Page 42 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
They didn’t go to the library or the kitchen or their rooms. No one ate or talked or moved. They just stood between the front door and the base of the stairs in that long, arching space that had felt like a cathedral when Maggie first saw it. Now it was as silent as a tomb.
It was exactly where she’d stood the night before, telling Ethan she didn’t know him. But that wasn’t true, she realized. She knewanEthan—one who was easy calm and charming smiles, the human equivalent of sweet tea on a hot day, cool and just a touch too saccharine. The man beside her now was coffee, black.
“What about cyanide?” the duke’s voice broke through the silence.
“Excuse me?” Ethan asked.
“Well.” The duke pointed at Maggie. “How could she possibly know what poison it was? It could be cyanide. Did anyone smell almonds? Cyanide smells like—”
“It’s not cyanide.” Ethan blew out an exhausted breath.
“But how do you—”
“Because he’d already be dead,” the duchess said flatly.
Cece shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.Shock, a part of Maggie’s brain filled in. Cece was wearing a headband with snowflakes on it and she’d just found a body. Of course she was going into shock.
But before Maggie could say a word there were footsteps at the top of the stairs.
“Well?” Ethan called up to Freddy Banes, who stopped on the landing.
“Nothing. No signal. I tried everywhere. Couldn’t get...” the lawyer trailed off, a little out of breath. “Nothing.”
“Okay.” A hand was on Maggie’s arm then, sliding past her wrist and into her palm. She felt a tug.“You all stay here. We’re gonna go see if there’s anything stouter than a Rolls-Royce in that garage.”
The duke stepped forward. “I drove my Range Rover. Why?”
“Because if we can’t call out, we’re going to have to drive Sir Jasper to the hospital and get the police,” Ethan explained as if he wished everyone would just keep up.
“Why on earth would we need the police?” Rupert asked.
“Because Sir Jasper was poisoned!” Ethan’s grip on Maggie’s hand tightened.
“Now I’ve had enough of that. You can’t possibly know...” Rupert’s face was turning red. “She thinks she’s such a poison expert—”
“Sheisa poison expert.”
Maggie didn’t know whether to be grateful to Ethan or tell him to shut up. She really didn’t want to explain that her poison bona fides came from writing books about a cat who could smell them. And the truth was, Maggie wanted to be wrong. She wanted Sir Jasper to be passed out drunk upstairs and not—
“I won’t have that nonsense in my house,” Rupert said, and Maggie heard ringing in her ears.
“This isEleanor’shouse. And she’s missing. Sir Jasper barely has a pulse—”
“Sir Jasper had a heart attack,” Rupert declared.
“Maybe he did.” Ethan gave a joyless laugh and inched a little closer to Rupert. “But someone took a shot at Maggie in the garden, so forgive me if I’m not willing to sit around and wait to be next.”
No one had been expecting that part. Even Maggie had almost forgotten.
“Oh no!” Cece exclaimed. “Someone shot at you! Are you okay?”
“They’re lying,” Rupert said, dismissively. “If you expect us to believe—”
“Believe whatever you want,” Ethan said, tugging Maggie toward the hallway that led to the kitchen and (presumably) the garage. “But we’re driving out of here as soon as Sir Jasper can travel, and we’re coming back with—”
The front doors flew open on a blastof blowing snow and icy wind. A flash of light sliced across the dim room and Maggie found herself squinting against the too-bright glare as a shadow filled the doorway. A great coat flapped in the wind. And a big voice boomed, “Merry Christmas!”
The shadow let out a low, deep laugh, and for a split second Maggie wondered if it might be Santa.
