Way of the Witch

by Cate Dean

  “It will not!” Dr. Givens stomped into the room, his face beet red. “I ordered you to dismantle it, now do it! Your jobs are at stake—”

  “Elgin.” Brent Newcombe stood in the doorway. “Your secretary phoned me when Spencer arrived at your office. I instructed her to do so, in case you are having thoughts of blaming her. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to let go. It seems I was correct.”

  “But this—” Givens waved frantically at the exhibit. “This is going to ruin my good name! My ancestor deserves better than be called a lowly witch hunter—”

  “He is accurately portrayed,” Spencer said, his hands clenched. “All of them are. I deal in facts, Dr. Givens, not in exaggeration. Everything here is based on the truth, nothing more, nothing less.”

  Newcombe walked forward and took Dr. Givens’ arm. “Let’s go and have a quiet discussion about the direction I would like to see the museum take.” He glanced at Spencer, nodding. “I believe you will see things my way, once it’s all laid out for you.”

  Spencer stared at the empty doorway, stunned by the accusation, and how quickly Newcombe had neutralized the director’s temper.

  “That was intense.” The maintenance man stepped to Spencer’s side and handed him the book. “Thanks for answering some of my questions. Look forward to seeing the finished exhibit.”

  “Thanks.” He waited until the maintenance men left, then sank to the floor, his heart pounding, and his left side aching. He looked down at the book in his hand. “This better be a hit, Anya, or I have a feeling I am finished here.”

  ***

  Martin smiled as he ended the call with Heather.

  Maggie had been a hit.

  He knew she would be; she had a way about her, one that the camera would capture. Only time would tell if she continued to enjoy the experience. Filming was a novelty at first, but it could become tedious, and quickly. He would let Maggie make that call.

  Heather told him that Maggie was on her way back, and he knew she would head straight for her shop. He decided to head out for a celebratory bottle of sparkling cider.

  After his quick purchase, he walked back to the shop, enjoying the crisp spring wind blowing off the Channel. More tourists crowded the high street than last week, and he knew the number would increase as they headed into summer.

  Holmestead had become a popular spot, on the way to other towns along the coast. With a charming high street, easy access, and a genuine ghost story, Martin expected the crowds to grow as Anthea’s story spread.

  Maggie was already in the shop when he arrived, her crystal blue eyes sparkling, and her cheeks flushed.

  “Martin!” She danced across the shop and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I had the best day.”

  “Heather rang me. You impressed her, love. I knew you would.”

  “Really?” Her flush deepened. “I’m so glad. I really enjoyed it, Martin. I understand now why you enjoy the documentaries so much.”

  “Watch yourself. It can become addicting.”

  She laughed, and took the bottle from him. “I’ll go open this, and we can all toast to a productive day.”

  He watched her head to the back room, returning with the open bottle and three plastic cups. She would think of Ashton as part of the celebration; her generous heart was one of the things Martin loved about her.

  When she handed him the cup of sweet, bubbly cider, he smiled, and winked at her.

  He was the luckiest man he knew.

  Seven

  The landline jolted Maggie out of a sound sleep.

  Martin reached across her and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

  She blinked her eyes clear, and watched him frown as the person on the other end talked.

  Martin handed the phone to her. “It’s Spencer.”

  Her heart started pounding as she took the phone. Spencer wouldn’t be calling in the middle of the night, unless it was dire.

  “Spence?”

  “Maggie—I’m so sorry, but I need you.”

  “What’s wrong?” She heard it in his shaky voice—the fear she hardly ever saw in him. “Spencer, talk to me.”

  “I was at the museum—I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew it was after midnight. I came home—and—I don’t know how she got in—”

  “Breathe, Spence.” She clutched the phone, Martin’s hand on her back keeping her calm.

  Spencer took two deep, unsteady breaths. “Regina Draper is in my kitchen. She’s dead, Maggie.”

  “Don’t touch anything. Have you called Ian?”

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded faint.

  “Go and sit in the living room, and don’t look at her. Now, Spencer. Tell me when you’re there.”

  “I’m here.” His voice was a little stronger. “What did I do, Mags?”

  “Nothing. Do you hear me? Stop talking like that.” She looked at Martin. “We’re on our way. Stay where you are, and don’t look at her.”

  “Stay where I am, don’t look at her. Please hurry, Mags.”

  “I’m halfway out the door.” She ended the call and slid out of bed, talking as she headed for the closet. Right now, she felt oddly calm—and she’d take advantage while it lasted. “Spencer found Regina Draper in his flat. She’s dead.”

  Martin swore and joined her, grabbing the first shirt he could reach. She handed him a pair of trousers, and changed quickly, throwing on a sweater and wool trousers. It would be cold outside.

  “I will drive, Maggie.” Martin stopped her as she headed for the bathroom, cradling her cheek. “Ring him when we leave, let him hear your voice.”

  “I will.” She leaned against him as the calm deserted her, and forced down the tears, the panic that threatened. “Thank you.”

  “Always, love. Spencer is my friend, as well.”

  “Let’s go.”

