Chapter Sixty-Three
Christmas
Maggie
There is a myth to Christmas mornings. Snowy lawns and garland-wrapped banisters. Trees and presents and the sound of feet
running down staircases, little voices crying out, “ He came! He came! ”
So Maggie couldn’t help but feel a little giddy as she stood in the dim hallway that led to the kitchen, watching the kids
race down the stairs, then through the library doors. She heard their squeals and shouts and she felt her eyes go misty but
she didn’t know why. Then a hand slipped into hers and she remembered.
She didn’t even mind that he’d made her put on a new matching sweater. (She was Rudolph; he was Vixen.) But somehow—looking
up at Ethan, feeling the warmth of his hand in hers and seeing the clear, bright light reflecting off the snow outside—the
sounds of “ What the hell is all of this? ” and “ Rupert! Language! ” Maggie couldn’t help but shiver.
It wasn’t the Christmas she would have written, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the one she needed.
“You ready?” Ethan asked, and together they walked toward the library doors.
“This is bloody brilliant!”
“RJ! Language!” Kitty said. “Watch out for the—”
Too late. RJ had already knocked over a lamp with his bicycle. The train made a sound as it raced, fully assembled, around
the room. There were streamers and wrapping paper and a room full of flabbergasted faces as Maggie and Ethan stood in the
doorway and shouted, “Merry Christmas!”
The children were still playing and screaming, and James was laying out a tray with tea and scones, and the whole group looked
at Maggie and Ethan as if they didn’t understand what the fuss was about.
“Surprise!” Ethan tried again. “Look who isn’t dead!”
“Why would we think you were dead?” Freddy Banes shoved a scone in his mouth, and Ethan cut a look at Maggie.
“Because... the greenhouse caught fire? Crashing glass? Poisonous smoke?” Ethan made it sound like a question, but only
Dobson seemed to care.
“So you did that, did you?”
“Oh no. We didn’t do that,” Maggie told him.
“Then what have you been doing?” Dobson spat.
Ah. Finally. She looked up at Ethan and he grinned down at her, and Maggie couldn’t help but beam as she turned back to the
group and said, “We’ve been solving a murder.”
Thirty minutes later, it actually did look like a crime scene, between the ripped paper and ragged ribbons, piles of mutilated
boxes and Styrofoam packing peanuts and way too little sleep. But none of Eleanor’s guests seemed to notice. Or maybe they
just didn’t care. The children and their new toys were upstairs with Nanny Davis, and all eyes were on Maggie as she stood
at the front of the room, counting heads. They were only waiting on one person.
“Here he is!” Ethan called from the doorway, Sir Jasper leaning heavily on his arm. There had been a great deal of debate
about whether or not he should try the stairs, but in the end, no one deserved to hear this more than he did.
“Thank you, my boy,” Sir Jasper said, slipping into a chair by the fire.
“How are you feeling, Sir Jasper?” Maggie asked.
“Lucky, my dear. Extremely lucky. And ready to hear what you have to say.” He gave Maggie a nod, and she felt her palms start
to sweat. Her heart was a little off-rhythm.
She was nervous. But that didn’t mean she was wrong.
“First of all, Merry Christmas!” Ethan stood at the front of the room and rubbed his hands together. “Did everybody get refreshments?”
He pointed to the silver tray covered with tea and cakes.
“Say your piece, Wyatt. I suspect the phones will be working soon, and you’ll likely be behind bars by nightfall.” Dobson’s
words were tough, but he shifted a little, wincing. It was hard to be afraid of a man carrying a cane with rosebuds on the
handle.
“Inspector, I appreciate you have a job to do, and I’m sure this isn’t how anyone wanted to spend Christmas, so if you would
please just bear with us,” Maggie pleaded. Then she beamed. “I think you’re going to be impressed by what we’ve found.”
