Page 61 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“Actually”—there was a challenge in the doctor’s voice. It was lower, deeper, closer—“if you ask me, it proves hers.”
The hall went silent then, nothing but footfalls on old rugs and the sound of an even older house settling beneath a heavy snow. Everything in Ethan’s training told him it was over—they were alone. And Ethan knew he should step back, give Maggie space to move and room to breathe. But Ethan didn’t move and Maggie didn’t protest, so he decided to stay right where he was, one hand on the wall behind her head, another around her waist, chests rising and falling together like a dance.
“That’s the second time I’ve heard him call Eleanor paranoid,” she said.
“Which is exactly what you’d say if your aunt had just caught you with your hand in the cookie jar.”
“Exactly.” Her eyes twinkled. Her skin glowed. It was almost painful to look at her, so he found a point over her head and tried to look there instead. The alcove must have been home to a piece of art at some point—something fragile and precious and rare. There was delicate wallpaper andintricate trim and...
That was when he saw it.
“Which means, if Rupertwasstealing... Excuse me. Earth to Ethan. What are you...” Maggie trailed off as she looked up and saw the little green bundle overhead. “Mistletoe.”
He knew the instant she remembered the kiss because her body went tight and her eyes went wide and he expected her to pull away, threaten him with death or dismemberment or some other form of destruction if he ever mentioned it again, but instead her voice got a little higher and she shifted on her feet. “Oh. Well. ItisChristmas.”
“Maggie—”
“And Eleanor seems like someone who would be big on... traditions. Not to mention the name of the house and...”
“Margaret—”
“It’s a parasite, you know. And a poison. And...”
She was rambling now, nervous and shy and turning the color of new skin—fresh and pink and fragile. So Ethan did the only thing he could think to do. He kissed her again, playful and quick.
Then he dipped down to meet her eyes and whispered, “Maggie, how sure were you?”
“What?”
He brushed aside a strand of soft, dark hair because he couldn’t stop his traitorous fingers. “Yesterday. Before the gunshot... Before Sir Jasper... When it was you and me in the maze... When it was just us, how sure were you that it was a test?”
Suddenly, she jerked away. He’d seen her recoil a dozen times, a hundred. He used to think she was pulling herself together, but she wasn’t. She was pulling herself back, taking up less space and making herself a smaller target. When this was over, he was going to track down her cheating ex and Ethan wouldn’t be responsible for what happened.
“I was wrong.” Maggie shook her head too quickly. “I was stupid. I—”
“Hey.” Ethan couldn’t stop himself from tucking that errant strand of hair behind her ear andcupping her face. “Don’t tell me howwrongyou were. Tell me howsureyou were.”
He watched her summon her strength—put it on like armor. “I can’t remember the last time I was that certain of anything.”
Good.Goose bumps were rising on his arm. “Now... Eleanor’s mistletoe book... are there secret passages in it?”
Her eyes went wide. “How did you...” But Ethan was already bending down to kiss her forehead. “What...”
And then he reached over her head and touched the sprig of mistletoe that was carved into the wood.
And pressed.
He heard theclick. They felt the wall shift. And Maggie gave him a look like this would be the best Christmas ever if it weren’t for all the almost dying. But before she could say a word, they were both stumbling, falling, tumbling into the dark.
Chapter Forty-One
Maggie
Maggie had never liked dark places or tight quarters. Anything underground or too confined. Maybe it was the experience Colin had dubbedThe Wine Cellar Incident. Or maybe it was the result of a childhood spent in tornado alley and too many late spring afternoons in a root cellar that smelled like damp earth and old cobwebs. (And snakes. But Maggie tried very, very hard not to think about the snakes.)
So she wasn’t sure what to expect when the door swung closed behind them and the air turned heavy with dust and the faint traces of something she had started thinking of as Essence of Ethan. It was dark and broody and disgustingly good. They could probably sell it at department stores. Spritzers would wear leather jackets and they’d sell out every Christmas.
She watched him turn back to the hidden entrance and try to force it open, but the door stayed closed and the corridor stayed dark and all Maggie could do was stand there, way too still in the silence.
