Labyrinth (7 page)

Margot let her hand drop from the sword. “What do the crosses denote? Crusades, maybe? No. That’s not right. They’re different. What is it…they look familiar.” Memory rose
of a foreign film…white cloaks
, red crosses—“Templars,” she exclaimed. “This is the Scottish Templar cross." She shifted her attention to
Cat
. “This could go back as far as twelfth or thirteenth century. The Templars were drummed out of business in the early fourteenth century.”

Cat stared. “How do you know so much about medieval history?”

Margot laughed.
“Movies.”

Cat’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, then her face relaxed and she shook her head. “Leave it to you to actually pay attention to that stuff.”

Margot rounded the desk and sat in the overstuffed leather chair across from Cat. The computer and multi-lined phone sitting on the desk, with a fax/copier located to her right were a stark contrast to the armor.

“Kind of
odd,
isn’t it?” she said.

“What’s that?” Cat asked.

“Old meets new.”

“You get used to it.”

Margot doubted that. “So, how did you end up with that thing?” She nodded toward the armor.

“Like I said, these castles are filled with this stuff.”

“Templar armor?
No way. That has to be worth some money.”

“Everything here is worth money. That’s why I can sell the package at such a high price.”

“It’s just so hard to believe.”

Cat studied her. “I never knew you were into medieval history.”

Margot grinned. “About as much as you were into Scottish castles.”

Cat grinned back.
“Some shocker, huh?”

“Yeah,” Margot agreed.
A real shocker.
“I arrived two days ago and we haven’t had a moment to talk. I want to know what got you all the way to Scotland and Castle Morrison.”

“I’m dying to fill you in, but it’ll have to wait.”

Margot frowned. “Not work again.” She nodded toward the narrow stained glass window on the right wall. “The sun is shining. From what I understand, that doesn’t happen very often here. I’m on vacation and you’re supposed to play with me.”

“I know, but the contractors ran into a problem yesterday, and I can’t afford to be away until we get it worked out. Besides, we’ve got loads of time. You said you were staying at least a month. How did you get Hicks to agree to that? I thought he couldn’t live without you.”

“When I told him I hadn’t had a good lay in five years, and that if I didn’t get one now, I’d start working through the boys in Wilkinson Count, he practically ordered me to leave the county.”

Cat grimaced.
“Scared the shit out of the old boy.”

“It did. He knows I’m capable of it.”

“More than capable, you were made for it.”

She sounded so much like the old Cat, Margot couldn’t take offense. The two of them had raised as much hell as any of the boys in Wilkinson County.

“You keep taking care of business on your own and you won’t get that lay.” Cat waggled her eyebrows.

Margot laughed. “The dream I had night before last can’t compare to last night.” It couldn’t. Yet, in the light of day, something about that second dream sent a small but distinct chill down her back. She shook off the feeling. Dreams were odd by nature. Margot refocused on Cat to find her staring.
“Something wrong?”

“You started to tell me about last night,
then
went quiet. What happened?”

Margot shook her head. “Too much talk of legends and seducing ghosts. Where’d you get all that stuff?”

“That story outlined in the picture is the well known part of the legend. I hadn’t intended on including the detail about Lord Morrison murdering Rita Jones. That’s Ghost Hunters Inc.’s work.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I opened Castle Morrison’s doors, their sleuths went to work and uncovered that tidbit. I could have murdered them.”

Margot just bet she could. “Why’d they do it?”

“Apparently, they’re always on the lookout for a new haunted castle to add to their list. They wanted Castle Morrison to be number three in
Great Britain
’s top ten most haunted places. I turned them down.”

“Why? I would think that would be great for business.”

“A ghost who murders women because they can’t set him free?”
Cat’s mouth twisted down in disgust. “Pretty gruesome, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah,” Margot agreed.
“Damned gruesome.”
But not gruesome enough to discourage her from buying the place—or perpetuating the legend at the dinner table.
“If Tory Hanley is any indication, you might want to reconsider Ghost Hunters Inc.’s offer.
Tours
could be a huge source of revenue.”

“Not a chance. My rich guests come here to get away from the common man. Not to mention, being named one of the top ten haunted places in
Great Britain
would bring every nut between here and
Mississippi
out of the woodwork to exorcise my ghost.”

Margot lifted a brow.
“Your ghost?”

She shrugged.
“My castle, my ghost.
I paid enough for them.”

Margot knew she wasn’t talking about money, but the four year sentence with Donny she’d been forced to pay in order to collect
her
money. Margot relaxed against her seat. “Last night, your ghost took me on another wild wet dream. I don’t remember the whole thing.” And damn, if she hadn’t tried “But the bits and pieces are yummy.” She released a disgusted breath. “I pulled out of it before I got my just desserts.
Must be my church upbringing.”