He must not have seen any choice because he took a seat next to Kitty, who reached for a bag of yarn and nervously started
to knit. The rhythmic clack-clack-clacking was almost soothing in the suddenly quiet room.
“Do we have to sit through this?” the duke whispered to Dobson. “We should be—”
“Looking for the safe?” Maggie finished for him. She thought she saw him blanch. “Oh. We’ve already found that.”
For the first time, she truly had their attention. Everyone sat up a little straighter as Ethan placed a large square box
on the table. It was done up in beautiful wrapping paper with a big red bow attached to the lid. Maggie thought it might be
the most beautiful present she’d ever seen, but all of Eleanor’s guests just sat there, looking at it like it might be a bomb.
“This really is the gift that keeps on giving.” Ethan flashed her a smile. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“We’re Eleanor’s family!” The duke surged to his feet. “If that came out of her safe, then that box is our property. We have
the right—”
“I’d sit back down if I were you.” Ethan’s tone was chipper but his eyes were dark, and the duke dropped onto the couch cushions
like he wanted to turn into spare change and disappear. Then Ethan turned to Maggie, gave her a tip of an imaginary hat, and
exhaled one single word: “Sweetheart.”
The floor was hers, and Maggie felt her chest filling with something warm and lighter than air.
“Let’s review, shall we? Several weeks ago, Eleanor was walking down the stairs... and slipped on a runner that was suddenly
loose. She tried to cling to a railing that was suddenly wobbly... and she fell.” Maggie looked over a group of people
who had known that much for ages but hadn’t been able to bring themselves to care.
“Now, it’s an old house,” Maggie went on. “Things fall apart. Maybe she thought it was an accident. Or maybe she had her suspicions.”
“Suspicions about what?” Kitty asked, but Ethan made a gesture, as if to say please hold all questions until the end .
“We may never know what Eleanor thought. All we know is that a few weeks later, someone locked her in a greenhouse full of
poisonous plants and started a fire. But you don’t become Eleanor Ashley without having a few tricks up your sleeve, so she
escaped. Now Eleanor had a problem. Either her luck had gotten very, very bad...”
“Or someone was trying to kill her,” Ethan finished.
The room was silent except for the crackling of the fire. All eyes were on her. But Ethan’s smile, his nod, the silent go on, you’re doing great , was the only thing Maggie saw. The only thing she needed.
“Eleanor soon realized she had a second problem. You see, whenever she mentioned these incidents to anyone—her nieces and
nephew, even her old friend the police officer...” For once, even Dobson looked guilty. “They told her it was all in her
head. She was imagining it. She was getting older, after all. Maybe she’d spent too many years looking for mysteries that
weren’t there.”
And, suddenly, Maggie wasn’t talking about Eleanor anymore. “You know, if mankind has one universal superpower, it’s gaslighting
women into thinking they’re the problem.” It was actually a great comfort, knowing that if it could happen to Eleanor, then
maybe Maggie could forgive herself for not realizing it was happening to her. “To the world, Eleanor was just an old woman
who wasn’t quite as sharp as she used to be. But even if that were true”—Maggie didn’t even try not to grin—“half of Eleanor
Ashley is still worth two of most people.”
“So she summoned the best minds... The most brilliant detectives... The most elite—”
“Us,” Maggie cut Ethan off. “She invited us. And Sir Jasper.” She smiled at the man by the fire. “And Inspector Dobson.” She
gave him a deferential nod. “To join you all for Christmas.”
“Why?” Kitty looked up from her knitting.
“I don’t know,” Maggie admitted. The truth was, she’d been asking herself the same question for days. “Maybe because most
of us were strangers. Maybe because she trusted people who think like her. Eleanor’s detectives were always outsiders, seeing
things with fresh eyes. I think that’s what she wanted from us. But whatever her reasons, she summoned her detectives—”
“And her suspects—” Ethan put in.
“And laid out a series of clues that only people devoted to her would see and follow. She didn’t tell us what was happening.
