Page 95 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“At least they didn’t strangle me with it.”
Every muscle in Ethan’s very muscly body went taut andMaggie knew she shouldn’t have said it. Shouldn’t have reminded him. Shouldn’t have taken the kissing away.
“I’m going to find the person who hurt you, Maggie, and then, so help me, I’m not sure what I’ll do.”
He kissed her forehead and she leaned against his strength.
“It’s a clue, at least.” Maggie pointed to the ribbon. “If we can figure out where they got it—”
“We know where.” He pulled back, remembering— “Oh. That’s right. You were busy being concussed. Well, you know the plant that had the bow on it? It was on the ground beside you. Without the bow, so I’m guessing that’s it.”
“So it wasn’t premeditated?” Maggie was thinking. “Someone knocked me on the head and got me to the greenhouse and grabbed the first thing they could find to tie me up with?”
“Right. Unless they gave Eleanor that plant for Christmas and are experts in forty-seven-dimensional chess, there’s no way they’d even know—” Maggie bolted upright. “What? What did I say?”
“Wasit a present?” Maggie was honestly asking.
“What?”
“The nightshade. When I saw it in the greenhouse, a part of me thought, yeah. Makes sense. That’s the kind of thing someone would give Eleanor Ashley, but...” Maggie closed her eyes. She tried to remember. “It wasn’t as dead as the others.”
“No. It wasn’t. Which means it wasn’t in the fire.” Ethan was catching on.
“But why would Eleanor put it in a burned-out greenhouse where it would definitely die from the cold unless...”
There was something inside of Maggie—a swirling, starry haze. Like she’d been hit on the head ninety minutes before and was only just now waking up—like the whole picture was slowly coming into focus. A kaleidoscope of Eleanor and mistletoe, old beat-up paperbacks and other people’s presents. But, mostly, Maggie saw Ethan and the greenhouse and the way they couldhave died, surrounded by ice and fire and smoke made out of poison.
“We have to go back.” Maggie bolted upright and started looking for her shoes.
“What?”
“Get your coat on. Hurry. We have to go back.”
“Go back where?”
“To the house! We have to follow the last clue!”
It was filling her up then, like helium. Like hope. She was glad she was inside because she felt light enough to float away.
“What clue? Maggie!” Ethan was reaching for her, stopping her. But not like he wanted to hold her back; it was like he wanted to keep her safe, and she had never been more achingly aware of the difference. He said the words slowly: “What clue?”
“InDeadly Shade of Night,the killer left a nightshade plant tied with red ribbon on the porch of the victim. Now hear me out—what did you say this afternoon?”
“That you were right and Eleanor must have left us clues so that we’d find the greenhouse.”
“Right! But what if that wasn’t the end of it? What if—while we were in the greenhouse—we were supposed to find another clue?” She threw her hands in the air, furious with herself. “I can’t believe I missed it!” She was looking, searching the room. “Did I have a ponytail holder?”
“We can’t go back.”
Maggie froze. “Of course we can. We have to.”
“There’s a killer in that house, Maggie.”
“I know.” She pressed a hard, quick kiss to his lips. “And this is how we stop them.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Ethan
