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The ringing phone woke Maggie out of a restless sleep.
Heart pounding, she grabbed the handset off the bedside table and answered it.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Maggie.” Ian’s voice had her sitting up, her fingers clutching the phone. “Martin has been taken to the station in Canterbury.”
No—no, no, no—
This couldn’t be happening again.
“Why?”
“One of the students was attacked, and identified him.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I agree, but they had no choice, not with a victim ID.”
“Where, Ian?”
He hesitated, then let out a sigh. “Do you have a pen?”
Maggie jotted down the address, sliding off the bed as she ended the call. She pulled her nightgown off and threw on the first pair of pants she grabbed, along with a warm sweater.
“Kit,” she muttered, and headed to his room.
It was too late to call anyone, so he was coming with her. Part of her knew she would look more sympathetic holding a baby, when she asked to see her husband.
“Damn it—”
She stopped outside Kit’s room and braced her hands against the wall.
This wouldn’t end like Martin’s first arrest—with him as the prime suspect in a murder.
It couldn’t.
***
Martin heard Maggie’s voice before he saw her.
“Thank you again, DI Chamberlain.”
“It has been a pleasure meeting the woman who restored Blakeney Manor. Your husband will have to stay here, in Canterbury, until this has been sorted.”
“I understand.”
When Martin limped out to the waiting area, Maggie’s back was to him, but he saw how stiffly she held her shoulders.
“Ah,” DI Chamberlain waved him over. “Here he is now.”
When she turned, Martin was only partly surprised to see Kit in her arms. His presence would make Martin’s plan easier.
“Maggie.”
She nodded to him, then turned back to DI Chamberlain. “Thank you, for taking the time to see me.”
“A pleasure, Mrs. Martin. I wish it had been under better circumstances.”
She smiled, but even from here, Martin could see it was forced. “I’m glad you enjoyed the grand reopening of the manor. Ready to go, Martin?”
She walked to the door before he had the chance to answer.
When he joined her on the dark, empty sidewalk, he leaned on his cane and took her hand. “I want you to take Kit and return to Holmestead.”
“Not a chance. Not without you.”
“Maggie—”
“We’re in this together, Martin.” She squeezed his hand. “We’re not leaving you.”
“Yes, you are.” He braced himself, eased his hand free, and continued. “It is too dangerous for you to stay.”
“I plan on taking Kit home, then coming back on my own—”
“No, Maggie.”
He shoved down the fear that threatened at the thought of her being anywhere near the site. Or him. Whoever had attacked him in the gardens at Blakeney Manor had obviously followed him to the dig site. The assault on Sandra only made him more determined to keep Maggie well out of this.
“I want to help you with this.”
“You will go back to Holmestead, and you will stay there.”
“Really.” Her eyes narrowed, and he was afraid he had not been abrupt enough. “You don’t need me to bail you out if this goes sideways, and you end up in a cell.”
“No.” He gave her the hard look he had always reserved for disappointing students. “Go home, Maggie.”
“Don’t do this, Martin.” The pain in her voice clawed across his heart. “Please let me help.”
“Your help will hardly be useful.” He added insult and kept going, hating himself before he even spoke. “Stay away from here, and stay away from this investigation. The local police hardly need you poking about, getting yourself into trouble.”
She stared at him for endless moments, and he knew if Kit had not been in her arms, he would be receiving an ear blistering string of curses about now—if not the outright slap he deserved.
Finally, muttering under her breath, she moved forward until there was no space between them.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Pembroke Martin.” He flinched, and understood he had not only angered Maggie, he had hurt her. She never used his first name. “But if you want to shut me out, then you just got your wish.”
Before he had the chance to think about apologizing, she turned on one heel and stalked down the sidewalk, not looking back.
“Forgive me, love,” he whispered, his heart aching at merely the thought of her, of Kit.
It was safer for both of them if he dealt with this alone.
***
Too angry to see straight, Maggie nearly ran into the tall figure standing near her Rover.
She halted, instinctively moving Kit to her left hip, and turned so her right side faced the stranger. Several pubs lined this part of the street, and the presence of other people was the only reason Maggie had walked for several minutes, trying to calm herself, instead of heading straight for the Rover.
“Miss Mulgrew?” His voice sounded familiar.
“Who’s asking?”
“Forgive me. I must have startled you badly, showing myself in the middle of the night like this.” He raised his eyebrows at a passing group, his nostrils flaring when they started singing—a wildly inappropriate song that had her fighting a smile. When he turned back to her, any annoyance was gone. “I am Geoffrey Drummond-Doddington, the archaeologist your husband works for.”
She relaxed. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Martin has told me about you.” Very little of it flattering.
He lifted his chin. “I have tried to be a good influence on Pembroke, share my knowledge with him. I am on my way to the station, to provide a character reference for him. In spite of his shortcomings, Pembroke has the capacity to be a good archaeologist.”