No.” Maggie felt the pieces falling into place in her mind. “She let us figure it out for ourselves. And then sometime in
the night... she vanished. She might have been wrong, after all. Maybe it was bad luck...”
“But bad luck didn’t poison that tea tray,” Ethan said. “Now the question is, who did?” He looked carefully around the room
but his gaze landed on Rupert. “The ungrateful nephew with the sticky fingers?”
“Now see here!” Rupert started. “I don’t know what you think you know—”
“Us?” Ethan looked at Maggie.
“Oh, we don’t know anything,” she told him.
“True. But Eleanor... Oh, Eleanor knew everything .” Ethan was just a little bit dramatic as he carefully took the lid from Eleanor’s present and retrieved a large manila folder.
“For example, did you know that, according to London’s premiere forensic accounting firm, two point six million dollars has
gone missing from Eleanor’s accounts in the past year alone?” Then he leaned close to Rupert and stage-whispered, “Don’t answer
that. That would be cheating.” He looked at the others. “He already knows.”
“Rupert!” Kitty exclaimed.
“I didn’t kill her! I didn’t even try.” Rupert was looking up at Maggie and Ethan, a sick pallor to his skin and a desperate,
pleading tone to his voice. “I swear, I never touched a hair on her head.”
“Oh, we know you didn’t kill her,” Ethan went on.
“You do?” Rupert actually sounded surprised.
“Of course!” Maggie said brightly. “You, Kitty, and Nanny Davis all have alibis for when the shots were fired in the maze
and, besides, why would you poison the tea tray when you’d already arranged to have Dr. Charles declare Eleanor incompetent
so you could take over her affairs?”
“That’s preposterous!” Rupert bellowed just as Kitty exclaimed, “Rupert!”
But Ethan was undisturbed. He just looked at a very sleepy, very bored Dr. Charles and asked, “Was that the plan, Doctor?”
“Absolutely it was,” Dr. Charles said.
“I’d lean into that if I were you,” Ethan whispered to Rupert. “It’s a lot better than murder.”
At which point Rupert had the good sense to shut up. Kitty’s hands started flying again, needles thwacking together as Ethan
looked over the other suspects in the room. “So if it wasn’t the greedy nephew, maybe it was Eleanor’s niece, the greedy duchess?”
Maggie waited for outrage, but all Victoria did was laugh. “Why would I do that? I am, as you say, a duchess.”
“The duchess of a bankrupt dukedom,” Ethan exclaimed, but Maggie lowered her voice.
“I think it’s duchy.”
“That can’t be right,” he whispered. “Dutch-y? That sounds like a pastry you can only buy in Amsterdam. I think it’s dukedom.
Maybe—”
“It’s both!” the duke snapped and Ethan gave Maggie a look like how about that?
Maggie fought a grin as Ethan pulled a stack of papers out of the box and started riffling through them like he was about
to deal a hand of cards.
“You had already come to Eleanor for money, hadn’t you, Your Grace?” Maggie asked as Ethan laid the cards on the table. IOU
after IOU. “Dozens of times. What happened?” Maggie honestly wanted to know. “Did she cut you off?”
The duke and duchess didn’t say a word, but then again, they didn’t have to. The answer was all over their faces.
“Unlike Rupert and Kitty,” Ethan pointed out, “the two of you were off by yourselves when the shots were fired.”
“That doesn’t prove anything!” His Grace snapped.
“He’s right.” Ethan looked at Maggie. “I hate to say it, but Sir Dukes-a-Lot has a point.”
“True. It could have been”—Maggie turned to Cece—“the mysterious new niece who, we should remember, actually delivered the
deadly tray to Eleanor’s office.”
“I didn’t poison it!” Cece sounded near tears. “I took it to her and left it in the hall and went to bed. You saw me!”
“We did,” Maggie conceded. “But you could have poisoned it before you took it upstairs.”
