Page 29 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“This window is locked, and it swings out. The snow is undisturbed, so we know it hasn’t been opened.”
“One: I know,” Ethan said calmly. “And two: Are we really entertaining the theory that an eighty-one-year-old woman jumped or flew or rappelled down the side of the building? During a blizzard?”
“I don’t have a theory yet,” Maggie shot back. “You shouldn’t make theories until you have all the facts. Which you would know if you were a real mystery writer and not a...”
“Leather Jacket Guy?” he filled in as he leaned against the busted door and crossed his arms, biceps bulging beneath the yarn. “Oh, but now I’m an awesome sweater guy. Go ahead. Put yours on. Let’s be twinsies.”
Maggie’s heart was beating faster than usual, probably because Eleanor was missing and Ethan was watching her and the result was a weird cocktail of adrenaline that hit her bloodstream like jet fuel. She wanted him to leave. Or tease. Or fight. She wanted him to do anything but stand there, watching her like she was the ultimate mystery and it was his job to solve her.
“You know, when I said we should look for Eleanor, I thought we might skip the one room we know she’s not in.” Ethan pushed off the doorframe and prowled closer.
“And I thought we might focus on the last place she was seen.” They were chest-to-chest again, and Maggie felt suddenly hot inside the chilly room.
“Wait.Wasshe seen here?” Ethan challenged and Maggie thought back to the night before.
“Fine. The last place she was”—they both turned to the phonograph in the corner—“heard...”
But that wasn’t true either. They didn’t hear Eleanor’s voice, just the music that had blasted throughthe doors, drowning out the sounds of Cece’s shouting.
Ethan gave a shrug likehere goes nothing, then picked up the needle and placed it on the record and soon the tune of “La Vie en Rose” filled the air. It sounded like Paris and cobblestone streets and warm, fresh bread and Maggie’s stomach growled because she hadn’t eaten breakfast.
“What I don’t get is why you’renotfreaking out right now?” He tilted his head, eyes sharp. This wasn’t Flirty Ethan or Charming Ethan or the Ethan who had probably been best man at two dozen different weddings. This was the Ethan who saw things—who sawher—and Maggie turned away, wishing she could go back to the days when he didn’t even know her name.
“Maybe I’ll freak out later. Maybe—” And then she realized what was wrong about that picture—about that scene and that moment and that place. “It wasn’t this song.”
“What?” Ethan asked, obviously confused. But there was something inside of Maggie, something moving and humming and coming to life. It was just right there. She just had to reach out and...
“It wasn’t this song!” she said again, stronger now, but Ethan wasn’t following.
“I don’t—”
“Last night! When she put the record on, it wasn’t this song!”
He nodded likeokay but you’re missing the point. “So she played more than one record. Why does it matter?”
Oh, she couldn’t believe him. She was going to strangle him with his own sweater! How could anyone—anyone—sleep under Eleanor Ashley’s roof and not know—
“It matters because, if you read Eleanor Ashley, you would know that this is the song that was playing when...”
And then the pieces started falling into place. Slowly. Maggie wasn’t standing in Eleanor’s office, she was in Deborah’s, hearing her editor say,Somethingis coming next year. Very big. Very hush-hush. And I think you’re the person for the job.
She was shivering in the coldwind, watching Eleanor wink and tell them,I like a twist.
I’m probably wrong, Maggie told herself. It had been so long since she’d been right. She could almost hear Colin’s voice in her head, telling her that she was seeing things, hearing things, manufacturing mysteries out of thin air. But that didn’t change the fact that Eleanor was missing. Eleanor was gone. And...
“Well...” Ethan prompted.
If she was right, then...
“It’s nothing,” Maggie said quickly. “You win.”
“Wait.I win?” He sounded like that was the craziest part of their very crazy morning.
“Yeah. Let’s split up. Search. I’ll see you in an hour.”
And then she pushed past his big, dumb body in his big, dumb sweater and set out to prove herself wrong. Trying to silence the little part of herself that was screaming she was totally right.
Chapter Twenty-Three
