Page 28 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

Maggie was drifting closer to the window. Cold air radiated off the glass, and the world outside was soft and still, stretching for what felt like a thousand miles in all directions. But all she could say was “Eleanor Ashley can.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

It didn’t make sense. Except in all the ways it did. When Maggie stopped thinking about it as real life and started thinking of it like a story, it felt like the most obvious thing in the world. But the fact remained that Eleanor was an eighty-one-year-old woman with a bad leg and it was freezing outside. She could be lost or hurt or dying, and still Maggie couldn’t bring herself to panic.

With only two exceptions, Maggie had always been cool in a crisis and calm under pressure. She never overcorrected the wheel or shouted fire or fainted at the sight of blood, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise ten minutes later as she stood in the library with the others, trying to hear herself think over the sound of eight people talking at the same time.

“What do you know about it, Your Grace?” Rupert shouted at his brother-in-law.

“Oh, I have someplace you can shove your sweater, Kitty!” snapped the duchess.

“Say, when do you think they’ll serve lunch?” (The lawyer.)

“Perhaps someone should call the police?” (The doctor.)

“I remember one time when I was consulting with Scotland Yard. Grizzly stuff. Blood everywhere.” (Sir Jasper.)

“You think Aunt Eleanor is dead?” (Cece.)

A whistling sound pierced the air, sudden and quick, and the room went instantly silent. Ethan was always taller and stronger and more attractive than the vast majority of the world’s population, but in that moment, he wasn’t just the kind of person with their own gravity. He was someone who could control tides.

And he was all out of patience.

“Hi. Hello. Welcome back. Just... throwing this out there... But maybe we shouldlookfor Eleanor.” It seemed like a perfectly logical next step but the others werestaring at him like he’d just suggested they only have one course for dinner.

“James!” Ethan called.

“Yes, sir.” James was right behind Ethan, and he jumped.

“Oh! Didn’t see you there. How many rooms are there in the mansion?”

“A lot, sir.” James’s diction was precise, even if his answer was not, and Ethan gave a determined nod.

“A lot,” he repeated. “So let’s split up and search the house and—”

A whimper cut him off. Kitty was sitting in the corner, yarn and a half-finished something in her lap, but the knitting needles lay forgotten as she dabbed at her wet cheeks. Ethan’s face fell.

“Ah, Kitty, it’s okay,” he said softly. “We’ll find her.”

Kitty wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I’m sorry. It’s just the baby didn’t sleep and now Aunt Eleanor is missing and...” Her face screwed up. Her nose turned red. And the tears were justright there—they were getting ready to fall again. “No one is wearing their sweaters!”

“Uh... okay.” Ethan straightened and turned back to the group. “Let’s split up. Meet back here in an hour and—”

Kitty whimpered again and Maggie watched Ethan crumble. Then straighten.

“But first...”

Maggie didn’t wait around to find out.

The hall was silent and empty as Maggie made her way back to the broken door near the top of the stairs.

It felt like she was doing something naughty as she stood on the threshold of Eleanor’s office. She’d already been there, sure. But it was different, standing alone among the quiet shelves and splintered wood. The now-cold tea tray and old computer. The latched window and snow-covered sill outside.

“Heads up!” Ethan called from the doorway, and Maggie barely had time to turn before a soft, heavy weight landed on top of her head.

“Hey.” She pulled it off and looked down atred yarn and fuzzy white birds.

“That’s for you. We’re turtledoves.” He gestured to the sweater that covered his broad chest. “We match.” He wriggled his eyebrows again, but Maggie just tossed the sweater on a chair and went back to the cold glass.