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The day of the funeral turned out warm, sunny, and picture perfect. Not the type of weather for mourning.
Like Maggie expected, most of the village filled St. Mary’s Church, the 17th century stone church in the middle of the high street. Edward was also there, and since they had been classmates at Oxford, she wasn’t surprised to see him.
Edward raised his hand to her when she passed the pew he sat in. She nodded, and kept going, her heart skipping a little at the interest in his gaze. Then she saw Martin, and everyone else faded.
He sat next to Drew, and wore a dark suit that brought out his grey blue eyes. His dark brown, wavy hair brushed the collar of his jacket, and an image of him in a dirt-streaked khaki shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbow to highlight his strong forearms, flashed through her mind.
Her reaction to seeing him again, after he had left her house and moved into La Fleur days ago, shocked her with its intensity.
Maggie cared about him—more than she should.
He’s leaving, so stop even thinking that there could be anything—
“Mags.” Spencer appeared at her side and draped an arm around her shoulders. “All right, love?”
“I expected this to be hard, since I found Giles. But I just feel—odd,” she whispered, keeping her voice low. “I feel like I don’t belong here.”
“You live here, work here, bring in the tourists that sustain this village. You belong, Maggie.” He shook her gently. “You always have.”
Tears stung her eyes. His quiet words brought back memories of Aunt Irene, calling them in for a cold glass of fresh lemonade. “I miss her so much, Spence.”
He pulled her in until her head rested against his chest. “So do I, love. She would be the first to tell you to get over it.”
Maggie smiled, and lifted her head, meeting Spencer’s eyes. “You’re right.”
“As usual.”
“Smart aleck.”
“You know it.”
She hugged him. “Thanks, Spence. I love you.”
“I love you back, Mags.” He let her go, gesturing to Martin. “Why don’t you go sit next to him? You know you want to.”
She did—so much. Instead, she sat with Spencer, across the aisle. Martin turned to her as she sat; when she met his eyes, that same shock jolted her.
Heaven help her. She had it bad.
The ceremony started, distracting her. Martin nodded his head, and turned his attention to the front of the church. Maggie watched him, studying his strong profile. Spencer elbowed her, and she jerked, aware that she was staring.
She faced forward, not seeing or hearing anything—until they stood to sing, and Martin’s rich voice rose over the others. This time she stared openly, along with most of the people around them.
Martin didn’t seem to notice. He kept singing, oblivious to the fact that he was the only one singing, until the music stopped, and he realized that everyone was watching him.
Reverend Walker cleared his throat, directing everyone’s attention back to the funeral.
“Giles will be interred in the cemetery outside the village. His family has extended an invitation to any who would care to attend.”
Giles’ older brother, Gareth, and his wife, sat in the front row, both of them quiet and clearly uncomfortable. Maggie knew from local gossip—meaning Enid—that Gareth had left Holmestead to go to school in London, and had never looked back.
After a final prayer, the ceremony ended. People stood, murmuring to each other as they made their way out of the church. Maggie and Spencer stood, and she stepped into the aisle, almost running into Enid.
“I’m sorry, Enid...” Her voice faded when she looked at the older woman. Tears ran down Enid’s face, her eyes so filled with grief, it sparked Maggie’s. “Come with me.”
“I don’t think—ˮ
Maggie tucked Enid’s hand in the crook of her arm and led her into one of the side chapels. It was cool, and quiet, the perfect place for confessions. She took Enid’s hands, and squeezed them.
“Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I—oh, my dear.” Her voice shook, and Maggie let go of one hand to wrap her arm around Enid’s hunched shoulders. “Giles and I were having a clandestine affair.” She took a few seconds to compose herself, which gave Maggie time to get past the shock, then continued. “When you were accusing Giles of hurting Angus, I simply—lost control of myself. Now, he’s gone, and I am alone—”
She started sobbing. Maggie held her, rubbing her back, letting her vent her grief. After a few minutes, Enid pulled away, wiping her face with an already soaked handkerchief.
“Thank you, my dear. Your concern is unexpected.”
“I like you, Enid. Your shop is—not my taste, but I have always wanted to be friendly. You don’t really give a person the chance.”
“I will.” She glanced at Maggie, almost shy. “I know my shop borders on tackiness. Would you be willing—never mind.”
“I’d love to help you, Enid.” The older woman stared at her, and Maggie smiled. “I happen to be a huge Sherlock Holmes fan. We can turn your shop into a destination—especially for those tourists who come here thinking Holmestead is Holmes R Us.”
“I—thank you, Maggie.” She patted Maggie’s hand. “I expected you to be like Irene, but you have a kind heart. A good heart.”
Maggie felt her cheeks heat at the compliment. She wanted to defend Aunt Irene, but she knew how much Irene had disliked Enid. Instead, she cleared her throat. “We’ll talk when you’re ready, okay?”
For the first time, Enid looked like she might want to go on past today. “Okay.”
After a last hug, Maggie left her alone, and stepped out of the chapel, almost running into Martin.
“Hello,” he said. He sounded so—distant. And it hurt. “Are you going to the cemetery?”
“No. I’m not feeling well.”
Concern cut through the distance, and he moved toward her. “What is it, Maggie?”
“Nothing. I just—there are too many recent memories.”
“Of course.” He retreated, without moving an inch. “Since Giles was once a friend, I feel an obligation to attend.” He pulled a pocket watch out of the inside pocket of his jacket, and opened it. “I do have long enough to escort you home, if you like.”
She didn’t hear a word after he opened the watch.
“I have to go.” She pushed past him, looking for Drew. He stood at the end of the aisle, studying everyone who walked past. Her heart pounding, she forced herself to walk down the aisle, instead of sprinting. “Drew, I need a favor.”
“I am a bit occupied at the moment.”
“I need—ˮ She moved in and lowered her voice, so only he could hear. “I need to see the inventory of the receiving room, where Giles was killed.”
Drew looked at her like she’d been hit over the head. “Whatever for?”
“I think I know who the killer is.”