Page 38 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“I never wanted that house.” Which was true.
“But you paid for it.”
That was true, too, but Maggie wasn’t going to let her change the subject. “What author did they pick, Deborah?”
“Have you gone a whole day without crying yet?” Deborah sounded stern and tired—like a mother—and Maggie wanted to cry again for all new reasons.
“Because I’m a woman, and everyone knows women are overly emotional and hysterical and—”
“Because you lost your husband and your best friend less than a month ago and it’s okay to grieve that. Let yourself grieve that.”
But Maggie didn’t want to grieve. She wanted to win. “Who?” she snapped. “Who did they pick?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What book, Deborah?”
The silence was an ocean, dark and vast and deep enough to drown in. “Thief in the Knight.By Ethan Wyatt.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Two Days Before Christmas
The snow was falling harder, and the world looked like static, blurry and out of focus and not quite right as Maggie blinked against the falling flakes. Even the wind had stopped howling.
“Why, Maggie?” Had he ever called her by her real name before? Maggie couldn’t remember.
“I heard you,” she said before she could stop herself.
“Heard me when?” His voice was so much closer than it should have been—softer and louder at the same time.
“At the party. You and Lance. I heard you.”
“What—”
“I’m not surprised he left her.” She wiped snow from her eyes and saw the words land. They knocked him back like a punch. “Well, congratulations.” She gave a joyless laugh. “Everyone leaves me, so it didn’t exactly take a genius to see it coming, but that’s okay. I guess you beat me there too.”
“Maggie, please...”
This time she didn’t slow down and she didn’t turn back. It took her three false leads before she saw the exit up ahead, but, for once, Ethan wasn’t following and that, to Maggie, felt like victory.
As soon as she got back to the house, she’d change out of her wet clothes and take a warm shower. She’d get something hot to drink and then call upon every word of every Eleanor book that had ever seeped into her soul. She would win this thing. She had to.
Because it was Eleanor.
Because it was something that Colin couldn’t claim and Emily couldn’t ruin.
Because, if she did this, theneverything—everything—would have been worth it.
Everything would finally be okay.
She just had to follow the clues and find Eleanor and beat Ethan.
In that moment, Maggie wanted to beat Ethan most of all.
She was turning and heading out of the maze when she heard it—a bang on the air. Ice must have fallen off the roof, she thought. Somewhere, a car must have backfired. Or maybe it was the wind because, suddenly, the hedges rustled, big chunks of snow breaking free and landing at her feet with asmack.
And then the sound came again. A crack. A bang. And before Maggie knew what was happening, two strong arms came out of nowhere and grabbed her, pulling her backward through the snowy hedge. Arms flailing. Snow flying. Hair and sweater tangling and snagging on the branches.
