Page 54 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

“I don’t know.” He looked out the window. Too-bright sunlight bounced off too much snow. Maybe the storm wasover. Or maybe it was just taking a break. “Probably.”

“Are the phones working?” She sat up and swung her legs off the bed and he laughed again at her T-shirt.

“No.”

“You didn’t have to wait on me.”

“I’m not leaving you alone, Maggie,” he said and she looked at him.

“Because we’re the only people we can trust?”

The moment stretched out, as cold and silent as the snow-covered hills, and he could feel his heart pounding—like a telegraph operator tapping out a message he couldn’t quite read.

Ethan gave a slow nod. “We’re the only people we can trust.”

He watched her stretch again and pile her hair on the top of her head. It almost wasn’t long enough and little wisps broke free and framed her face as she pulled her legs up and wrapped an arm around her knees.

“I keep asking myself: What would Eleanor do?”

He bit back a grin. “Eleanor would work the case. Find the killer.”

He saw the mistake as soon as he made it. He’d been outmaneuvered and outplayed, because Maggie was smiling now, her face nothing but focus and light. “Exactly.”

“No—”

“Come on, Ethan. You said it yourself: it’s what Eleanor would do. So it’s whatwehave to do. We have to work the case!”

But Ethan wasn’t just leery. He was scared. Someone had already shot at her once, and if they started kicking hornet nests, she was bound to get stung.

“No.”

“But—”

“Inspector Dobson already told us to stay out of it.”

“Inspector Dobson thinks we did it!” she reminded him, and she wasn’t wrong.

“Maggie...”

“She’s missing, Ethan! She could be out there, freezing and hurt and... She’s missing. And you and I are the only twopeople in this house that we can trust.”

“You trust me?” he asked, and she looked at him with the absolute innocence of a woman who didn’t know her words were knives.

“I trust you.” She gave a jaunty shrug of her shoulder and a come-hither stare. “Besides, we solve murders all the time.”

“We also plan murders.”

“And we’re so good at it!” Maggie climbed to her knees and bounced on the bed.

And all Ethan could do was look at her. And smile. And say, “So where do we start?”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Maggie

They found James in the kitchen, carefully filling chafing dishes and scrambling eggs.

“I’ve worked at Mistletoe Manor for almost thirty years,” he said with a not insignificant amount of pride. “I run the home, manage the staff, drive the Rolls, and polish the silver.”