Page 6 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

“Who?” Ethan sounded like he was only half listening—like maybe even the Assolytes were beneath him.

“That Maggie chick. You know. That one who thinks she’s the queen of the cozies.” Lance laughed and Maggie bristled. “I can’t believe she came!”

“Why?” Was Ethan’s voice sharper than usual? She couldn’t tell. “Is she sick or something?”

“No, man. She got divorced. And her husband tookeverything. It was a whole thing. Messed her up. She went full arachnophobic and hasn’t left her house—”

“That’s agoraphobic—”

“—in like forever.” The hallway was a little too quiet for a little too long and Maggie started to worrythey were going to hear her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest.

“You know”—Lance’s voice took on a lascivious tone; he sounded like the reason they invented penicillin—“she’s probably starting to get real lonely. Maybe I’ll go see if I can’t get her to stuff my stocking, if you know what I mean.”

“No, Lance. Whatdoyou mean?” Something about the sound of Ethan’s voice made it feel like the temperature was dropping fast. Like she was going to see her breath.

“Come down her chimney? Mistle her toe.”

“Mistletoe’s poisonous.” Now Ethan sounded annoyed.

“She might need someone to frosty her snowman—”

“Leave her alone, Lance.”

“I’m just saying, it’s getting cold. She might want to share body heat.”

“She just left her husband, and she doesn’t need you—”

Lance gave a quick, sharp laugh that cut him off. “But that’s the best part.Helefther. Wait. You look surprised, man.”

“No—”

“Lance!” someone called. There were voices at the end of the hall, followed by the sound of fading footsteps, and for a long time, all Maggie could do was stand there, telling herself it was over. They were leaving. They were gone.

But then she heard a low, dark laugh. A subtle huff. And Ethan Freaking Wyatt saying, “No, I’m not surprised he left her.”

There was a roar in Maggie’s ears then. A rush of blood and gravity and rage. It felt like she was flying—faster and faster, hurtling out into a vast and endless void. A black hole was swallowing her whole as the footsteps and the party faded away and only the words remained.

I’m not surprised he left her.

There wasn’t enough tinsel in the world. No scissors sharp enough. No garland strong enough. She was going to kill him with her bare hands. With her teeth. With her...

When Maggie stepped into the emptyhall, she froze. Because what she saw in the glass surprised her.

The Eleanors were gone, replaced by a woman with Maggie’s hair and Maggie’s face, but she was little more than a shell, pale and fragile. It was like looking at the ghost of a girl who had frozen to death twelve Christmases ago. Someone who wasafraid.

Maggie didn’t want to be that girl—she’d shoved her down and hidden her away. She’d spent years clawing up from nothing to that New York skyrise. She’d written and she’d bled, and she’d done it all on her own, no matter what Colin told his lawyers.

I’m not surprised he left her.

No. Even the great Ethan Wyatt had the story wrong, and Maggie wanted to shout it from the rooftops and shove it in his face. She wanted to be stronger and tougher and... Eleanor. Maggie wanted to be Eleanor, but she’d settle for being the girl in the reindeer sweatshirt.

And that was the thought that made her storm down the hall and back through the crowd and walk up right to Deborah.

And say, “So when do I leave?”

Three days later, Maggie was in the back seat of a town car, watching the skyline of Manhattan pass by the tinted windows. They were almost to the airport when she felt the car slow and turn too soon.

“Oh, no.” She leaned up to talk to the driver. “I’ll need the main entrance. I’m on...” She twisted in her seat, looking for her itinerary, but what she saw out the window made her stop. And stare. Because there was a private jet idling on the tarmac.