Cece was just opening her mouth to speak when Ethan put in, “What you could not have done is shoot at Maggie in the maze.”
“But I...” Cece trailed off, processing the words. “Ooh. That’s right! I was upstairs!”
“Exactly,” Maggie said. “You couldn’t have fired the shots. But your accomplice could have.”
It was almost funny, the way the color drained from Cece’s face. “I... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Maggie could almost read Ethan’s expressions by that point. They had their own language of little smiles and tiny touches,
inside jokes and knowing looks. So it felt almost like a dance when they both said, “ Shrimp puffs. ”
“I... What?” Dobson exclaimed, but Maggie was looking right at Cece.
“When did you meet Freddy Banes?” she asked.
“I... uh... three days ago.” Cece looked like it must be a trick question. “The same day I met you.”
“And you, Mr. Banes?” Ethan asked. “You were new to Eleanor’s legal team, didn’t you say?”
“Well, of course,” the man said.
“And you were a last-minute addition to the guest list, were you not? Weren’t they expecting your father?”
“That’s true, but I don’t know what that has to do with—”
“So Cece”—Ethan flashed his most charming smile—“maybe you can tell us how you knew this man was allergic to shellfish?”
“I... uh... I didn’t know.”
“Really? Then why did you pull the tray of shrimp puffs away from him on his very first night here?”
“I... uh...” She crossed her arms. “That was a coincidence.”
“See, we considered that. But then there was the case of... the blue envelope.” Ethan pulled it from the box with a flourish.
“Recognize that?” Maggie asked. “You should. You saw James bring it in our first day here. But Eleanor didn’t let you touch
it, did she?”
“I don’t see what some silly ol’ envelope even matters.”
But Ethan was already turning to the lawyer. “Your firm handled the DNA testing when Eleanor’s mystery niece showed up, did
you not?”
“Certainly. But—”
Maggie cut him off. “So it would have been simple enough to switch the samples or the results if you wanted to get your accomplice—maybe
an old girlfriend from when you studied in the States—through the door?”
“That’s ridiculous.” The man jolted to his feet, but plopped right back down with one look from Ethan.
“Eleanor probably looked like an easy mark. She was old. She was rich. And for all intents and purposes”—this was the part
that Maggie found most painful—“she was alone. But she was also savvy. And she wasn’t going to do anything without being sure,
so she ordered a new—and possibly secret—DNA test.” Maggie pointed to the envelope. “And the results arrived three days ago.”
Someone gasped as the group turned to Cece.
“You’re not her niece,” Ethan announced. “You’re a con woman. And that man is your lover.”
Maggie winced, then whispered, “I thought we agreed not to use that word.”
“What’s wrong with lover?” His voice was so low the others could have missed it.
“I don’t know. I just don’t like it.”
“How about moist? How do you feel about—”
“Enough!” Dobson shouted. “I’ve seen enough.”
“Oh, they didn’t do it,” Ethan said simply.
“But—”
“They’re guilty of fraud, absolutely.” Maggie nodded. “But they didn’t try to kill me.”
On the other side of the room, Dr. Charles raised his hand, annoyed with himself that he was actually paying attention. “But
you just said he”—a gesture toward Freddy Banes—“didn’t have an alibi.”
“For when the shots were fired,” Maggie said slowly. “They do have an alibi for when I was knocked unconscious and carried to the greenhouse last night after the electricity went out.”
There were murmurs and looks and questions, but Maggie kept her gaze locked on Ethan.
“I came downstairs the moment I realized Maggie was missing, and I found the two of them in the library playing cards—”
“With us,” the duchess pointed out.
“Yes!” the duke exclaimed. “We were there! So if they have an alibi, so do we!”
“Excellent point, Veronica!”
“Victoria,” Maggie whispered.
“Whatever.” Ethan shrugged.
“Enough!” Dobson was trying to get to his feet.
“Sit down, Inspector.” Ethan’s voice was flat and even. “Just sit there and do what you’ve been doing all along—nothing.”
