Page 20 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

“I’m with Proctor, Banes & Jones.” Out came a pair of business cards. “I’m not the one on the masthead, though. Ha. No. Baby Banes, right here.” He forced a laugh. “My father and grandfather are the real Baneses of the operation. We’re Ms. Ashley’s solicitors. So glad you made it in before the storm.I was worried when we booked the jet.”

“Lawyers do that?” Maggie asked.

He blushed. “At PB&J we do whatever Ms. Ashley asks us to do. Or so they tell me.”

“I see.”

“Have you been with the firm long?” Ethan asked.

“Almost a year. Not really sure why the old man walked into my office this morning and told me it was my turn to do Eleanor Duty, but...” He seemed to hear what he was saying. “Not that I’m not honored! She’s a legend, you know. And, well, we all have to take our turn, make the pilgrimage, so to speak. Kiss the ring.”

He was reaching for a shrimp puff—his hand was just an inch away—when Cece jerked the tray back and left Freddy “Baby Banes” standing there, looking like a little boy who might be sent to bed without supper.

Eleanor’s final guest was someone Maggie actually knew, at least by reputation.

“Sir Jasper Rhodes, at your service.”

He was twenty-five years younger than Eleanor and far less prolific, but no mystery collection would be complete without at least one book by Sir Jasper.

Maggie had always assumed that the stories were exaggerated, but no. At nearly six foot five, Sir Jasper was even taller than Ethan and somewhat thick around the middle, but, amazingly, that’s not what a person noticed first—not when he was standing there in a long black cape and deer hunter cap.

Maggie didn’t know whether he was going for “recently retired superhero” or “Hound of the Baskervillescosplayer.” She’d always assumed Sir Jasper’s persona was a gimmick—an act—but the man couldn’t have been more sincere as he gave a gallant bow and placed a faint kiss on the top of Maggie’s knuckles.

“I have long dreamed of the day when I might kiss the hand of the great Margaret Chase. I am honored. I am enchanted. I am—”

“Laying it on a bit thick,” Ethan mumbled.

“Excuse me?” Sir Jasper asked.

“I said you don’t want to get sick.” Ethan pried Maggie’s hand out of Sir Jasper’s. “Airplanes, you know. Germs.”

“I washed my hands,” Maggie mumbled.

“You can never be too careful,”Ethan growled back then dragged her to the other side of the room.

Chapter Fifteen

There had been a time when Maggie might have paid what was left of her life savings for two hours alone in Eleanor Ashley’s library, but as she inched toward the shelves, the party seemed to fade in the background, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like some grand adventure. It felt like coming—RJ! Bring Mummy the hand grenade,darling!—home.

Her fingers ran down spines like the keys of a piano, playing a tune that only she could hear until, suddenly, she stopped. And gasped.

“See anything you like?” A soft voice came from behind her, and Maggie spun to see blue eyes twinkling back.

“I...” Maggie must have forgotten how to speak, so she just pointed to the books on the shelf. At least a dozen of them. All by Margaret Chase. “I wrote... You have my books.”

Eleanor laughed in surprise. “Of course I do. I make Deborah send them to me. Didn’t she tell you?”

You’ve been invited to the home of your biggest fan for Christmas.

“Well, yes. I mean no. I mean... You’re Eleanor Ashley, and I’m... no one.”

“Are you?No one?”

It felt like a trick question.

“I’m...” She was twelve years older, but Maggie would always be the girl who had woken up one Christmas morning in a mansion where there wasn’t a single present for her under the tree. “I’m just honored to be here.” It seemed like the safest answer.

“I’m glad. Because you’re one ofmyfavorite authors.”