Page 30 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
The house that had felt so large the day before flew by as Maggie darted into the hall and toward the stairs. She knew Ethan was at the threshold of Eleanor’s office, watching her retreat, so she tried really, really hard not to run. It took every iota of Maggie’s willpower not to scream as she moved down the stairs and through the foyer and into the library where she closed the double doors behind her and leaned against them like she might be able to keep Ethan and the world on the other side.
Flames flickered in the fireplace and, outside, the world was white and vast and cold, but she wasn’t thinking about whether or not Eleanor was out there. No. Maggie was reaching for the key in the door and twisting—click. And then she was walking toward the shelves.
The song was fresh on her mind and coursing through her veins and, when she hummed, she remembered—
“What’s that?” Colin asked as he lay on the twin bed in her dorm room.
“Nothing.” Maggie blushed and turned her head.
“No. I want to know.” He grabbed her by the waist and tugged her down beside him.
“Just my favorite song from my favorite book.”
“What’s that?”
Her hand was reaching for the shelves. Then? Now? Maggie couldn’t tell. Past blended with present. With future? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that when she reached for the first edition ofRoses Are Dead, Violets Are Blueshe didn’t even have to search for the page. There was something tucked inside already. A sprig of mistletoe. And just like that, Maggie knew.She knew.
She thought her heart might gallop right out of her chest as she held the mistletoe against her lips and read thenovel’s epigraph for the millionth time, “For a murder isn’t a murder when there is no death. And a mystery isn’t a mystery when”—she slammed the book shut—
“It’s only a test.”
For a moment, Maggie couldn’t move. She could barely breathe as she stood there, thinking.
It’s a test. It’s a test. It’s a test.
And then she heard Deborah’s voice in her ear, saying,“I think you’re the person for the job. But I need you to get on that plane.”
And she knew what Deborah hadn’t been able to tell her: It wasn’t just a test. It was acontest. And if it was a contest...
Then somebody had to win.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I need to make a phone call.”
“Excuse me?” James sounded confused.
“I need to call New York. Now. Can I use your phone, please? I can pay for the long-distance charges, and I wouldn’t even ask except... I need to call New York. It’s important.”
This thing—if she was right—was the kind of thing that would changeeverything. And Maggie needed to know. Not if she was right. No. She needed to know if it was okay to hope because Maggie had learned a long time ago that hope was the most dangerous emotion. It had been ripped from her and used against her. It had torn her to shreds a dozen times and she wasn’t going to do that to herself if she could help it. She wouldn’t survive it.
But if she was right...
“I need to call New York,” she said again.
“The phones are down, miss. I presume the storm...”
Of course. The storm. Maggie was safe and warm inside those old stone walls, but, outside, the sky was angry. Snow swirled and the windows rattled. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except—
“James, I really need to call New York. Is there wi-fi? I can just FaceTime—”
“I’m afraid our internet is all satellite-based and with...” James motioned to the swirling white beyond the windows.
“The storm,” Maggie filled in, hope and dread doing war inside her. “Where can I go to get a cell signal? Is there, like, a lookout point? Maybe a larger-than-average hill?”
“Ma’am, I cannot recommend leaving the house. The roads are impassable.”
She saw it then—something in his eyes. He wasn’t lying, but he didn’t want her to know the wholetruth either. “James... is there a placeinsidethe house?”
