Page 31 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

James grimaced and looked guilty, like they were going to revoke his butler license for insufficient poker face. He gave a deep sigh but admitted, “One can occasionally get a signal in the old tower at the top of the east wing, but—”

“Thank you!”

“I do not suggest—”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“But, ma’am, that part of the manor has not been properly maintained!”

“I’ll be careful!” Maggie called but she never, ever looked back.

Ten minutes later, Maggie finallydidhave a signal. One tiny, precious bar, and as she paced at the top of the curving staircase that seemed straight out of a medieval romance, she didn’t even feel the frigid wind that blew through the cracks in the stones and narrow, glassless windows. Snow gathered on the wooden floors that creaked beneath her feet and looked like they might collapse at any moment, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as she brought the phone to her ear and waited.

“This is Deborah. Please leave a message. Unless this is Maggie Chase, then go enjoy your holiday, Maggie, and call me after the first of the year. I’m serious.”

The floors creaked again. The phone beeped. And Maggie morphed into a veritable avalanche of words.

“Deborah, it’s me. Maggie. Margaret. Chase. The one in your message. I... Uh, quick question. Is it possible that Eleanor Ashley is retiring and this whole trip is one big test to choose a writer to take over her ongoing series? Is it a test? Because, oh yeah, I’m here with Eleanor’s family and two other writers and that doesn’t make any sense—the writers, not the family. And then Eleanor disappeared out of a locked room last night and there are these clues—or at least Ithinkthey’re clues and the whole thing feels very much like a...”

Three quick beeps toldMaggie she’d lost the signal. Her tiny, precious bar was gone and Maggie was alone with her thoughts and the cold wind slicing through the arrowslits, stinging her face with icy pellets. The floors creaked again, but this time Maggie wasn’t even moving. So either the floor was about to cave in or—

She glanced down the spiral stairs and that was when she saw him. “Ethan?”

“Whatcha doing, Margaret Abigail?”

“Looking for Eleanor.” The lie practically rolled off Maggie’s tongue. She even managed to add a littleisn’t it obviouslilt that she was especially proud of. “Why?” She sounded so innocent. So confused. “What are you doing?”

“Well, when a lady goes into a condemned tower—”

“I highly doubt this iscondemned—”

“—all alone, a gentleman—”

“Are you supposed to be the gentleman in this scenario? Because I don’t know if I’d go withgentleman.” She made quote marks with her hands.

“—follows to make sure she doesn’t fall and bust open her pretty little head.”

“Awww. You think my head is pretty?” She gave him her best wide-eyed ingenue look. “You big softie.”

“Maggie—”

“Should we go check on the others?”

“Margaret—”

“I’m going to go check on the others.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Well?” Ethan asked five minutes later, but Eleanor’s family barely looked up from their plates. The breakfast dishes were gone, replaced by trays full of sandwiches and tureens full of soup, and almost no one paid attention to Ethan. Which just proved there really is a first time for everything.

“Well, what?” The duke poured himself a fresh cup of coffee.

“Has anyone found Eleanor?”

“Obviously we haven’t, Wyatt,” Sir Jasper said. “She’s not here.”

“I can see that.”