  After she used the bathroom, she picked up her mobile and met Martin downstairs. He had splashed water on his face and combed his hair in the guest bathroom, so they wouldn’t waste time waiting on each other.

  “The car is warming up,” he said. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  Both cats met them at the front door. Maggie leaned down and ran her hand over each raised head, then gently shooed them out of the way. Her last view of them before she closed the door was both of them sitting side by side, ears perked, like they knew something was wrong.

  Martin had opened the passenger door for her, and was already in the driver’s seat. She slipped into the passenger seat and closed the door, hitting Spencer’s mobile number as Martin took off.

  “Maggie.”

  “We’re on our way, Spence. Are you still in the living room?”

  “I’m outside. The flat smells like patchouli. You know how much I hate patchouli.”

  Relief spread through her. Spencer sounded closer to normal, and leaving was a smart move. Once he had company, he could face the horror in his flat again.

  “I remember the patchouli incident. I don’t blame you. I can see your flat now, Spence.” She spotted him, near the corner of the building. He must have seen their headlights, because he turned, waving his arm. “I see you. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Thanks, Mags.” His voice sounded hoarse, and he ended the call before she could.

  Martin stopped in the side street next to the building, and Maggie pushed the door open. Spencer was already there; she held out her hands, but he moved past them, wrapping his arms around her.

  “It’s going to be okay, Spence,” she whispered, rubbing his back. “We’ll figure out what happened together.”

  He squeezed her before letting go. She understood why when she turned around. Ian stood next to Martin, looking tired.

  “I’d like to go up alone, Spencer, examine the scene.”

  “Right. The door is locked. Here.” He handed Ian his keys, then crossed his arms. “Did you need me to come up, after?”

  “To see if anything was taken, yes.” Ian laid one hand on
Spencer’s shoulder. “We’ll get this done as quickly as possible, but you will need to stay somewhere else for a few days, while we process.”

  “He’s staying with us,” Martin said, before Maggie could say the same thing. “Will he be able to pack a few things?”

  Ian nodded. “After I have my first look, I’ll take him up.” He turned to Spencer. “Where is Regina?”

  “In the kitchen.” When Spencer shuddered, Maggie moved to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. “The flat reeks of patchouli—that was my first clue that something was wrong.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. Stay here, all of you.” Ian looked at Spencer when he spoke.

  Maggie guided Spencer over to the decorative planter and helped him sit. He looked dazed, and exhausted.

  “Are you okay? Did you need something to eat?”

  He swallowed, and shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to hold anything down. Maggie—what am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to come home with us, and we’ll walk you through the day. You were at the museum until you came home?”

  “I—yes. I think. I must have fallen asleep again. I’ve been working crazy hours to get the exhibit ready, so it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “But you don’t remember falling asleep,” Martin said. He stood in front of Spencer, the glint from the streetlamp on his glasses hiding his eyes. “What else don’t you remember, Spencer?”

  “Martin—”

  He held up his hand, his gaze on Spencer. “Answer the question, Spencer.”

  “I don’t remember falling asleep. I had a headache when I woke, like I’d been drinking. But I haven’t, since I’m still taking painkillers for my side. You don’t think I did this, Professor?”

  “I’m asking what Ian would ask you. He will also test you for alcohol, so tell him the truth up front.”

  “I am telling the truth! I didn’t kill her.” He turned to Maggie, gripping her hand. “I didn’t kill her, Mags.”

  “I know you didn’t.” She gathered him in, looking at Martin. “What was that about?”

  “I want to jog his memory.” Martin ran one hand through his hair, and she saw that he was as concerned as her. “His blank time is going to be an issue. The sooner we fill it in, the less suspicion will land on him.”

  “He’s right, Maggie.” Spencer lifted his head. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had hours missing. I don’t know what’s going on, but I want to figure it out.”

  Ian walked out of the building, gesturing for Spencer.

  Maggie rubbed his back. “Just tell him what you know. You never get used to seeing a dead body, so I can’t help you there.”

  “Thanks.” He gave her a pale imitation of his smile and stood. “I’m all yours, Inspector.”

  ***

  Spencer didn’t want to go back up to his flat. He didn’t want to see Regina Draper, sprawled across his black and white kitchen floor, her blood staining his range. The image had already been burned into his mind; no need to add more detail.

  He had a feeling he wouldn’t have a choice.

  Ian proved him right by leading him straight to the kitchen.

  He swallowed, the reality so much worse than his memory. Thankfully, Ian had opened a window in the living room, to help air out the patchouli. Spencer spotted the source—a broken bottle, next to her outstretched right hand. She had obviously been holding it when she fell.

  “Hold still,” Ian said. “I need to do a smell test.”

  Spencer understood right away. If he had been near her, patchouli would have splashed on him. That stench never went away.

  After sniffing his shirt and trousers, and the jacket sitting on the arm of the sofa, Ian waved him over.

  “There’s nothing on you, except a smell I recognize from the museum.”

  “Old bones and floor wax?” Spencer tried to smile, and failed miserably. “I didn’t do this, Ian.”

  “As your friend, I believe you. As Holmestead’s Detective Inspector, I have to investigate.” He guided Spencer to the door. “For now, you’re free to go. Please keep Maggie from coming up here, and don’t leave the village.”

