Page 32 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
Maggie shouldn’t have relished the way he looked at the ceiling and shook his head, frustration coming off him in waves. It was all she could do not to giggle.
“What?” He sounded more annoyed than offended.
“I didn’t say a thing.” But Maggie had to bite her lip as she went to the sideboard and started ladling herself soup, suddenly ravenous. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d been too nervous to eat the night before and she hadn’t had anything for breakfast, and then she’d had a very busy morning of running up and down staircases, outsmarting Ethan Wyatt.
And Maggie was just getting started.
“What’s going on with you?” Ethan whispered near her ear.
“Who? Me?” She took a tiny bite of a tiny sandwich, then added it to her plate.
“Yes.You.The president of the Eleanor Appreciation Society—”
“Oh, I’m only treasurer. The presidency has term limits.”
“—is standing there with mustard on her mouth.”
Maggie darted her tongue out and swiped at her lips. Ethan’s gaze dipped and darkened and, for a moment, he looked like a man who couldn’t quite remember why he was angry.
“You were saying?”
“I...”
She picked up another tiny sandwich and took an eventinier bite. “Ethan, are you unwell?” she asked with exaggerated patience.
“Me?” He shook off whatever he’d been thinking. “I’m fine. Unlike Eleanor. Who ismissing.”
Maggie slipped into a seat, unsurprised when he took the one beside her.
“I’m sure she’ll show up. It is a big house, after all. Excuse me, Sir Jasper, would you pass the salt, please.”
“It would be my pleasure, Ms. Chase!”
“Thank you.” She gave him her brightest smile and Ethan made a sound that resembled a groan.
“Margaret Delphina Chase.” Ethan kept his voice low. “What is going on?”
“I’m eating lunch. Want a bite?” Maggie held a sandwich out for him, then she turned her thoughts back to her meal and her mission.
She had almost forgotten about the sprig of mistletoe until he gently tugged it from behind her ear.
“You know, I think this has to be over your head, but I can make an exception,” he teased. At least, she was 90 percent sure he was teasing as she snatched it back and laid it on the table.
“That’s what I get for trying to be festive.” There was a time when that little sprig of mistletoe would have reminded her of jingle bell earrings and red BMWs and a million other ways in which she’d never be Emily. But that was okay. Because Maggie was going to be someone infinitely better. Maggie was going to be Eleanor.
“Oh, you’re tryingsomething.” Ethan narrowed his eyes, like a man who couldn’t decide if he should be intrigued or annoyed. “And I’m going to figure out what it is.”
She dipped her spoon into her soup, then oh-so-gently blew and his jaw ticked. Maggie wasn’t sure what it meant, but she liked it—the uncertainty in his gaze. It was the first time in a year that she’d felt like she was playing a game. And she was winning. So she did it again.
“Who was on the phone, Maggie Mae?”
Maggie’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. Hadhe heard her? Impossible. Not with the roaring wind and stone walls and creaking floorboards.
“Phone? I thought the phones were down?”
“So you just climbed to the top of the highest tower and had a conversation with yourself?”
“You know, hearing voices is a bad sign. You may want to see someone about that.”