“I—thank you.” Geoffrey was proving to be as pompous as Martin had always described him. It must have grated every time he used Martin’s first name. She had done it out of anger, but she had a feeling Geoffrey did because he knew how much it annoyed Martin. “I need to get home.”
“You are not staying?”
He didn’t need to know that Martin had ordered her to leave.
“Home is close enough that I can come back when I’m needed.”
“That would be Holmestead, am I correct? Sounds—quaint.”
Maggie had the feeling he didn’t mean it as a compliment. “We like it.”
A smile crossed his face, and came off as condescending. “I imagine so.”
“People look out for each other.” She wasn’t sure why she told him, but he nodded, his smile warmer.
“As they should.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Good evening, Miss Mulgrew.”
“It’s Mrs. Martin.”
“Of course, my mistake. I will see that your husband is not railroaded by this clearly false charge.”
He strode down the sidewalk before Maggie could respond.
She looked after him, bouncing Kit on her hip when he started to fuss. “Your dad was right. He is an arrogant, pompous man.”
With a sigh, she turned toward the Rover, exhausted at just the thought of driving home.
After tucking a wide awake Kit into his car seat, she slid into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine.
Martin wanted her to go home, she would go home.
That didn’t mean she’d stop investigating.
***
Martin thought the night could not get any worse.
He turned out to be wrong.
Geoffrey waltzed into the police station just as DI Chamberlain was getting ready to release him. For now.
“I demand to see who is in charge of this travesty.”
Martin shook his head, and moved to step between Geoffrey and DI Chamberlain.
“Please,” Chamberlain said, laying his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “I have handled my share of better than thou types.” He strode forward, meeting Geoffrey halfway. “Mr. Drummond-Doddington. I will be happy to speak with you, once I’ve finished with Professor Martin.”
Geoffrey’s eyebrows shot up. “You do realize he is no longer a professor, my good man? He was booted after being falsely accused once before. I refuse to allow him to suffer the same fate again.”
“He will be treated fairly, I assure you.”
Geoffrey lifted his chin, and Martin braced for the verbal assault.
“And I assure you, Inspector, that I will bring to bear every ally I have if Pembroke is not exonerated posthaste.”
DI Chamberlain glanced over his shoulder at Martin, one eyebrow raised, but he didn’t comment. He turned back to Geoffrey and crossed his arms.
“There is no need to threaten, or grandstand, Mr. Drummond-Doddington. Martin is being released tonight, on the condition that he stay in Canterbury for the duration of the investigation. I will investigate, thoroughly.”
“Ah—excellent.” Geoffrey sounded less than enthusiastic. Having his performance cut off mid threat would hardly endear DI Chamberlain to him. Of course, he would take his temper out on Martin. “I will happily cover any accommodation cost, as I am the lead archaeologist on the dig, and Pembroke my employee.”
“I will have the B&B he chooses forward you the bill, then. Now, if you will excuse us, I’d like to send him on his way while there is still a moon in the sky.”
“Of course, of course.” Geoffrey strode over and clapped Martin on the shoulder. “See you bright and early, Pembroke.”
“I will be there.” He waited until Geoffrey walked out of the station before he turned to the DI. “I am truly sorry for him.”
“No apology necessary, Professor.” Chamberlain headed back to the counter. “I just need your signature, and you’re free to go.”
Martin met his eyes. “I did not harm her.”
“The evidence will tell the truth, Professor. That is what I believe.”
“I understand.”
Martin followed him to the counter, signed the papers without reading them, and made his way out of the station. Only after he left did he remember he had no transportation.
When he turned to head back, DI Chamberlain stood in front of the station. “It just occurred to me that you may not have a way back to your dig site, Professor. I can offer a ride, or a place to stay for the night, if you would rather have four solid walls and a real bed. I am assuming you have no accommodation here, since you have been staying out at the dig site.”
Martin wanted solitude, and time to think, but his leg told him he would be better off staying in a warm, dry place.
“I will accept your generous offer, Inspector, if it is not too inconvenient.”
Chamberlain smiled. “My wife Sara would disown me if I stranded you. Please,” he held out his hand. “Call me Jamie.”
“Martin.” He shook the offered hand. “Should you be consorting with the suspect in your case?”
“You have a sterling reputation, Martin. I also rang a few associates, who confirmed what I already knew.” He freed Martin’s hand and headed down the sidewalk. Martin limped faster to catch him up, his cane tapping on the sidewalk. “I expect Sara will have a table full of food waiting for us.”
“This late? I am sorry for the trouble.”
Jamie slowed his pace, frowning when he glanced down at Martin’s leg. “Recent?”
