The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

by Ally Carter

Ethan Wyatt wasn’t real, but that scar was. Two minutes ago, she would have sworn he was the kind of guy who would tell everyone his war stories, play them up for the ladies and the press, but Maggie had never ...

Come to think of it, Maggie had never heard anything about his past at all. And for the first time she had to wonder what was the bigger mystery: this trip or the man who was taking it with her? When he turned, Maggie whirled in her seat and went back to h...

She was still spitting and flailing when she heard a chuckle and felt a hand on the small of her back. “Come on, Margaret Louise.”

“You know, some women think I’m chivalrous.” “Some women think the earth is flat.” “Oh.” He bit back that million-dollar grin. “You wound me.” Maggie smirked. “Is that an offer?” A thousand scenarios flashed across his face when he said, “Maybe later.” And then he winked and slammed the door and Maggie tried to stop herself from smiling.

The first time Maggie met Colin Livingston he insisted on riding in the back seat. That was what she noticed first and remembered the longest. Not the frayed and beer-stained fraternity sweatshirt. Not the red-rimmed eyes and beleaguered grin of a guy who never rolled out of bed before ten.

But as she stood on the dormitory steps waiting for Emily, her smallest suitcase at her feet even though she’d had absolutely no idea what to pack for three weeks with a stranger’s family, her only goal was to take up as little space as possible, make as little noise as possible—to not eat too much or take showers that were too long or do any of a hundred things that might get her sent out into the cold by herself. Again.

Maggie wasn’t expecting a boy to climb out of the BMW’s passenger side. When he flipped the seat up, allowing entrance to the back, Maggie started to climb in, but he cut her off. “I’ll ride back there.” Then he practically folded himself in half to fit. Some pop star’s version of a Christmas carol was coming out of the speakers and Emily turned down the volume.

“New Friend Maggie meet Old Friend Colin.” She was wearing earrings that were tiny bells with sprigs of fresh mistletoe in them, and when she smiled and popped a bubble it didn’t even mess up her lip gloss. Maggie had never been so envious of anyone in her life.

“Colin’s family always spends Christmas with mine,” Emily explained. “We have a house next door,” Colin chimed in from behind them. “The three of us will be the only people under forty, and we’ll be glorious,” Emily said, then popped another bubble.

“Hey, Em—” Colin started, but Emily was already turning down the heat because she knew what he was going to say. She knew him. And something about it made Maggie feel even lonelier. “Are you . . .” Maggie looked back at the boy whose head brushed the ceiling. “Sure? That you want to ride back there? I don’t mind.” “Oh, this isn’t for you,” he said. “It’s for me. The back seat is way safer than the front.”

He caught Emily’s gaze in the rearview mirror and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Colin is still mad that I beat him at go-carts when we were seven. He doesn’t appreciate my driving.” “So I should put my seat belt on?” Maggie asked and Colin laughed. Then Emily slammed on th...

By the time they reached the eleven-bedroom mansion on a rocky beach in Rhode Island, Maggie knew three things: Emily was a fashion major and a terr...

By the time New Year’s Eve rolled around she knew one more: she was in love...

Ethan hadn’t spoken since the airport. He hadn’t looked at her since the wink. Ding. She watched him tap his phone to check a text from Amber. Where are you, Mr. Hotstuff? Oh please . . . Ding. This one was from Maya: WE MISS YOU. Ding. Brooklyn: You seriously aren’t coming? Ding. Kimmy: I refuse to have Christmas without you. Ding.

Rachel: I can beg, you know? Do you want me to beg? “Say whatever it is you’re thinking over there before your head explodes.” Ding. Maggie could have denied that she was snooping, but she was far too tired and too jet-lagged to try. “You’re . . . popular.” “These are from the last eight hours. We must have just gotten service.” “Oh.” She looked at her own phone. Twenty percent battery. Two bars. And not a single sound.