“Now—” Dobson started, but Ethan prowled closer.
“You could have investigated the fire. You could have examined the stairs. She’s your friend. And you let her think she was
crazy. So forgive me if I’m not in the mood to coddle.”
Dobson didn’t say a word but he eased back in his chair, a little chastised. A lot angry.
“It won’t be long, Inspector.” Maggie’s voice was softer than Ethan’s. “Eat a scone. Drink some tea.”
“We are out of tea,” he said with exaggerated diction and James went to make a fresh pot. “Get on with it, Wyatt.”
Ethan turned back to the group. “Where were we? That’s right. We have two real heirs and one fake heir—all of whom have excellent
motives but no real opportunity to do all the crimes in question. Which is a problem, because who does that leave?”
As one, the entire room turned to look at James, who froze, teapot in hand. Looking very much the perfect English butler.
“James, are you a cold-blooded killer?” Ethan asked flatly.
“No, sir.”
“Good enough for me!” Ethan clapped his hands, then turned back to Maggie.
“You see, there was one thing I couldn’t shake.” Maggie paced, unable to stand still. “Why did Eleanor change the lock to
her office door?”
“You said yourself she knew someone was after her,” Victoria pointed out.
“Recently, yes. But she changed that lock months ago. Right, James?”
“That is correct, ma’am.”
“So why?” Maggie asked. “She was starting a new novel, but she’s written at least seventy books in that office with the old
lock. What was so different about this one?”
“No one’s read it,” Cece reminded the group. “I saw one page months ago and she was furious.”
“Yeah. Well. About that.” Maggie felt her face turn red. “I might have kind of... snuck the notebooks out of her office
and taken a peek.”
“She read the whole thing,” Ethan told them flatly.
Dobson was furious. “I told you to stay out—”
“What was it about?” Sir Jasper asked.
“A woman who suspects someone is trying to kill her, so she fakes her own death and disappears.” Maggie couldn’t help but
laugh. “Sounds familiar, right?”
“Well, who did it? You know... in the book?” Kitty put her knitting down.
“See, that’s the problem.” Maggie felt a fresh wave of energy pulsing through her. “The last notebook was missing, and then,
sometime yesterday, the other notebooks were stolen out of my room.”
“So who had access to the house and could steal those notebooks?” Ethan asked.
“And sabotage the stairs?” Maggie asked.
“And get close enough to lock Eleanor in the greenhouse?” Ethan said.
“And light it on fire?” Maggie finished.
“And who was free to steal a rifle from the gun room and then lie in wait for Eleanor to take her daily walk in the maze?”
Ethan’s voice was darker.
“And, most importantly, who in this house didn’t know that Eleanor wouldn’t be taking a walk that day?” Maggie was moving
slowly, looking at them all in turn. “Because Eleanor was already gone?”
“Is the tea not to your liking, sir?” James whispered to Dobson.
“It stinks to high heaven.” Dobson scowled down at the cup.
“Ooh! You forgot about the tea tray!” Cece chimed in helpfully. “Someone had to poison the tea tray.”
But Ethan was shaking his head. “No one poisoned the tea tray, Cece.”
Dobson huffed. “I believe Sir Jasper would disagree—”
“They didn’t have to,” Maggie cut him off. “Because someone had already poisoned the tea .”
Ethan was inching closer to Cece. “What was it you told Eleanor through the door that first night? ‘ I found the tea you like ’?”
For a moment, Cece’s face went blank. Then she remembered— “A box went missing! We thought we were out, but then I found it
and...”
She gasped as the truth sank in.
“It was smart,” Maggie said. “Eleanor was the only one who drank that blend. The killer could add the poison and be long gone
by the time it was consumed.” She looked down at the cup in Dobson’s hands. “Until today.”
Cece gasped and Sir Jasper scooted forward, his color coming back and his eyes going sharp as everyone in the room looked
at Dobson.