“Not really. An injury I thought healed has flared, and I exacerbated that injury by spending time on cold, windy digs.” He shook his head. “I have no idea why I told you.”
“I have that way about me.” He grinned. “My wife claims it gives me an unfair advantage.”
“I would agree with her.”
Jamie clapped Martin on the shoulder. “I’ve always enjoyed your documentaries, Professor. Good to know the man behind them is just as witty.”
They walked the rest of the way at a slow pace, Jamie pointing out local sights. Exhaustion began to drag at Martin, and his leg gave him no warning before it buckled under him.
“I’ve got you now, Professor.” Jamie caught his arm, draping it across his shoulders before Martin could open his mouth to object. “Nearly there.”
He didn’t lie; they stopped two houses down, and Jamie led him up to the door. It opened before they reached it, a tall, pretty woman rushing out to them.
“Is he hurt, Jamie?”
“Old injury, love. Do you have your bag handy?”
“Always. Bring him into the blue bedroom.” She ran back inside.
Jamie flashed a smile at Martin and headed for the door. “Did I mention my wife is a doctor?”
***
Maggie gripped the Rover’s steering wheel, her knuckles white from the force. The drive had given her time to think—and time for her temper to build, slow and hot.
Oh, she understood exactly what Martin had been trying to do—protect her and Kit.
She hated that he felt he had to shut her out in the process.
“I should have knocked some sense into him, Kit.” Her son gurgled in response, and she let out a laugh, some of the knots in her stomach loosening. “Your dad is the most stubborn man I know. We’re going to help him,” she glanced in the rearview mirror, smiling when she saw that Kit had started to fall asleep. “Whether he wants that help or not.”
After she pulled into the long driveway, she slid out of the driver’s seat, stretching before she took Kit out of his car seat. He woke halfway up the stairs.
“Oh, no—you’re going to bed. At least one of us should get some sleep.”
She changed his diaper and got him ready for bed. He protested when she lowered him to his crib, but not for long. Maggie rubbed his back, slow and soothing, until his breath evened out.
Exhausted, she leaned against the crib and watched him sleep, the ache she had managed to ignore until now tightening her throat.
Martin had never been so—cold, not even when they first met, after she had nearly run him down. Understanding his reasons didn’t ease that ache, or the tears that stung her eyes.
Once Kit was asleep, she headed downstairs, too restless, too heartsick to sleep. She padded into the library—and felt the cold brush her cheek before she spotted Anthea.
Her outline wavered as she glided forward, so transparent Maggie could read the book titles on the shelf behind her.
“I’m fine, Anthea.” She had a feeling the ghost’s state was because of her. “Okay, I’m not, but I don’t want you to worry about it. Martin and I—”
The tears she’d been fighting finally won, choking her voice.
She stumbled to the closest chair and curled up in it, hugging herself as she let the pain and the frustration out. Anthea hovered nearby, her presence calming.
After a minute of shameless self-pity, Maggie straightened, wiping at her wet cheeks.
“You’re not seeing me at my best.” She let out a choked laugh, then sighed, exhaustion crashing in on her. “Martin’s in trouble, and he won’t let me help him. I know,” she waved her hand, “he wants to protect me and Kit. We’ve never left an argument unresolved before, and I—I don’t know how to deal with that.” She ran one hand through her unruly hair. “He didn’t hurt that girl—I know it—but the police in Canterbury don’t, and he’s all alone—”
She cut herself off when Anthea moved in front of her, hands on her hips. She shook her head once, and Maggie had a distinct feeling that the ghost was—disappointed in her.
“I know he can take care of himself. But there was the attack in the gardens, and now this. He was alone out there. I don’t want him to be alone this time.”
Anthea tilted her head, and Maggie hunched her shoulders.
“Yes, we fought about it. I have the right to stand by my own husband, especially when he’s accused of attempted murder. The girl identified him, Anthea,” she whispered. “How are we supposed to get past that?”
When Anthea glided forward and let one hand hover over Maggie’s shoulder, Maggie knew the ghost was trying to comfort her.
“Thank you—for listening to me, and not disappearing. It helped.” She would have done this with Kit, but part of her was afraid he’d remember it, and she didn’t want him to have the memory of his own mom breaking down. “We finished the renovations on Blakeney Manor. I hope you can find your way—” Anthea disappeared. “There. That you like what we did.”
Since Anthea had died in a hidden room in the manor, Maggie knew she would be able to go back.
Alone again, Maggie leaned back against the chair, physically and emotionally exhausted. If she had any hope of helping Martin, she had to be at her best.
“A list,” she muttered, groaning as she pushed to her feet. “I need to make a list.” She clutched the arm of the chair, lightheaded. “Tomorrow. List and plan of action, first thing tomorrow.”
Tonight, she would sleep—and hope that Martin was able to do the same.