “I’m going to bring him in for questioning, all right?”
I knew he had to follow proper police procedure, but at least he was getting that man off the streets before he could attempt to harm Gemma or her father again. “I’m worried about my friend, that’s all.”
He relented and came toward me. “I know you are. And when this is all over—”
His phone chimed and he pulled it out of his pocket. He frowned and picked up. “DI Chisholm.”
He listened. “Right.” Then his eyes widened and for some reason he looked up at me. “I’ll be right there.”
“What?” I asked when he rang off.
He said, slowly, “Dominic Sanderson was found dead in his home. He hanged himself.” We were both silent and then he shook his head. “He wrote the final chapter of his life his own way.”
And then he turned and walked away.
Chapter 21
To my complete surprise, Gemma reopened Bubbles. She’d been released from hospital and her father had picked her up in a limousine and taken her, not back to her rented room in Botley, but to a suite in the Randolph, one of the best hotels in Oxford.
I walked down to the market with yet another set of stockings for Timeless Treasures and saw that Bubbles was open and busy. Gemma wore a green turtle neck sweater to hide the fading bruises, but otherwise she looked as though she’d never been hurt. Mabel had knitted it for her specially. Since they’d spent so much time looking after her she’d decreed they were her honorary aunties. Even though Dr. Patek had given her a clean bill of health, I was still surprised to see her working so soon. Even more shocking, she had a helper.
Martin Hodgins was busy making change and wrapping soaps. He looked like a different, younger version of himself. His hair was freshly cut, he wore a brand new cream woolen shirt that I suspected Gemma had picked out, a tweed jacket, and jeans that actually fit. He was never going to be the life and soul of the party, but he seemed like a kind and gentle introvert rather than a bitter, broken one.
I walked over and gave her a hug. “Gemma, I can’t believe you’re back.”
She stepped out of the booth and we walked a few steps away where we could talk without being overheard. She gave me a wry smile. “I had to do it, Lucy. I had to come and finish what I started. Sanderson ruined enough of our lives, I wasn’t going to let his attack stop me from completing my time at the market. Besides, I was getting bored sitting around in that fancy hotel. How many spa treatments and fancy meals can one woman have?”
I sighed, imagining. “I’d like to take that challenge and find out.”
She laughed. “It’s been amazing. Everything is changing for us. Sanderson’s agent, Charles Beach, came down from London when he heard what had happened. He and Dad had a long talk. He gave Dad a hefty advance on future earnings. Enough for us to stay in the Randolph. He’s going to represent Dad.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Your dad didn’t want his own agent?”
She glanced at her father, who seemed to be coping fine, and said, “At first, he did, but Charles convinced him he was the best person for the job. He knows the books better than anyone and he’s already proven he can sell them. Plus, the best part is, that because he’s representing Dad, that’s all the proof of authorship anyone needs. It helps us avoid lengthy legal battles that Dad’s just not up for. Chaz is working up new contracts so my dad and the publishers make the money and not the lawyers.”
That sounded like something call-me-Chaz would say. “I’m so glad it’s worked out so well for everyone.”
“I think Dad would have liked his day in court. He feels a bit cheated, in a way, that Sanderson took the easy way out.”
There was a kind of irony in Dominic Sanderson’s end. He’d tried to strangle Gemma to death and ended up strangling himself. I didn’t say that, though, it seemed a bit macabre.
She laughed. “I feel like we got a Christmas miracle.”
“I’m so glad. You deserve it. You both do.”
“I’d better get back, but Dad and I want you to come for dinner tonight at the hotel. You’ve done so much for us. And the food’s amazing.”
“I’d love to.”
It was almost impossible to believe that everything had worked out so well. I was wearing a beautiful red sweater that Clara had knit. It was the one she’d been working on while she’d sat by Gemma’s bed all those hours. It kept me warm and, since the sun was out and I was in no hurry to head back to Cardinal Woolsey’s, I thought I’d do some Christmas shopping.
I couldn’t resist buying a box of chocolates for Ian. They were meant for children, I imagined, but they were decorated with British police bobby hats. As I turned away, I bumped into Ian himself. “Hello,” I said in surprise.
“Lucy.” Ian looked pleased to see me. “I was coming to the knitting stall to find you.”
>
I started to form a question and then stopped myself.
