The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

by Ally Carter

Ms. Chase: Well, of course I have his blood on my hands. Mr. Wyatt: It was just a scratch. Ms. Chase: I obviously didn’t try to kill him.

Of course, I’m not offended that you’d accuse me of murder. I’m offended you’d think I’d be bad at it.

“You know, it’s a miracle there aren’t more murders at Christmas.”

“Oh, here we go,”

“Think about it. People who hate each other crammed together in hot rooms with too much alcohol. Scissors and strangulation devices lying around.”

“Strangulation devices?”

“You know . . . Lights. Tinsel. I bet you could do some real d...

“Even mistletoe is po...

“To d...

“In large enough quantities, every...

“You could come home with me,” a voice said from behind her. And that’s how she met Emily. And that was the beginning of everything. Even the end.

Maggie started doing Party Math in her head. If she hid for thirty minutes, then waved at three more people on her way to the elevator, maybe no one would notice if she spent the rest of the party hiding in an empty room, reading her Purse Book and eating her Napkin Cheese. It was a genius plan, really. She should have thought of it from the start.

“You know, some women think I’m chivalrous.” “Some women think the earth is flat.”

“Oh, but now I’m an awesome sweater guy. Go ahead. Put yours on. Let’s be twinsies.”

And Maggie needed to know. Not if she was right. No. She needed to know if it was okay to hope because Maggie had learned a long time ago that hope was the most dangerous emotion.

She had to keep moving forward. Then. Now. Always. If she stopped moving forward, she would die, so Maggie just walked faster.

She hated him because she was alone and afraid and nothing. She was nothing.

“I’m not surprised he left her.” She wiped snow from her eyes and saw the words land. They knocked him back like a punch. “Well, congratulations.” She gave a joyless laugh. “Everyone leaves me, so it didn’t exactly take a genius to see it coming, but that’s okay. I guess you beat me there too.”

In stressful situations, people revert to mean, and Maggie’s mean was hating Ethan Wyatt because it was so much easier than hating herself.

“Dobson thinks we tried to kill Eleanor. But that’s crazy. Isn’t that crazy? I think that’s crazy. Because you are you, and I am me, and we are not a we?” “We could be a we,” he muttered,

“And even if we’re not a we, we could . . . Wait. What did you say?” “Nothing,” he said as Maggie crept toward the frost-covered windows and fading light.

“You’re Margaret Elizabeth Chase. Born January fifteenth, which does make you a Capricorn. I don’t know your rising sign, but I could look it up for you if you want. You’ve written twenty-eight novels under four different names—three of which you just started using in the last year. I don’t know why, but I’m gonna find out.”

“Because even though I’m a sucker for an only-one-bed romance, I don’t know if it counts if there’s a second bed on the other side of the wall.”

“You’re not no one. And I’m telling you I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not tonight.” He took a slow step closer. “Not tomorrow.” Another step—another heartbeat, way too hard inside her chest. “Not ever.”

“You were never supposed to outshine him!” Ethan blurted and Maggie froze. Even her heart stopped beating as his eyes went soft and his voice dropped. “You were never supposed to do more than he did. You weren’t supposed to be more. You sure as hell weren’t supposed to earn more. I know men like that. I come from a long line of men exactly like that, so believe me when I say he needed you to be less than him, and you were always going to be more.”

“There’s no way, no universe, no reality in which you aren’t the brightest star in the whole damn sky, and . . .” His cheeks flushed. His hand shook, and he looked away like, suddenly, he was the one who was embarrassed. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

But the words were static in Ethan’s head as the elevator opened to reveal a woman. Cashmere coat and snowflakes in her hair, a little out of breath because she’d been caught out in the storm. It felt like she’d been chasing him his whole life and had only now caught up. Ethan wished he’d stopped running a lot sooner.

It was like it happened in slow motion—the way she turned at the sound of the voice. And smiled. And took off her other glove—her left glove. It was like someone turned the volume down—on the party. On the world. Because Ethan didn’t hear a thing as he stood there, staring at the diamond on her left hand.

Ethan had never seen someone shrink right in front of his eyes, but that’s what happened as her husband looked her up and down.

“It’s snowing, remember? You didn’t want to get your shoes wet so I parked the car?”

And all Ethan could do was watch her go. And whisper, “Take care, Marcie.”

As a connoisseur of only-one-bed romance novels, he knew they were supposed to wake up tangled and twisted together, but Maggie was on the far side of the mattress, curled into a tiny ball.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He hated how much he meant it.

Someday he was going to crush the people who had crushed her spirit. He was going to grind them into dust and not give it a second thought.

Ethan thought he might spend the rest of his life chasing the rush of making Maggie smile in that long, dark hallway, with the drafts and (possible) ghosts and cold wind howling right outside.

“I look like I’m one long white nightgown away from being killed in a gothic novel.” But Ethan simply said, “I’ll protect you.” She laughed softly. “From a ghost?” “From everything.”

If you were missing, I’d find you. I’d tear the house down stone by stone. I’d rip apart every room and scour every field and I wouldn’t stop. I would never stop.”

It’s because I love you, Margaret Elizabeth Chase.” He almost sounded angry. “Don’t tell me I don’t, and don’t tell me to stop because, believe me, I’ve tried. I know you don’t feel the same. But I love you. And so I’m going to get you out of here.”

“I know the world hasn’t given you a lot of reasons to believe this, but just so you know, if you were mine, I’d never make you park the car because my shoes are suede. If you were mine, I’d carry you through the storm. If you were mine, I’d fight the sky.”

But Ethan grew serious, thinking . . . remembering . . . deciding. “I thought you looked like forever.”

“So, what you’re saying is, I’m what you want for Christmas?” She was turning red. She was trying to tease.

“No.” Oh. “You’re what I want for always.” He kissed her—slow and sweet and sure.

“Touch her and I’ll kill you.”