“Won’t your girlfriends worry if they don’t hear from you?” she couldn’t resist saying. “Oh, they’re trained better than that.” He flashed a mischievous grin, practically daring her to start a fight, so Maggie turned back to the window and the winding road.

“Oh, we’re here, ma’am.” Here? Where? Maggie saw a lake shimmering in the distance, but there wasn’t a town or a house in sight. “The estate is over twenty thousand acres. And it abuts a national park.” “Oh. That’s”—convenient if you need to dispose of a body— “lovely.”

“It certainly is,” James said as the car crested a hill and, suddenly, Maggie wasn’t in a Rolls beside her nemesis. She was in a movie. Or a time machine. Or someone else’s life. Because there, in the valley below, stood the grandest home that Maggie had ever seen.

It must have been some kind of castle. Or manor house. Or abbey? Maggie didn’t have a clue. She just knew that it was three stories tall with probably hundreds of rooms and belonged in the kin...

It was a palace from another era—made of stone and glass and centuries. Kings and queens had probably slept there. Wars had no doubt been fought there. Emily’s parents’ seaside estate would have looked like a McMansion in com...

“Welcome to Mistletoe Manor,” James said when the car slowed and stopped in the driveway. “Ten bucks says there’s an old guy here who wants to hunt us for sport,” E...

“I hope not.” She looked across the back seat at Ethan. It was the first time they’d felt together in something—like they were in on a secret. “I’m pretty sure there’s an Eleanor Ashley novel that starts that way.” They both climbed out and Maggie braced against the co...

Surely it was the wind? Sleep deprivation? The world’s worst case of jet lag? Because there was no way that he meant . . . “You’ve heard . . .” Maggie tried to keep her voice down. “You’ve . . . Have you never read Elean...

“Is she any good? Is she . . .” Maggie wanted to crawl over the car and strangle him. “Eleanor Ashley has written ninety-nine novels of perfection. She’s the world’s greatest living author and the greatest crime writer of all time, and so help me if you mention Sir Arthur Conan Whatshisface I’m ...

She was born in a house with no plumbing and only went to school through the sixth grade because her family needed her to work. She wrote her first novel on scraps of paper she pulled out of the trash...

“Eleanor Ashley invented the modern crime novel. She revolutionized the genre and . . . Killhaven—you know the publisher that just paid you seven figures for your next book? It wouldn’t exist without Eleanor ...

Maggie trailed off, confused and annoyed, as Ethan’s gaze drifted over her shoulder. His lips quirked. His eyes twinkled. “She’s . . .” And then there was a new voice flying...

At first, Maggie thought she was dreaming—or possibly dead—because she couldn’t believe she was in England. With Ethan Wyatt. Standing in front of a mansion. That belonged to— There was a gentle push at her back and suddenly Maggie was stumbling away from the car and closer to the woman with white hair and sharp blue eyes.

Eleanor’s left hand rested on her hip and her right sat atop the silver handle of a cane. She looked like a painting come to life, the story of an avenging angel who fell to Earth a thousand years ago, then decided to stick around. Maggie had read every book—every article—every word ever written by (or about) Eleanor Ashley, but all she could think as she stood there was No wonder they call her the Duchess of Death.

“So happy you could make it. I would have given you more notice, but, well . . . I like a twist.” Eleanor’s smile was quick and sharp and teasing. A little self-deprecating, too, because when you’ve sold more books than...

Maggie knew Eleanor was in her early eighties, but the woman before them seemed timeless in a black sweaterdress that was probably decades old but had never gone out of style, kind of like the woman who wore it. Her only item of jewelry was a pearl and silver brooch in the shape of a magnifying ...

“You’re . . .” Maggie barely recognized her own voice. She thought she might pass out. And maybe she would have if she hadn’t felt a pressure around her waist—a strong arm pulling her tight against far ...