He shook his head at me. “What is it? If you’ve got questions, I’ll try and answer them.”
“It’s just that I still can’t figure out how Darren ended up dead?”
He pulled me aside so we were out of the crowd. “Darren did go to Martin Hodgins’ house. It seems he told several people he was going there, not only you. He seems to have believed her father could influence Gemma and get her to go out with him again. This is just a theory, mind you, but we believe he surprised Sanderson in the act of setting fire to Martin Hodgins’ home. No doubt Sanderson had hidden his car somewhere nearby and when Darren kept banging on the door and making a fuss, shouting, “Hodgins, I know you’re in there,” which several neighbors confirm he did, Sanderson let him in and pretended to be Hodgins. He bashed him over the head with the brick he’d used to break in, and then set fire to the place.”
I hadn’t liked Darren, but that was a horrible end for anyone. “And then Sanderson stole his helmet and motorbike to get away. So it looked like Darren arrived and left.”
“Exactly.”
“He really was a cold-blooded killer. Darren hadn’t done anything to him.”
“Except show up at a most inopportune moment.”
“So it was Sanderson who tried to run me down.”
“We believe so.”
“But why kill me? I hadn’t done anything.”
“I’ve been wondering that myself. I suspect that your interview with Professor Naylor got back to him.”
I shot a glance at him under my lashes. “You know about that?”
He nodded. I knew he wanted to scold me but it seemed he couldn't be bothered to waste his breath. “Professor Naylor was very forthcoming. I interviewed him as part of a routine inquiry into Sanderson’s suicide. He mentioned a graduate student from the USA had interviewed him and been particularly interested in the old scandal. Naturally, he’d told Sanderson.”
“How do you know it was me? There must be loads of grad students who come over from the States.”
“Lucy, you used your real name.”
“Oh.” I thought about it. “So, Sanderson tried to kill me because I was asking questions?”
“No. I think he was after the manuscript.”
My eyes widened. “My carry bag. I dropped it when I fell.”
“You told me it had the packing slips in it. Since Sanderson hadn’t found the manuscript when he searched Gemma’s room, and he knew you were asking questions, he probably put two and two together. He saw you walking along with a bag of papers and decided to grab them. Remember, by that point, he was a very desperate man.”
“I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.”
“You should feel sorry for yourself.”
I gulped. “Why?”
He opened his mouth, then looked at me and sighed. “In the seasonal spirit of good will, I’m going to refrain from asking how you knew Gemma had that manuscript, and what you’ve done with it.”
I thought that was an excellent decision on his part. “Good. Because I just bought you a Christmas present.”
His eyes twinkled when he looked at me. “Did you? You’d better give it to me now, then.”
“Why? Christmas is days away.”
“Because I’m going to Scotland for the holidays, leaving this afternoon. My sister had a baby and wants me to go.” He shrugged and looked a little uncomfortable. He wasn’t big on sharing personal stuff.
“All right.” I gave him the box of chocolates and when he saw the little decorated hats he chuckled. Then opened the box and offered me one. We both took a sweet and bit into it. Oh, they were good. He looked at me, with laughter in his eyes and said, “Come here, I’ve got something for you, too.”
He took my arm and pulled me behind a chalet selling wreaths and artificial trees and ornaments. It was relatively quiet and I looked up at him, expecting him to give me a silly gift. Instead, he pointed above my head. “Mistletoe,” he said.
I looked up. “That’s not mistletoe. That’s plastic ivy,” I protested, but my heart started to pound.
“My mistake,” he said, and leaning forward, kissed me. He tasted like chocolate and promise. I pulled back, startled and blushing. He was smiling down at me. “Merry Christmas, Lucy.”
“M-merry Christmas.”
He said, “I want to see Gemma and her father before I catch my train, but I’ll call you when I get back.”
“Yes,” I said, my lips still tingling. “Fine.”
He walked back into the crowd and I took a moment to feel silly and girlish and pleased with myself. I couldn't wait for tonight. I was going to have to get Gemma alone and deconstruct this whole kissing thing and try to work out what it meant. Joke kiss? Christmas kiss? I want to marry you and have eleven children kiss? I was so bad at this. And, then there was the tiny problem of me having a hidden life. Ian already thought I was trouble, and he didn’t know I was a witch.
I made my way back to Timeless Treasures.
