Page 21 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
And then Maggie died.
The End.
Well, not exactly. But it felt like it. And she mighttruly have expired on the spot if Eleanor hadn’t gestured to the next section of shelves and asked, “What about those? Do you have a favorite?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—” Eleanor gave her a look. “This one.” Maggie pointed to the copy ofRoses Are Dead, Violets Are Blue. It wasn’t Eleanor’s best-known title, but— “It was my first. When I was thirteen, my mom decided to go back to college, which was great, but my dad had to work double shifts and I spent most of my time at the library so we didn’t have to run the air-conditioning during the day.”
For a moment, Maggie froze, sure she’d said too much. But Eleanor wasn’t going to use that fact as a weapon, and Maggie didn’t want to think about how she’d spent so much of her life around people who would.
“And...” Eleanor prompted.
“I read it so many times the librarian told me not to bring it back. She said they needed a new copy. It took me years to realize it was still in good condition and she was just being nice. It was the first book I ever owned.” Maggie was babbling and rambling. It left her feeling guilty for reasons that didn’t make sense and embarrassed for reasons that did. But, most of all, she felt... strange. Like there was something hot on the back of her neck, a tingling and a prickling and—
She turned to see Ethan staring at her from the other side of the room.
“And him?” Eleanor’s voice pulled her back.
“Excuse me?”
“What do you think of him?”
“He’s very popular.” It wasn’t opinion; it was fact. Millions of copies sold. Signings that lasted well into the night. Fan groups and podcasts and (allegedly) a need to check into hotels under fake names to keep groupies from tracking him down. Maggie had it on good authority that there was a store on the internet that specialized in T-shirts with his face on them. (Not that she’d looked. Much.) “With... everyone.”
“But not with you?” Eleanor asked.
“I don’t really know him,” Maggie said quickly—not just because it was the safest answer but alsobecause it was true. Shedidn’tknow him. Not where he was from or where he lived or... anything. Because Ethan was an enigma. The mystery was part of the brand and the brand waseverything.
“Well, somehow I doubt he would say the same about you.” Eleanor’s voice was low and her eyes were mischievous and Maggie was just starting to wonder what it all meant when James cleared his throat and announced—
“Dinner is served.”
Chapter Sixteen
“So how do you know my aunt?” Victoria, the Duchess of Stratford, held a gin and tonic in one hand and a healthy dose of skepticism in the other as they settled around the dining room table. The words were innocent enough, but the tone made it sound like no one would voluntarily spend Christmas with Eleanor Ashley unless there were something in it for them.
“Oh... I...” No one should have been looking at Maggie, not when Ethan was three feet away, but the duchess had already sized up the outsiders and determined that Maggie was the weak antelope. This was how she got weeded from the herd.
“As I told you, Victoria, Maggie, Ethan, and Sir Jasper are my guests,” Eleanor said from her place at the head of the table. Her gaze was sharp, but her tone was overly indulgent. “I’m a great admirer of their work. Besides, it seemed we were going to have more than enough room this year.” She shook out her napkin. “Tell me again why your boys couldn’t make it?”
The question was just innocent enough to disguise that it had teeth. Victoria smiled but took a sip of her drink, leaving the duke to explain. “Switzerland. Skiing. Couldn’t miss it.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “Simon’s new girlfriend is thirty-seventh in line for the throne, you know,” he added, like he didn’t want to brag, but, really, how could Eleanor compete with that?
“Well, I hope you don’t want me to plan thirty-six murders. I could make ten look like accidents. Twelve at the most,” Eleanor said, and Maggie could have sworn the duke looked disappointed. “And... oh hello.” Eleanor turned to Dr. Charles like she’d just laid eyes on him for the very first time. “And who are you?”
“This isDr. Charles, Aunt Eleanor.” Rupert’s voice was a touch louder than it needed to be, emphasizing every few words as if she might not know which ones were important.“Kitty’sfriendfrom her days at thehospital. He didn’t have anywhere to go for the holiday soyousuggested hejoinus. Remember?”
“No, I don’t remember.” For a moment, Eleanor looked like the woman by the windows, distant and melancholy and... homesick. She looked homesick in her own house. But then her gaze turned sharp again. “Probably because it didn’t happen.” Rupert cut his eyes at the doctor. “But any friend of Kitty’s is welcome, Doctor. Lord knows we have the room. I’m glad to have you.”
Dr. Charles gave a warm smile. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s an honor.”
“Aunt E...”
“That’s not her name,” Victoria muttered, but Cece went on as if she hadn’t heard a word.
“Are you cold? Should I get you a shawl?”
“I own a shawl?” Eleanor sounded surprised. “I must be older than I thought. Mr. Wyatt?”
“I left my shawl upstairs,” Ethan deadpanned and Eleanor’s lip ticked up, fighting a grin.
