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It took Martin longer than he wanted to reach Maggie and Kit.
After Spencer’s abrupt call, only telling Martin to get to the shop before he rang off, Martin had been in a near panic. If anything happened to them—
He had been forced to dig out the cane he used after his first injury. Thankfully, his leg worked well enough to drive the Rover with little difficulty. He parked as close to the high street as he could get, and hobbled the rest of the way.
It wasn’t hard to find Maggie; she stood in the midst of a crowd of people, talking to Ian. Relief washed through him when he saw her, Kit tucked safely in her arms.
Dread followed on its heels when he saw the ambulance parked beyond the shop.
Spencer spotted him, made his way through the crowd. “Maggie and Kit are fine.” He took Martin’s arm, guided him back toward Maggie. “A man died in front of the shop.”
Martin knew there had to be more to it, but he would wait.
When he reached the center of the crowd, he limped over to Maggie. She saw him, her blue eyes bright with tears, and reached him before he’d taken two steps.
“Martin.”
He wrapped his arm around them both, kissing the top of Kit’s head.
“What happened?” He kept his voice low, but Ian must have heard him. The Detective Inspector joined them, his notebook in one hand. “Ian.”
“Your wife had an adventure his morning.” He glanced at Maggie.
“He collapsed in front of my shop, Ian.”
“Right. There is no identification, but I’m running his fingerprints. He didn’t say anything to you, Maggie?”
She shook her head, but avoided his eyes, and Martin knew she was lying. “He was whispering something, but he—passed away before I could get close enough to hear.”
“And the blood on your hand, it was from checking his pulse?”
“Yes.” She did look at him for that answer, her chin up. “I had Spencer call Dr. Smith, but it was too late by the time he got here.”
Ian studied her for a long minute, then nodded. “I want you to come by later and give your official statement.”
“I will.”
He nodded to Martin, then left them. Martin waited until he was out of earshot before he looked down at her.
“What aren’t you telling him, Maggie?”
“Not here. Please, Martin,” she said, when he raised an eyebrow. “Not here.”
Her sober tone, and the intensity in her normally clear blue eyes, told him that what she had to say would be best said in private.
“I have the Rover parked just up the street.”
“Wait here. I need to let Spencer know I’m leaving.”
He watched her walk over to the door of the shop, where Spencer stood, his arms crossed. Once Maggie started talking, his frown deepened. Martin could tell that her best friend was not happy with her.
Spencer pointed at him; after a long hesitation, Maggie nodded. With a sigh, he hugged her, tickled Kit under the chin, and let her go.
She walked back to Martin, Kit still smiling from his interaction with Spencer.
“Let’s go home.”
***
Maggie forced herself to stay calm.
Life had been peaceful, with Kit as the center of their world. This stranger, showing up in front of her shop, had shattered that peace with his warning.
Any threat to Martin was a threat to her. To their son.
She was so focused on controlling her own turmoil that she almost missed the driveway.
“Maggie.” Martin’s quiet voice jerked her back, and she swerved in time, straightening out as she made her way down the long driveway. “I want you to put Kit down before we talk.”
“That’s the plan.” She glanced over at him. Sunlight glinted off his glasses, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but his mouth was set, like he was bracing himself for bad news. She stopped the Rover and turned off the engine. “Head to the lounge. I’ll meet you there.”
He nodded, climbing out of the passenger side. Her heart pounded as she watched him limp to the back door, leaning on his cane. He knew something was wrong; that what she had to tell him wouldn’t be good.
“Stop procrastinating, Maggie,” she muttered. She climbed out and opened the back door, unstrapping Kit and lifting him out of his car seat. “There’s my good boy. Ready for a nap?” He gurgled, and she laughed. “You’re getting one, whether you’re ready or not. We had quite the adventure, didn’t we?”
She just hoped that Kit wouldn’t remember it.
After putting him down, and rubbing his back until he drifted off, she headed to the bedroom, took off her coat, and pulled out the wrapped bundle she’d tucked in the pocket before Ian arrived. Bracing herself, she carried it downstairs and walked into the lounge.
Martin sat in the upholstered chair at the end of the coffee table. Maggie halted; he always sat on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder with her. His obvious need to distance himself hurt.
“Tell me, Maggie.” His quiet voice held none of the animation that lit her up.
“Martin—”
“Sit, and tell me.”
Swallowing, she lowered herself to the edge of the sofa, set the bundle on the coffee table. Martin focused on it, his hands clenched into fists, pressing into the arms of the chair.
“The man spoke to me, before he died. He was warning me, Martin. Warning you. He—” She reached out, wanting to take his hand, stopped at his icy gaze. “He said that your life was in peril. That you needed to leave, to hide.”
He raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued instead of as terrified as she tried not to feel. “My life is in peril? Did this good Samaritan give you a name?”
“Clive.”
Martin shocked her by letting out a shout of laughter. “That old thief. I am sorry, love. I never meant to startle you. Clive Everly and I met not long after I returned from Egypt. I had heard rumors that he had died years ago.” He shook his head. “As much as I liked him, the man always looked after himself first. If he came to warn me, it was not out of the goodness of his heart.”
“Martin.” She was starting to feel more sympathy toward a stranger than her husband. “He died coming here to warn you.”
He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Maggie. Dealing with Clive has always needed a pile of doubt. We have run into each other occasionally, but I walked away from whatever friendship we might have had a long time ago.” He waved to the wrapped bundle on the coffee table. “Shall we open the mystery package?”
“I’ve been dying to since he gave it to me.”
Maggie stood and picked up the bundle, holding it out to him. Once he took it, she perched on the edge of the coffee table, anxious—and more than a little worried about what was in the bundle that Clive had died to bring to Martin.
He untied the heavy twine, then slowly unwrapped what looked like worn brocade. Nestled in the blue and gold cloth was a small box. Judging by the stunned look on Martin’s face, she guessed it wasn’t an ordinary box.
“Martin?”
“I didn’t expect—how the bloody hell did he acquire it?” Using one corner of the brocade, he carefully wiped the top of the box—and Maggie got her first good look.
“Is that—”
“The Roman seal box.” He held it up, letting her see it clearly. “The same box that was stolen from the Yorkshire site.”