Ian was chatting to Gemma and her father. I saw him shake the older man’s hand. Then, Gemma went on serving customers and her dad came around from behind the chalet and stood to the side, chatting to Ian. To my surprise, Charles Beach walked out of the crowd and toward the two men. He wore a black leather jacket and sunglasses, like this was LA. I shook my head. Still, it was great that he was making Martin Hodgins’ life easier. And that was the least he could do since he’d been actively taking bread off their table for forty years.
He stood beside Ian. With their backs to me, they were about the same height and build. There were people gathered in front of Bubbles, and another crowd of young parents in front of the chalet next door selling wooden toys. The three men stood between the two chalets. I began to feel a tingling in my fingertips.
“No,” I said aloud. The black jacket, his height against the chalet. I’d only seen Lucy’s attacker for a few seconds in the dark, running away, but he’d looked a lot like Charles Beach.
“Lucy? You look as though you’d seen a ghost.” It was Rafe, who’d appeared at my elbow. I couldn’t spare him a glance. “You knew Dominic Sanderson, didn’t you?”
“Not well, but nodding acquaintances. Why?”
“Was he as tall as you?”
“Yes. Thereabouts.”
The man I’d seen running away that night had not been as tall as Rafe. I pushed my packages at him. “Hold these for a second, will you?”
“Lucy?”
But I was already walking toward the trio of men. Martin Hodgins saw me first and smiled broadly. “Why, Lucy. Gemma tells me you’ve accepted our dinner invitation.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” I don’t know how I kept my voice so level. Ian and Charles Beach both turned as I joined the group. “Hello, Mr. Beach,” I said.
His eyes shifted away. “Hello,” he said, as though he didn’t have a clue who I was.
“Don’t you remember me?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” He patted his new client on the shoulder and said, “I’ll call you Monday. We’ll start setting up meetings.” He turned to go.
I raised my voice. “After a man tries to run me over, I like to think he’ll recognize me next time he sees me.”
Ian’s gaze was sharp, and Martin made a huff of surprise but Charles Beach kept on walking. He’d stiffened, so I knew he heard me.
“Mr. Beach,” I all but shouted. “I saw you that night, the night you strangled Gemma. But you know that. You saw me first. And you ran. That’s why you tried to kill me, to shut me up.”
He turned and tried to look nonchalant, even though a lot of people at the market were staring. “I don’t have time for hysterical females. I have to get back to London.”
Ian glanced at me and I nodded. He stepped forward, looking as tough and cop-like as a man can who has a smear of chocolate on his lower lip. “Mr. Beach, I’ll need you to come to the station and answer a few questions.”
I’d had about enough of him. He was an evil man who’d, a killer who’d tried to murder my friend and helped destroy her father.
Plus, he’d called me a hysterical female, which I did not appreciate.
I didn’t have Nyx feeding me the spell this time, and I didn’t need her. I recited the Latin words she’d given me when I’d needed them most. I was most definitely going to fix Charles Beach’s window.
Ian had taken off in hot pursuit but it wasn’t long before I heard the sound I’d been waiting for. A splat, like a bug hitting a windshield on the highway. I walked between the chalets and sure enough, there was Charles Beach sprawled on the ground. Ian glanced at me as he ran by. “Did you trip him?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Then, I had the pleasure of watching him arrest the man who’d caused so much trouble.
“Nicely done, Lucy,” Margaret Twig said from beside me. I had no idea where she’d come from but I was gratified that she’d seen my grand performance. Lavinia was right behind her.
“Thank you.”
“So, we’ll be seeing you at the Winter Solstice celebration tomorrow night?”
Margaret Twig might be a much more experienced witch than I was, but I was no slouch either. I pulled myself to my full height and gave her my steeliest stare. “Only if you let me do a demonstration spell.”
Lavinia looked distressed. “Oh, dear, is that a good idea?”
Margaret’s thin lips curved in a smile. “I think it’s a very good idea. We’ll look forward to it.” She nodded briskly. “Blessed be.”
Rafe handed me back my packages. “How did you know it was Charles Beach?”
“I saw him standing between the chalets and my fingertips started to tingle. And I thought, even when Gemma told me that he was going to be Martin Hodgins’ agent, that it was all too neat. Everything was wrapped up like a gift ready to be put under the tree. I thought from the beginning that Dominic Sanderson wasn’t a killer.”