“Go on, Inspector.” Ethan crept closer. “Prove us wrong. I dare you.”
But Dobson didn’t look caught; he looked angry. “What reason would I possibly have to hurt Eleanor?”
“Murder,” Maggie said simply.
“Fine.” His face was turning red. “Why would I murder Eleanor?”
“No.” Maggie could see her mistake. “I meant murder was the reason.” She looked up at Ethan. “Was I unclear?”
“It was a little confusing,” he told her.
“Oh no.” She turned to the group. “What I meant to say was... well...”
It was like the whole room was holding its breath when Maggie pulled the final notebook from the box.
“I think you’ve been looking for this, Inspector. It’s the ending of Eleanor’s new book.” She flipped through the pages. “Everyone
knows Eleanor loves a twist, and I’ve got to say, it’s a good one. You see... when I realized she was writing a story about
a woman who fakes her death and disappears because someone is trying to kill her, I thought she was being meta... making
a point. I thought it was a clue—and it was. But I was also wrong because this book isn’t about Eleanor. It’s not even about
now .”
Maggie felt herself drifting toward the windows that looked out over the wide expanse of snowy grounds. “It’s about a young
woman who walked five miles in the rain on a broken leg before collapsing on Eleanor’s doorstep. It’s about a girl who was
so poor and a boy whose family was so powerful that no one would ever believe their golden son had beaten her unconscious
and left her for dead. It’s about a young woman who was so terrified she decided to just be dead—change her appearance and her name and disappear—because, sometimes, being dead is the only way to stay alive.”
Maggie looked back at the group.
“It’s about a girl who was so scared she never spoke her attacker’s name—not even to Eleanor. But Eleanor was Eleanor...
she always had her suspicions.”
Ethan looked down at Dobson. “It’s about the woman you thought you killed, Inspector. You know the case you came to Eleanor
asking for help with forty years ago? The crime you thought you’d gotten away with? Well, Eleanor outsmarted you then when
she got your victim out of the country. And she’s outsmarted you now.”
The color had drained from Dobson’s face. It wasn’t the look of a man who’d seen a ghost; it was the look of a man who’d just
realized he was one.
He’d lived his whole life thinking himself a killer, believing that he’d gotten away with it. Maybe guilty. Maybe giddy. But
absolutely certain that no one knew. But he should have known better. Because he knew Eleanor.
“She died! That girl died!” Was Dobson shouting at them or at himself? Maggie wasn’t sure.
“You never found the body, though, did you?” Maggie watched him thinking, remembering. “Eleanor couldn’t prove it was you,
of course, but she always suspected. And she never forgot.”
“This... This is insane. I...” He looked around, as if remembering where he was and what was happening. “How could I
have known what Eleanor’s book was about?”
“I don’t know.” Maggie turned to Cece. “You read part of it a few weeks ago. Did you tell anyone about it?”
Cece’s eyes went wide. “Yes.” Her hand shook as she pointed at the inspector. “I told him. He was visiting Eleanor one day
and asked if I knew what she was working on, and I told him about what I’d read. I told him.”
“And within days, someone started trying to kill her,” Maggie filled in.
“This is ridiculous!” Dobson spat. “I wasn’t even here when the two of you were shot at.”
Ethan crossed his arms and gave his cockiest grin. “How’s the ankle, Inspector?”
If possible, Dobson turned even whiter, but he didn’t say a word.
“See, here’s the thing,” Maggie explained. “Last night, someone used the master key to break into my room and knock me unconscious.
Then they locked Ethan and me in the greenhouse—”
“Ethan and I ,” Rupert snarled, sounding snide.
“Screw you, Rupert. And she’s right; it’s ‘me.’ Go on, baby.”
Maggie blushed a little at the baby , but she kept her gaze on Dobson. “Someone locked us in and set the greenhouse on fire. Again.”
“So unoriginal,” Ethan muttered.
