“ARE WE ABSOLUTELY sure this is a good idea?” asked Marple. She was now having second thoughts about the mission, not least the toll a ten-hour return trip might take on her sleep-deprived driver.
“What? Surprising him?” asked Poe. “It’s the best possible idea.”
“What if we trigger him? Throw him back into his old patterns?”
“Are you saying we might be a bad influence on Brendan Holmes?”
“No,” said Marple after a moment’s thought. “Probably the other way around.” Whether the trip was prudent or not, the truth was she couldn’t wait to see him.
They were heading up Route 79 toward Ithaca, New York, in Poe’s ’66 Pontiac GTO — a better cruising machine than the Charger, he claimed. Marple couldn’t really tell the difference. To her, all of Poe’s flashy muscle cars were loud and uncomfortable. Fun to drive, maybe, but not great for the passenger. All jerky shifts and engine whines. Marple much preferred sedate high-end sedans from Uber Black, but Poe loved to drive, and she wasn’t about to deny him that small pleasure. Not in the mood he was in.
They were west of the Catskills now, about halfway to Ithaca, two and a half hours northwest of the city. Along the way, they passed bare fields with isolated farmhouses and small towns that had seen better days — the kind of places where Marple loved to indulge two of her favorite hobbies: antiquing and bird-watching.
“How long has it been?” asked Poe. “Since he left.”
“Two months, eleven days, six hours,” said Marple. She’d been keeping count. She could have added the minutes.
Marple absolutely agreed with Virginia. The office was not the same without Holmes. Without him, the place lacked a certain drive and energy. Fortunately, the workload had been light since he’d been away — minor cases, easily disposed of, or ongoing investigations that could afford to simmer for a while. At least until last night.
Even on small cases, Marple missed her partner’s deductive skills and technical savvy. As a detective, he was one of a kind. She missed their everyday camaraderie too. The banter. The discussions. Even the arguments. Holmes, Marple, and Poe. The magic of three. One on one, she sometimes found Poe’s moodiness exhausting.
Marple looked over at him, his hands tight on the steering wheel. So far on the drive, Poe had been quiet for long stretches, seemingly lost in his own world. Except for the ten times he had tried to speed-dial Helene — without result.
“Is something on your mind, Auguste?” “Nothing I want to talk about right now.”
“All right, then . . .” Time for a distraction. Marple turned on the radio and pressed Scan. Reception was iffy until the receiver locked on to a classic rock station, which came in loud and clear. When Marple recognized the bass line to “Every Breath You Take,” she cranked up the volume and began singing along, adding a sweet high harmony to the lead vocal — the one about
watching somebody’s every step, every word, every move.
“This should be our company theme song,” said Marple, humming along when she ran out of lyrics she knew. Poe stared ahead at the road. Something was eating at him, Marple could tell. She also knew enough not to pry. At least not at the moment. Patience. It was a lesson she had learned from countless inter- views and interrogations over the years. Give the dam time to burst on its own.
Marple kept humming along with Sting as she pulled out her iPad and started zipping through international crime reports. As her fingers flew across the keys, she thought about how much the world had changed since she was a fledgling investigator. It didn’t seem that long ago. Now even Interpol had a presence on social media.
She spent the next couple of hours digging down to a file of current investigations around the world — cybercrimes, government corruption, counterfeiting. A few firewalls and keywords later, she landed on a confidential report from London. Four infants had recently gone missing from a private, upscale hospital in Kensington. The authorities were keeping it quiet. Somehow they’d even managed to keep the parents out of the media.
“Aha!” she said. “Take a look at this!” She held the screen up so Poe could see it.
“Not now,” said Poe. “We’re here.”
Marple looked up and put away her iPad. They were approaching a set of fieldstone pillars with a thick iron gate. No engraved plaque told visitors that this was Lake View, but as the gate immediately swung open upon their arrival, Poe eased through the entrance and onto a winding gravel road. A minute later, the rehab center rose into view. The brick building had an almost Norman design, with wood and natural stone around the entry- way, some of its hues blending in with the surrounding woods. In the distance, Marple could see sunlight reflecting off Cayuga Lake.
