Chapter Thirteen
“You’re two minutes late to my party.”
Maggie skidded to a stop on the stairs, breathing hard and still trying to put in her earrings. For a split second, she wondered
if she was hearing things, but then she saw Eleanor in the foyer below, standing at a window and looking out over the drive.
“I’m so sorry. I only meant to lay down for just a minute, but...”
Wait. Was it supposed to be lay down or lie down? Maggie didn’t know. Maggie never knew! But if she was wrong, Eleanor hadn’t noticed or cared. In fact, she hadn’t even
turned. She just kept staring out the window and Maggie tried to keep her footsteps soft—like Eleanor was sleepwalking and
she didn’t want to wake her.
“Thank you for having me. Your home is”— Massive? Just as intimidating as you are? —“lovely. It’s—”
“Too old and too big for its own good and worth far more money than it should be. Just like me.” Eleanor didn’t laugh and
didn’t smile and Maggie didn’t know what to say as her idol’s breath fogged against the cold, dark glass. “It’s quiet, though.
I like the quiet.”
Maggie remembered the long drive and empty landscape—twenty thousand acres of no neighbors and no streetlights. On a clear
night, they could probably see a million stars.
“I was born in a house with a dirt floor, did you know that, Maggie? The biographies like to talk about how poor we were,
but they always miss that detail. Which is a pity. It’s a good one. My mother was sixteen and her parents had kicked her out.
She was basically squatting in what was basically a shack and... The only thing she knew how to write was her name.”
“She must have been so proud of you.”
Outside, snowflakes streaked through the porchlights, making little white dashes in the sky. The wind howled and the house
moaned, but Eleanor Ashley seemed stronger than it all. A force of nature.
“I’m glad you made it before the weather turned. It’s going to be quite a storm.” She sounded a million miles away, like she
was talking to herself when she added, “I didn’t plan on the storm...”
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Maggie turned to see James standing in an arching doorway. “Inspector Dobson is on the phone. There’s
a possibility he will not make it until morning.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Eleanor turned and, for the first time, looked at Maggie. “You go on to the library, dear. I’ll be right
there.” Eleanor drew a ragged breath, bracing, like someone about to dive into an ice-cold lake. “We might as well get started.”
And Maggie couldn’t help but wonder: Started with what?