“Lucky for us, we escaped the same way Eleanor did—through the secret passageway that leads to the house. What we didn’t know
at the time was that the passage also leads to the little cottage on the grounds—the cottage where someone had slept and built
a fire quite recently, three nights ago, in fact.”
Ethan shifted but he never took his gaze off Dobson. “Someone who had to walk cross-country over rough terrain in high wind
and blinding snow.”
“In the dark,” Maggie added.
“Right! Totally dark. Hard to see. Easy to, I don’t know... sprain an ankle.”
Dobson muttered and sputtered and finally settled on, “Of course I turned my bloody ankle walking in that blasted snow. I
told you!”
“You did,” Ethan conceded. “In fact, you said you did it minutes before you arrived, but your ankle was already swollen and
bruised by the time we met with you in the library. No ankle is that color purple within minutes. No. You sprained it at least
twelve hours before we saw it, Inspector.”
“You sprained it while you were walking to the little cottage where you spent the night and, I’m guessing, left behind a newspaper
and a whole lot of fingerprints.”
“You sprained it before you snuck in and stole a rifle from this house. You sprained it before you took those shots, then
walked cross-country back to your car, then down the road as if you’d just driven in from town that morning.” Ethan folded
his arms over his chest, bigger and stronger and oh-so-slightly smug.
“You sprained it before you knew Eleanor was missing and shot at the wrong people in the maze,” Maggie finished.
For a moment, Dobson just sat there, chest heaving like he was trying to draw in enough air to blow the whole house down.
“What about last night?” He pointed at the foursome who had been in the card game. “If they have an alibi for last night,
then so do I!”
“Do you?” Ethan’s words were a question but his eyes were a dare. “Or did you tie Maggie up in the greenhouse, then come in
and throw on a robe and towel and act like you’d been in the shower?” Ethan laughed, then reached down for the teacup. “So
what do you say, Inspector? Give it a sip?”
It happened in a flash. One second, Maggie was thinking that they’d made a good case and had a good theory but it would never
hold up in court; the next, the teacup was flying through the air, scalding liquid arcing across the room. Ethan lunged, knocking
Maggie out of the way, and she landed on the sofa—on top of Kitty and tangled in her knitting.
But just as quickly, a big hand grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. Dobson had an arm around her neck. The handle
of Eleanor’s second-favorite walking stick pressed into her throat as he gripped it with one hand.
She heard a click and felt cold metal against her temple. That’s when she realized he held a small handgun in the other.
“Hey, now,” Ethan said. “Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”
“You’re forty years too late, Wyatt. Now I’m walking out of here.” Maggie was his cane at that point, and he leaned against
her as they inched toward the door. “I’m going to help myself to His Grace’s vehicle. The phones will work eventually, then
you can feel free to call for help, but I’ll be gone.”
“The bridge is out,” Maggie reminded him, but she could almost feel him smile as he slowly shook his head.
“You mean we’ve been stuck here for nothing!” Dr. Charles sounded like that was the real tragedy of the situation, but Dobson
was already dragging Maggie toward the doors.
“Maggie...” Ethan started.
But she was looking around the room, doing the math. It didn’t matter how many shots Dobson had, he wouldn’t miss. Not at
that range. No one could miss at that range.
“I’m okay.” And, amazingly, she was. The world was calm and quiet. It was like the faster things happened, the slower everything
felt. Like she was watching the scene from a great height. Like she could see all the odds and play the angles. Like she could
still win.
Like she was Eleanor.
“We should go through the gardens,” Maggie said flatly. “It’s faster.”
“So helpful, Ms. Chase.”
“No. I just want you out of here.”
She felt his weight. He was still unsteady on his feet. If she could just get in the open. If she could run... But as soon
as they stepped out into the deep snow, she felt less certain.
“The garage is—”
“I know where the garage is! I’ve been coming here for forty years!”
“Okay,” she said calmly. “Let’s go.”