As they pulled up to the entrance, she smiled when she spotted Holmes on the front porch, the only Black man in the row of residents sitting in huge Adirondack chairs. His shaved head gleamed, and his bare feet rested on a small stool. He wore a plush white robe over pajamas.
“Do you think he knew we were coming?” asked Poe. “Well, he is Holmes after all.”
Poe pulled the car to a stop in a visitor parking space. Marple opened her door and stepped out. She waved. Holmes waved back. He wiggled his bare feet.
“He looks content,” said Poe. “Maybe he’s planning to stay through the fall.”
“No,” said Marple. “He’s ready to leave. I can feel it.”
•••
CHAPTER 10
AS MARPLE AND Poe ascended the wide porch steps, Holmes jumped up from the chair and held his arms out wide, like an actor owning a stage. Then came a pronouncement at the top of his voice. “ ‘How small we feel with our petty ambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental forces of nature!’ ”
“I’m glad to see you’ve been catching up on your reading,” said Marple. She moved in to give him a hug. He felt solid and looked healthy.
“The country atmosphere has changed me for good,” said Holmes. He took a deep breath and let it out with a burst. “ ‘How sweet the morning air is!’ ”
Poe looked irritated and impatient. “Are you just going to keep quoting from mystery novels,” he asked, “or can we have a serious conversation?”
“You’ve come to drag me back to that great cesspool, haven’t you?” said Holmes.
“How are you feeling, Brendan?” asked Marple. “How are things going with the program?”
“I’m clean, Margaret,” said Holmes. “Renewed, restored, and reformed.”
Marple had to admit that his eyes seemed clearer, and he was definitely full of pep.
“Brendan,” she said, “if you’re really better, and I truly hope you are, it’s time to come back to work. We’ve got a huge case on our hands, and we need your —”
“Let’s work here!” Holmes interrupted. “Join me! I’m sure we can find two vacant rooms.” He started pacing across the porch in his bare feet, ignoring the other residents. “The woods are so stimulating!” he said. “Cool nights, wind through the leaves, the occasional scream of madness.” He paused and leaned against a porch rail. “I can see why my mother liked this place.”
Poe walked over and cleared his throat. “Brendan, I have something to tell you.” He looked back at Marple. “I have something to tell both of you.”
Marple stepped up and cocked her head. Was this what had made Poe nervous all day? Was there something he needed to get off his chest? She and Holmes followed him to an empty corner of the porch. Poe stared up at the treetops for a moment. Then it spilled out.
“Helene is pregnant. I’m the father.”
Marple reached over and gave Poe’s sleeve a hard tug. “Auguste! We’ve been driving together for five hours and you kept this to yourself?”
“I wanted to tell you both at the same time,” said Poe. “Get your gut responses at once.”
Marple’s gut response was shock, but she didn’t let it show. The timing seemed poor. Auguste and Helene had known each other barely four months. It was too early in the relationship. “Well, I think it’s wonderful,” she said after a moment. “You two make a terrific team.” This part she meant. She liked Helene a lot. And maybe having a child would get Poe past his old sorrows and bring a little brightness into his life. God knew he’d had enough gloom.
Holmes turned toward them both, his back to the railing, his expression grim. “Personally, I amconcerned,” he said. “For poor Helene!” He grabbed Poe by the shoulders. “Does she have any notion what it will mean to be linked for eternity to the dark and unfathomable Auguste Poe?”
“Brendan! Stop it!” scolded Marple. Suddenly, Holmes broke into a broad smile.
In a snap, Marple could tell that the old Brendan was back. She glanced at Poe. From his expression, she could tell that he saw it too. Holmes reached out and pulled them both into a tight embrace. “You didn’t take me seriously, did you?” he said. “About staying here?”
“You sounded pretty convincing,” said Marple.
Holmes stepped back. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll just be a moment.”
He pulled open the front door and bolted into the building. A few seconds later, he emerged with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He headed down the porch stairs toward the car, still in his robe, pajamas, and now slippers. He turned back as his partners stared.
“What’s the problem?” he asked. “I showered this morning.