Cat snorted. “After thirty-four years?”

Margot laughed. “Yeah, it’s a stretch.” She crossed her legs, her shoe bumping into the front of the desk. “What’s the problem with the contractors?”

Cat hesitated. “You can’t mention this to anyone. Word gets out, and I could lose every booking from now into the twenty-second century.”

“What is it?” Margot kept the surprise from her voice. Of all the people Cat might confide in, the cop who knew she'd murdered her husband should be the last person.

Was it possible Cat had no idea Margot suspected her? Margot always believed Cat knew, and her disappearance from
Wilkinson
County
confirmed that suspicion for Margot. Could she have been wrong about Donny’s death? She’d asked herself that question a thousand times and, each time, the answer came in the form of Etta Mae Anderson, the most renowned witch in the four-county
Mississippi
,
Louisiana
area.

A week before Donny drowned Etta Mae had given Cat a potion for
woman problems
. Every witch in
Mississippi
and
Louisiana
knew practicing abortion without a medical degree meant serious jail time, so they offered potions for
woman troubles,
and swore the herbs would cure
any
ailment a woman had.

Etta Mae’s
voodoo magic
had put more than one girl in the hospital, and a few had been buried in early graves, but Margot figured Cat wasn’t about to chance an abortion at any clinic in the south, nor was she going to carry to term a baby who could lay claim to half the inheritance she was entitled to after Donald’s death.

“There’s a problem with the foundation on the east wall,” Cat’s voice snapped Margot’s attention back onto her.

“What?”

“The east wall, there’s a problem with the foundation.”

“How much will that run you?”

“I can’t be sure until they determine the extent of the damage, but it’ll start at three hundred thousand.”

Margot released a slow whistle. “You said you’re booked a year in advance. You must have deposits that’ll cover it?”

“The bookings for the next four months are held with a thirty percent deposit, half of which is nonrefundable. Anything over four months, I get a fifteen percent deposit, of which ten percent
is
nonrefundable. All deposits become nonrefundable six weeks before the booking date. I can’t use the refundable portions of the deposits, and have to pay taxes on the nonrefundable deposits before I can use that. If the damage is contained in that corner, I’ll have enough to cover it. Problem
is,
that money is needed for operating costs until I get into full swing.”

Margot wondered how Cat had managed to blow through four million, even with the purchase and renovation of the castle, but asked, instead, “How long will that take?”

“A year before I can breathe, two before I have six months operating costs in the bank.”

“That’s not bad. Most businesses take five years to start making any profit at all.”

“I have no intention of slaving for five years before living my life again,” Cat said with a vehemence that started a crawl of tension up Margot’s spine.

“No?” she replied,
then
cursed inwardly at the realization that she’d used her calculating deputy sheriff voice. Twelve years as a cop had really seeped into her ego.

Cat’s gaze sharpened. She leaned back in her chair and nodded toward the door. “You go on, Margot. I’ve got to play grownup today.”

Surprise gave way to anger. She and Cat had been best friends since second grade when Dottie Harris called Cat white trash and said her rich daddy could buy and sell Cat’s mother—and probably already had. The accusation was true, but Margot bloodied Dottie’s nose and got suspended for a week. Dottie never bothered Cat again, and Margot and Cat became inseparable.

“Maybe you ought to find that good looking Charles McNeil you were with in the gardens and see if you can do something about getting that lay,” Cat said.

Margot didn’t flinch. As expected, word had reached Cat as quickly as it would have in
Wilkinson
County
, and the note of resentment in her voice confirmed Margot’s fears. While it would take serious connections to get information on an undercover agent, Cat was the suspicious sort.

Margot stood and shrugged. “You have to admit these Scottish men are damned hot. But he’s a prospective customer—well his cousin is—and I didn’t want him thinking you were running a southern-style whore house.”
Though she couldn’t help wondering how much he would have minded.

Cat turned her attention to her computer. “You’re a guest here just like anyone else. You can socialize with whoever you want.”

Margot nodded genially. What would Cat do if she had discovered McNeil was SAS? Damn him. Margot had agreed to his dinner invitation. Invitation, her ass, he’d used blackmail. She’d decided that making friends with an SAS agent couldn’t hurt, and she couldn't deny the desire to see him again, which had surprised her. The last thing on her mind was romance.
Romance, hell.
If the dreams she'd been having were an indication, Cat had hit the mark. Margot needed a good lay. Besides, if McNeil got in her way, she’d kick his SAS ass all the way back to Gordon’s doorstep.