Page 71 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“He moved to the States and lived there for a long time and, well, eventually, he met my momma and she had me and...” This time, Cece looked guilty as she trailed off. A little embarrassed or ashamed. It was the expression of someone who doesn’t know where they stand or how they fit, but who has no other options. Maggie knew the feeling. “Then he ran away from us, too, I guess. I don’t even remember him, but Momma told me he was from England and I got to researching and we found Eleanor and wrote her a letter, and now I’m here.” She gave a sigh, like the story was a heavy weight and it felt good to put it down.
“That’s all true,” the lawyer chimed in. “Our firm did the DNA testing and verified Miss Honeychurch’s claim.”
But Rupert looked like his infant daughter at that moment; his face was so red it was practically purple and he was close to tears. “Mark my word, Inspector, if whatthey’re saying is true and someone has been trying to kill my aunt for months, there’s only one person that could be, and there she is!” Rupert pointed at Cece, who threw a hand to her chest.
“If Aunt E put me in the will—”
“Don’t use that ghastly nickname,” Rupert sneered and Cece gasped and it didn’t matter that the storm had started up again; the blowing snow was nothing compared to the swirl of curses that filled the air. Accusations were flying.
But Ethan was suspiciously quiet as he stood by the fire. Maggie thought he’d be looking back at her, but his gaze was locked on Dobson. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Now tell me again, Inspector, how Maggie and I are the only people here with motive.” It was the low, solid voice of a man who was far too dangerous for shouting, but Dobson wasn’t going down without a fight.
“I know someone has been in her office. And I know it was the two of you.”
“Why, Inspector...” Maggie gave him her big, innocent eyes. She sounded almost like Cece. “We’ve all been in her office. That’s where we found Sir Jasper, remember?”
“I don’t know what the two of you are playing at—”
“We’re not playing!” Maggie never shouted. She’d been conditioned and trained and she knew better than to be loud because the loud girl doesn’t get invited back. But the words were an avalanche that had started in the maze. They’d been chasing Maggie for two days, and she was tired of trying to outrun them.
The room went silent, and all eyes turned to her, but Maggie didn’t care if they stared. Let them hear her voice crack. Let them decide, right then and there, that she wouldn’t be invited to Easter. Maggie didn’t care about anything.
Except Eleanor.
And Ethan.
“We’re not playing, Inspector. We got on a jet with no idea where we were going or what was waiting for us when we got here. We flew to another country because a strangerasked. We weren’t after her money. We weren’t trying to be her successors or her saviors. We didn’t want anything from her. We just wanted...Christmas.”
Maggie felt her throat burn. She heard her voice crack. And she realized it was true. “We just wanted Christmas, and instead, we got all of you. You’re Eleanor Ashley’s family—you’re her family!And not one of you cares that she’s missing. Not one of you is worried that she’s dead. Someone has been trying to kill Eleanorfor weeks. They’ve been trying to kill her, and she’s been telling you...” Maggie looked around at the faces that stared back. “And not one of you believed her.”
It was like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place—the tumblers of a lock falling home—because, right then, Maggie got it. For the first time, she understood. No one believed her, but Eleanor had never stopped believing in herself, and something about it made Maggie smile. And sigh. Braver now for knowing—
“That’s not totally true. Of course one of you believed her. Because one of you has been trying to kill her.”
And then the lights went out.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Ethan
It was too early for bed, but it also felt like the middle of the night and Ethan didn’t try to make sense of the math. The sun had been down for hours and the days were starting to bleed together. Christmas was coming, but Christmas had been coming for days now. It was like they were stuck in a time loop. Like they might never get out. So when Kitty started serving eggnog and asking if anyone knew any carols, Ethan looked at Maggie and jerked his head silently toward the door.
That was how they found themselves walking down a cold, empty hallway that felt even longer in the dark. Maggie was carrying a candelabra, and six flickering tapers framed her face in a kind of golden glow; she looked ethereal but also filthy, covered in cobwebs and dust. And she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Ethan was suddenly grateful for time loops and blizzards and bridges that fall down under the weight of too much snow.
Maggie, on the other hand, was all business.
“Okay. Assuming one person is responsible for shooting at us, poisoning the tea tray, and burning down the greenhouse...”
“Don’t forget the stairs,” he put in.
“Right.” Tiny flames danced as she nodded. “And possibly the stairs.”
“Which is a lot of assuming,” he conceded and she spun on him. The candles flickered.
“Is it wrong?” She was honestly asking. “I mean, I may be wrong. I probably am. I could be—”
“Hey. We’re not wrong.”
