The Private Eye (6 page)

Maggie Gladstone clearly hadn't yet learned that
playing knight in shining armour was a thankless task and generally a waste of
time.

The clock on the bedside table ticked softly, recording
the passage of what was apparently going to be an endless night.

The hell with it, Josh decided. If he wasn't going to
get to sleep, he might as well get some work done. He would get started on the
book tonight. Sooner or later he was going to have to find out whether he could
pull off the task of getting the characters in his head down on paper. Make
that computer disk, he told himself as he pushed aside the heavy quilt.

Josh levered himself to an upright position and rolled
off the edge of the high bed with a sudden surge of enthusiasm. It was not
until he was halfway off that he belatedly remembered the small set of steps on
the side.

By then, of course, his right foot had missed them
entirely and he was off balance. He grabbed for the ornately carved bedpost.
The damn thing was apparently broken. It turned beneath his hand, providing no
support at all. His fingers slipped off it. In a reflexive movement that he
regretted an instant later, Josh put his injured left foot down to catch his
full weight. His heel hit the floor and waves of pain shot through him “Damn it
to hell.” Josh gritted his teeth against the agony in his leg and grabbed
desperately again for support. His fist closed around a handful of the chintz
bed hangings.

Unfortunately the bed hangings had not been designed to
bear weight. They tore free of the canopy frame. There was no time to clutch at
anything more substantial. Josh toppled awkwardly back onto the edge of the
bed, promptly slid off it, and landed heavily on the floor. His bruised
shoulder and ribs, which had been healing rather nicely up to that point, took
the brunt of the fall.

Josh closed his eyes, clenched his teeth and waited for
the agony to recede. While he waited, the torn bed hangings drifted lightly
down to settle on top of him.

Josh remained on the floor, tangled up in chintz, and
gathered his strength to fight off the pain. He was amusing himself by running
through a list of four-letter words that seemed suitable to describe quaint,
charming Victorian inns furnished with period pieces when he heard anxious
pounding on the door. He knew at once who it was.

“Josh? Josh, are you okay?” Maggie's voice was filled
with concern.

Hell. Just what he needed, he thought, disgusted. It
wasn't enough that he already felt like a damn fool. No, now he had to face the
ignominy of having his client race to the rescue. Somehow his restful, relaxing
month on the coast was not getting off to a good start.

“I'm fine, Maggie.” he managed. “Go back to bed.”

“You don't sound fine. You'd better open the door. I
thought I heard something heavy fall in there.”

“A little accident,” Josh gasped, spitting out a
mouthful of chintz drapery.

“Another accident?” she asked in obvious dismay.

“Don't worry about it,” he got out through teeth that
were still set against the roaring protest of his battered body. The woman was
clearly forming the opinion that he was a clumsy idiot. He could hardly blame
her.

“Josh, you sound terrible. I'm coming in.”

“No.” That threat galvanized him into immediate action.
Josh lurched to a sitting position beneath the shroud of bed hangings and had
to suck in his breath as a new wave of pain surged from his ankle and bruised
ribs. “Damn.”

The door opened on the far side of the bed. A narrow
shaft of light cut a swath across the floor as Maggie stuck her head inside the
room. “Josh? Where are you?”

He realized she couldn't see him because he was lying
on the other side of the huge bed. “Over here. Look, Maggie, there's no need to
get excited, okay? I'm all right.”

“What on earth happened?” She flipped the light switch
beside the door. “Good grief, what have you done to the bed?”

“It's more a question of what your bed has done to me.
Did you know one of the posts is loose?” Josh inhaled deeply as he tried to
free himself of the enveloping fabric. He promptly sneezed. “And when was the
last time you washed these things? They're full of dust.”

“Oh, dear. I'm sorry about that. It's been a while.
This was my aunt's room. I didn't see any reason to keep up the regular
housekeeping in the unused rooms. Here, let me help you.”

He heard her bare feet padding across the carpet and
resigned himself to the inevitable humiliation of being found on the floor. “As
long as you're here, you might as well give me a hand. Just get this stupid
drapery off me.”

“Of course. Josh, I really am sorry about this. Did you
miss the step when you tried to get out of bed? Sometimes people get
disoriented and forget how high these old beds are. You're not going to sue or
anything, are you?”

“That's a thought,” he muttered darkly.

“It wouldn't do you any good, you know. The only major
asset I've got is this inn and you probably wouldn't want it.” She started to
lift the chintz fabric away from him and then paused abruptly just as she got
it free of his face and shoulders. “Good grief.”

“Now what?” He looked up and saw that she was staring
straight down at him. She was blushing furiously.

He also saw that her hair was down, forming a
delightfully sleep-tousled cloud around her face. She had put on a quilted robe
but hadn't taken the time to tie the sash. Tiny flowers and bits of lace trim
adorning an old-fashioned, high-necked flannel nightgown peeped out through the
opening of the robe.

Maggie looked warm and cosy and ready for bed. In spite
of the pain. Josh felt his body responding in an unmistakable fashion. He
wondered idly why nature had made it possible for the male of the species to
feel desire and pain simultaneously.

“I'll get you a robe,” Maggie said in a small voice and
promptly started to drop the draperies back down on top of him.

“Wait. Damn it, don't bury me under that stuff again.”
Realizing belatedly what the problem was. Josh managed a rueful smile. “Guess I
should have warned you I sleep in my shorts, huh? Look, if this is too much for
your maidenly modesty, just get out of here. I can take care of myself.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I'll help you back into bed.” She
swept the remainder of the fabric away from him and turned quickly to deposit
it on the nearest chair. A small cloud of dust wafted upward. “I suppose I
really should get these washed as long as they're down.”