  “Right.”

  Spencer headed down the stairs, needing the time to pull himself together before he faced Maggie. He could admit to himself that he was scared. Scared that a piece of evidence would point to him. Scared that the lost time couldn’t be accounted for.

  “Stop building the case against you,” he muttered. After taking a few deep breaths, he pushed open the foyer door and strode to Maggie. “We’re good to go. No,” he grabbed Maggie’s arm before she could get past him. “Ian specifically asked that you stay away.”

  “He did?” She looked at the building, and Spencer swore there was disappointment, just for a moment. “Okay. Let’s get you home, and settled. You’re probably exhausted.”

  Exhausted didn’t begin to touch how he felt.

  He gratefully slipped into the passenger seat, then helped Maggie settle in his lap. For the short distance, they’d be all right.

  Martin headed down the back streets, taking the long way, to avoid any potential traffic. By the time they reached the rambling Victorian, Spencer could hardly keep his eyes open.

  Maggie climbed out, and offered her hand. “Yes, Spence, you look wiped.” He took her hand, grateful for the help when his head throbbed, leaving him dizzy. “Spence—”

  “Okay,” he whispered. “Just stood up too fast.”

  “Martin, will you take over? I’m going to go get the guest room ready.”

  “My pleasure.” He moved to Spencer’s side, taking his right elbow. “It’s best to agree at times like this. She ends up winning.”

  Spencer laughed, and it sounded genuine. “You’ve got that right. When she gets that gleam, I don’t bother. Thank you, Martin, for taking me in.”

  “No thanks necessary, Spencer. Maggie and I will do whatever we can to assist you. There’s no need to ask; we are here for you.”

  Spencer nodded, his throat tight. His focus was on getting to the guest room without embarrassing himself. Once he was alone, he could let go.

  Maggie met them at the top of the stairs, reaching for his free hand. He was glad for the support, the contact. He never wanted to know what he’d do without Maggie.

  “Did you want something to eat, Spence?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Okay.” She squeezed his hand. “There’s water on the nightstand, and you know your way around. If you get hungry later, help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Just remember, we have furry residents now.”

  “The cats, right.” As if his words called them, a black and brown cat appeared in the hall. Spencer met the rich amber brown eyes of the sleek brown cat. “Which one is which?”

  “Manny is the reclusive brown, and Sheba is the sneaky black.” Maggie smiled up at him, and led the way to the guest room. “Both of them enjoy their freedom at night, so you don’t need to worry about one of them sneaking in.”

  He might not mind the company.

  Martin excused himself and left the room. When Maggie looked like she was going to wait and tuck him in, he let go of her hand.

  “I’ll be fine, Mags. No need to pull the covers up for me.”

  “Sorry. I’m worried about you.”

  “So am I.”

  She hugged him, and he returned the embrace. Her presence had always centered him, and it did now, when he really needed some sense of control.

  “Okay,” she said, before she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I’ll leave you alone. You know where to find us if you need anything. Anything, Spence. Don’t be afraid to knock, even if it’s just for some company.”

  “Thanks, Maggie. For everything.”

  She smiled at him, and left him alone.

  Spencer turned to the bed, and a real smile spread across his face when he saw the pajamas laid out on the blue duvet, the full carafe of water, some ibuprofen, and a book sitting next to it
on the nightstand.

  “Always taking care of us, aren’t you, Mags?”

  He changed, took three of the pills, and slipped into bed—then cursed under his breath when he saw that he’d left the door open. With a sigh, he got up to close it, not surprised to find Manny outside his door.

  “You waiting for an invitation, mate?” He waved his hand. “Go on. I could use company that doesn’t expect conversation.”

  Manny walked past him, and leapt to the bed. When Spencer closed the door, and crawled into bed, Manny stretched out along his right side, a purring heater. Spencer closed his eyes, reached down to rub the cat’s head.

  “Thanks for hanging out.” Tear stung his eyes, and he finally let go of the control, let them slip free. “I made a right mess of this, mate. And I’m not all that certain even Maggie can get me out of it.”

  Eight

  Martin accompanied Spencer to the police station, since Maggie had already been promised to Heather. He didn’t want her closest friend facing the next step alone.

  “If you need a solicitor, Spencer, I know of several who can step in at a moment’s notice.”

  “My dad has some friends. Thanks for the offer, Professor.”

  “You’re not alone in this.”

  Spencer took a shaky breath, and managed a smile. “Thank you. I don’t think I could have faced this on my own.”

  Martin laid one hand on his shoulder, and they walked into the station.

  Ian stood at the tall front counter, talking to the constable on duty. He waved them over and turned to them after he finished his conversation. “I’ll take you in for a formal statement, Spencer. You’ll have to wait out here, Martin.”

  “Understood.”

  He also knew exactly how Spencer must be feeling at this moment. His own experience as a murder suspect had been nerve-shredding. Fortunately, Spencer had an inspector who would treat him with care, unlike the former constable in charge of Holmestead.

  As soon as Ian escorted Spencer back to the interrogation room, Martin pulled out his mobile and called Maggie.