Page 101 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

“You’re not her niece,” Ethan announced. “You’re a con woman. And that man is your lover.”

Maggie winced, then whispered, “I thought we agreed not to use that word.”

“What’s wrong with lover?” His voice was so low the others could have missed it.

“I don’t know. I just don’t like it.”

“How about moist? How do you feel about—”

“Enough!” Dobson shouted. “I’ve seen enough.”

“Oh, they didn’t do it,” Ethan said simply.

“But—”

“They’re guilty of fraud, absolutely.” Maggie nodded. “But they didn’t try to kill me.”

On the other side of the room, Dr. Charles raised his hand, annoyed with himself that he was actually paying attention. “But you just said he”—a gesture toward Freddy Banes—“didn’t have an alibi.”

“For when the shots were fired,” Maggie said slowly. “Theydohave an alibi for when I was knocked unconscious and carried to the greenhouse last night after the electricity went out.”

There were murmurs and looks and questions, but Maggie kept her gaze locked on Ethan.

“I came downstairs the moment I realized Maggie was missing, and I found the two of them in the library playing cards—”

“With us,” the duchess pointed out.

“Yes!” the duke exclaimed. “We were there! So if they have an alibi, so do we!”

“Excellent point, Veronica!”

“Victoria,” Maggie whispered.

“Whatever.” Ethan shrugged.

“Enough!” Dobson was trying to get to his feet.

“Sit down, Inspector.” Ethan’s voice was flat and even. “Just sit there and do what you’ve been doing all along—nothing.”

“Now—” Dobson started, but Ethanprowled closer.

“You could have investigated the fire. You could have examined the stairs. She’s your friend. And you let her think she was crazy. So forgive me if I’m not in the mood to coddle.”

Dobson didn’t say a word but he eased back in his chair, a little chastised. A lot angry.

“It won’t be long, Inspector.” Maggie’s voice was softer than Ethan’s. “Eat a scone. Drink some tea.”

“We areoutof tea,” he said with exaggerated diction and James went to make a fresh pot. “Get on with it, Wyatt.”

Ethan turned back to the group. “Where were we? That’s right. We have two real heirs and one fake heir—all of whom have excellent motives but no real opportunity to do all the crimes in question. Which is a problem, because who does that leave?”

As one, the entire room turned to look at James, who froze, teapot in hand. Looking very much the perfect English butler.

“James, are you a cold-blooded killer?” Ethan asked flatly.

“No, sir.”

“Good enough for me!” Ethan clapped his hands, then turned back to Maggie.