“Good idea.” Josh grabbed on to the edge of the bed and
started to hoist himself up off the floor. The movement brought more protest
from his ankle and ribs. He bit back another groan.

Maggie whirled around at his small sound of stifled
pain. The embarrassment in her gaze was immediately replaced by concern. She
reached out to grasp his arm.

“Here, lean on me. When we get you back on the bed,
I'll run downstairs and get you some ice for that ankle. Would you like some
for the shoulder, too?”

Anger at the embarrassing situation in which he found
himself swept through Josh, mitigating some small portion of the pain. “I don't
need any ice and I don't need a nurse. Just leave me alone, okay? I'm not
dying. Not even close.” It was only his masculine pride that was on the
critical list, he decided.

“No, but you are obviously hurting.” She released his
arm as he heaved himself into a sitting position on the bed. “Just stay there.
I'll be right back with the ice. Is there a robe in your closet?”

“No. Don't own one.”

“Oh. Well, I'll be right back.”

Before he could stop her, Maggie was out the door.

Josh swore under his breath and sat very still, waiting
for her to return. As long as she was going for ice, he would be a fool not to
use it. Hell of a way to impress a client, he reflected. Hell of a way to
impress a woman.

By the time he heard Maggie's returning footsteps on
the stairs a few minutes later, the pain had receded to a dull throb in both
ankle and ribs. He was going to live, after all. Josh told himself grimly as
the door to his room opened. Furthermore, he had his raging hormones back under
control.

“Luckily we keep some ice bags around for emergencies,”
Maggie said cheerfully as she came back into the room. “Just lie down and I'll
put one on your ankle. I brought one for your shoulder, as well.”

There was no point protesting. Josh propped himself in
a sitting position against the pillows and winced as Maggie carefully
positioned the ice bags. “Thanks.” He knew he didn't sound particularly
gracious.

Maggie straightened and regarded him with a worried
expression. “Do you have any pain pills?”

“Yeah, but I don't need any. I'll be all right in a few
minutes. The ice will do the trick.” He slanted her a hooded look. “I'm really
doing my best to shatter your romantic notions about dashing private
investigators, aren't I?”

She smiled at that, “Well, yes, as a matter of fact.
You certainly aren't anything like the ones in the novels I've read. I've never
heard of one falling out of bed, for instance. But I guess I can cope with
reality. Do you still think you can handle this case?”

“With one hand tied behind my back.”

She swept an assessing gaze down his bruised and
battered frame. “How about with one hand and one foot tied behind your back?”

“I'll manage.”

“How?” She gave him a frankly inquiring look.

“What do you mean, how? The usual way.”

“I'm serious.” She sat down in the chair near the bed
and carefully folded her robe around her knees. “How do you intend to approach
this case?”

Josh shrugged and tried to compose his words so that he
sounded halfway professional - “Well, I think in this particular case, my
initial approach will be to eliminate everyone's pet theories. I don't think
any of your permanent residents is going to be satisfied with the results
unless I've definitely proven them wrong first.”

“Hmm.” Maggie was quiet for a moment. “You could be
right. I take it you don't believe that any of the theories you heard explains
what's been going on around here?”

Josh cautioned himself not to say too much too soon.

He didn't want to talk himself out of the job. “I
didn't say that. I said I think they should each be checked out thoroughly. You
know the old saying, 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever
remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'”

Maggie's expression brightened. “Sherlock Holmes. The
Sign of the Four, 1 think. I'm so glad you've studied the classic detectives.”

“Uh, yeah. The classics.” Josh decided not to tell her
that it had been nearly thirty years since he had read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,
and that he had long since forgotten the origin of the quote. The only reason
he had remembered it at all was because it so frequently fit his cases.

“I suppose you'll be using your computer to eliminate
the impossible in this case?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. The computer.” Josh mentally crossed
his fingers. He hadn't planned on using his computer for anything except working
on the book.

“We do a lot of investigative work on computers these
days.”

“Yes, I know.”

There was nothing like having a mystery enthusiast for
a client. He was going to have to watch his step. Josh sought for a way to
change the subject. “You never told me your pet theory, Maggie. You implied you
had one.”

She gave him an uncertain glance. “Well, yes, I do. But
you'll probably think it's pure fantasy.”

“Try me,”

“Well…” She hesitated. “To be perfectly frank, I've
begun to wonder if someone is after Aunt Agatha's emerald brooch. I haven't
been able to find it since she died, you see.”

Lord, Josh thought in amusement. Now we've got emeralds
involved in this thing. “Why would anyone go to the trouble of creating a lot
of trouble here at Peregrine manor because of a brooch?”

Maggie leaned forward intently. “It's my theory that
whoever is causing the trouble is actually trying to force the manor to close
down entirely so that he or she can search the premises for the brooch.”

Josh tried to look suitably impressed. “You think it's
hidden somewhere here in the house?”

“It's possible. You see, my aunt died very suddenly from
a heart attack. She had no time to give lastminute instructions. She had been
in excellent health and had no reason to worry about her future. She always
loved that brooch and she kept it in her jewellery box rather than in a safety
deposit box. But when I went through her things after the funeral, the brooch
was missing.”

“Who was supposed to get the brooch after her death?
Was it mentioned in her will?”

“Yes. It was to come to me, along with the manor-She
left very specific instructions that it was to be treated as a sort of
long-term investment.”

“An investment?” Josh frowned.

“Yes. For the manor. Aunt Agatha told me privately that
I was to sell the brooch if it ever became necessary in order to keep Peregrine
Manor running.”