Page 15 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“Well, hello there.” The girl held out her hand to Ethan. “I’m Cece.”
“Eleanor?” Ethan’s voice held a teasing lilt. “Why didn’t you tell us we’d be meeting your slightly younger sister...” He trailed off, realizing... “Too much? I think that was too much?”
But eventhatsounded charming and Eleanor smiled. “I appreciate the effort.”
Cece batted her eyes and slapped him playfully on the arm, lingering on those frankly ridiculous biceps. “Oh, you’re a big flirt.”
He lowered his voice. “Among other things.” He dropped his hold on Maggie and she stumbled away. “And who might you be, Cece?”
Cece tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as if she wasn’t already wearing a perfectly adequate headband. Then she exclaimed, “I’m Aunt Eleanor’s niece!” as if aunts and nieces weren’t typically related. “When she heard I needed a job, she said I could move to England and be her companion and secretary and... well... just sort of all-around aide.” She turned to Eleanor and raised her voice. “We have a lot of fun together. Don’t we, Aunt E?”
If the look on Eleanor’s face was any indication, she and Cece had very different definitions of the wordfun, but there was something else in her eyes, too: patience and curiosity—like someone who was working on a plot and pulling at strings, not sure which ones would make a knot and which would make them all unravel.
But then something over Maggie’s shoulder caught Eleanor’s attention. “How is it out there, James?”
Maggie turned to see the driver walking down the hall. He must have come in through a servants’ entrance because he’d traded his coat for an apron and carried a stack of mail on a silver tray.
“Gonna be a bad one, ma’am. Glad you folks landed when you did. Now, I’ll take your bags to your rooms. If you need anything, just let me or Miss Cecilia know.”
Cece reached for the tray.“I’ll take that, James.”
“I’ve got it.” Eleanor started flipping through the letters and Maggie couldn’t keep from staring because even Eleanor Ashley’s mail was fascinating. Red envelope (probably a Christmas card). Green envelope (Christmas card). White envelope with a picture of a light bulb (utility bill?). Blue envelope with a staff and snake (medical bill?). White envelope (personal letter?).
Maggie was just standing there, thinking she would happily read Eleanor Ashley’s utility bill cover to cover when Eleanor shoved the mail under one arm and leaned a little heavier on her cane. “Cecilia, would you mind showing our guests to their rooms? I’d prefer to stay off the stairs as much as I can.”
“Oh, of course! You poor thing.” Maggie might have been stunned and exhausted but she knew one thing: there was nothing poor about Eleanor Ashley. Still, that didn’t stop Cece from shouting, “Why don’t you go lie down?”
“I’ll do that.” Eleanor pasted on a smile but whispered, “Perhaps you can tell her there’s nothing wrong with my hearing?” And then she walked away.
As Maggie watched her go, it felt like coming awake after a long nap—the kind where you’re not sure if it’s day or night, summer or winter. Like you don’t know if you’ve been sleeping for an hour or a year. The one thing she knew was that Ethan’s arm was heavy and warm as it fell around her shoulders, guiding her toward the stairs.
“That’s Eleanor Ashley,” she mumbled numbly. “We’re... we’re spending Christmas with Eleanor Ashley.”
She kept waiting for Ethan to tell her she was crazy, that she was wrong. But he just kept looking down at her with something like fondness in his eyes. And when he said, “Let’s get you to your room, Maggie,” her name sounded just right on his lips.
Chapter Eleven
“We aresohappy y’all could join us,” Cece said when they reached the top of the stairs and started down a drafty hall. “She’s been a little mopey.Since she fell,” she added in a whisper. Like it was a crime to admit that Eleanor was human. And frail. And, in fact, an eighty-one-year-old woman and not just the icon who lived in Maggie’s mind.
“How bad was it?” Ethan asked.
“Oh, it was more scary than bad.” Cece waved the worry away. “The runner was loose and the railing was old and, well, she’s just not a young woman anymore. It could have been a lot worse.”
Maggie had lost her mom and dad at eighteen. She’d never even known her grandparents. Maggie didn’t have family memories or family heirlooms or family in any way at all. Maggie had no one. Maggie had nothing. But Maggie had always had Eleanor, and the thought of what might have happened...
“This is her office.” Cece paused for a moment in front of a large door and Maggie stumbled to a stop. “But I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” Cece warned. “She doesn’t like people touching her new book. Even if they were just dusting and didn’t mean to mess up chapter twenty—”
“New book?” Maggie didn’t even try to keep her voice down. “She’s writing number one hundred?”
“Oops.” Cece’s cheeks turned pink. “I wasn’t supposed to mention that.”
Maggie was aware, faintly, of footsteps walking away, of the air growing colder and stiller around her. But, mostly, she could feel herself leaning, teetering, starting—
A warm hand slipped into her cold one. “Come along, Margaret Grace.” She forgot to put up a fight as Ethan dragged her away.
Five minutes later, Maggie was startingto wish she’d run a string, left a bread trail, maybe invested in some high-end walkie-talkies because she was pretty sure the only way she was going to find the first floor again would be to go to a window and jump. The halls were long and twisty and the whole house felt like a maze as they followed Cece up staircases and down corridors, past bookcases and alcoves and windows that overlooked twenty thousand acres of very empty England.
“Your rooms are just up...” Cece trailed off as a sharp scream pierced the air outside.