The pressure on Maggie’s waist tightened, like Ethan was trying to squeeze a reply out of her. “Uh . . .” “It was great!” Ethan beamed. “Thank you so much for having us. We’re honored to be here.” He s...

It was a lie, of course, but Maggie was probably fan enough for both of them and Ethan was practically carrying her toward the door—like they were contestants in a three-legged race but only two of their l...

“You’re . . .” Eleanor Ashley. My favorite author. The reason I do what I do. My idol. My favorite. My oldest friend even though we’ve never met. “You’re . . . You’re . . .” “—home is lovely,” Ethan filled in, giving Maggie a look that said get it together, so she did the only thing she could think to do in front of the Duch...

“We’re both just thrilled to be here. Right, Maggie?” He glanced down at her. “Maybe a little tired, though? Didn’t you say you were tired?” he prompted, then ga...

Maggie felt the weight of Eleanor’s gaze then. Appraising. Calculating. Like at any moment she was going to order Maggie back into the Rolls, the airplane. The sea. Like Maggie was going to get sent away before she’d even stepped inside. But that would have been okay, Maggie told ...

But Eleanor simply turned to lead them inside, and Maggie couldn’t keep from staring at the way she leaned heavily on the cane, not quite limping, but moving slowly. Carefully. For the first time, she seemed frail. And she must have read Ma...

“Don’t mind this. I just carry it to keep the boys away.” Eleanor gave a weak chuckle, then admitted, “And I slipped on the stairs a few weeks ago. Thought I might as well use the damn thing....

She picked up the cane and twisted and then, click, out popped a dagger. Even on the overcast day it glistened in the sun. “I have another one that will shoot a tranquilizer dart twenty feet if you press the rose on the handle.” There was pure m...

“I love you,” he said. “Will you marry me? Or adopt me? I’m happy either way. Totally your call.” “I like you.” Eleanor smiled like a woman who had heard far worse offers, and...

“Well, there you are!” The girl couldn’t have been much over twenty, with long blond hair pulled back in a headband that matched her pale pink sweater. There were pearls at her neck and French tips on her nails, and when she stopped beside a pair of antique dueling pistols, she looked like she was getting ready to pledge Kappa Kappa Murder.

“You went outside!” the girl exclaimed in an accent that sounded more like Alabama than Great Britain. “In the cold! Without a coat!” “And lived to tell the tale,” Eleanor replied in a singsong tune. “Now, Aunt E, you know what the doctor said—”

“Cecilia.” Eleanor cut off what was sure to be a lecture she’d heard before. “Come meet our guests. Ethan. Maggie. May...

That was when the girl seemed to notice the guests. Or, well, guest. Because her eyes went to Ethan and never left. His hair was wavier than usual and his eyes a little sleepy but, wouldn’t you know it, Ethan Wyatt made jet lag look good. Meanwhile, Maggie’s hair was tangled and her skin was dry, and when she looked ...

“Well, hello there.” The girl held out her hand to Ethan. “I’m Cece.” “Eleanor?” Ethan’s voice held a teasing lilt. “Why didn’t you tell us we’d be meet...

trailed off, realizing . . . “Too much? I think that was too much?” But even that sounded charming and Eleanor smiled. “I appreciate the effort.” Cece batted her eyes and slapped him playfully on the arm, lingering on those frankly ridiculous biceps. “Oh, you’re a big flirt.” He lowered his voice. “Among other things....

Cece tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as if she wasn’t already wearing a perfectly adequate headband. Then she exclaimed, “I’m Aunt Eleanor’s niece!” as if...

“When she heard I needed a job, she said I could move to England and be her companion and secretary and . . . well . . . just sort of all-around aide.” She turned to Eleanor and raised her voic...

But then something over Maggie’s shoulder caught Eleanor’s attention. “How is it out there, James?” Maggie turned to see the driver walking down the hall. He must have come in through a servants’ entrance because he’d traded his coat for an apron and carried a stack of mail on a silver tray.