Four times actually. I may be sober. But I’m still obsessive.”
•••
CHAPTER 11
THE DRIVE BACK to Brooklyn was strangely silent and awkward. After an initial burst of energy, Holmes seemed sullen. Marple tried to brief him on the hospital kidnapping, but he seemed oddly distracted — more focused on the passing scenery than on coming up with his usual theories and paths of investigation. Behind the wheel, Poe had turned brooding and uncommunicative again. He’d apparently given up on trying to reach Helene from the road.
After a few more stabs at conversation, Marple ended up spending most of the time on her iPad. First, she arranged to have Poe’s ’77 Trans Am, the car he’d lent Holmes months earlier for the drive to Ithaca, transported back to Brooklyn. She then set an alert for reports of other missing babies. So far, only New York and London. She’d asked Virginia to dig up a contact in Scotland Yard, London’s Metropolitan Police. Maybe they’d be willing to compare notes. By the time Poe pulled the GTO up in front of the firm’s Brooklyn headquarters a little before 7 p.m., she was a bit nauseated from staring at her screen.
As Marple climbed out of the car, she saw three figures emerge from the front door. Virginia. Baskerville. And Helene Grey.
The huge dog got to Holmes first, jumping on him with enough force to knock him backward. “Desist, you beast!” Holmes shouted in mock alarm before giving the dog an affectionate pat and a vigorous scratch between the ears.
“Baskerville! Down!” Virginia called out. The dog obediently dropped to his haunches and sat panting on the sidewalk. Virginia stepped past him to give Holmes a firm hug. “Welcome back, Mr. Holmes,” she said, her forehead on his shoulder. “It hasn’t been the same without you.”
“I’ll tell you one thing, Virginia,” said Holmes. “The oatmeal cookies in rehab don’t hold a candle to yours.”
Grey stared for a few moments at Holmes’s sleepwear and slippers. She waited patiently on the front step as he approached. “Glad to have you back,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve heard that we really need your help.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Holmes cryptically. He brushed past her and walked inside. Grey gave Marple a questioning look.
Marple shrugged. She watched as Poe pulled the GTO into the loading bay, then pushed a button to close its garage door after retrieving Holmes’s duffel bag from the trunk. Then he walked over to the detective. “I’ve been trying to reach you,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. She turned and walked inside. Virginia stepped back into the doorway and pulled a leather leash from a hook. She looked at Marple. “Sorry to run, Miss Marple,” she said. “I’ve got to take Baskerville for his walk. We’ll be back in half an hour.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Marple. “Go on home for the night.”
“Really?” asked Virginia. “I’m happy to come back and help Mr. Holmes get settled.”
“No,” said Marple. “Leave that to me.”
“Okay, then,” said Virginia, clipping the leash to Baskerville’s collar. “See you in the morning.”
When Marple walked inside, she saw Holmes in the kitchen and Poe halfway up the staircase with Holmes’s duffel bag over his shoulder. Grey was standing awkwardly in the entryway.
Marple felt the urge to say something. Congratulations. When are you due? Boy or girl? But she held back. Not the time. Not her place. Helene might not even know that Marple knew.
As soon as Poe got back down to the first floor, Grey cleared her throat and cocked her head toward the door. “Got time for a walk?” she asked. Poe nodded. They headed out through the front door together and then turned, walking past the row of windows.
Marple was a top-notch lip reader, but all she could pick out was Poe saying, “Let’s go to the park.” Grey’s lips weren’t moving at all.
Marple turned to Holmes as he walked over. “What do you think? Is Poe definitely the father?”
Holmes nodded and headed for the stairs. “As my namesake would say, ‘the probability lies in that direction.’”
“In that case,” said Marple, following right behind him, “‘now is the dramatic moment of fate.’”
She knew her Conan Doyle as well as Holmes did. Maybe better.
•••
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Holmes! It is an honor to have you on here Mister Patterson. My husband picked up one of your Alex Cross books and has now read every one. He has Holmes is missing and House of Cross on hold. I don’t know if you remember Jerry Todd, but he did a cover for one of my books, and said he did some of yours. He told me reading your books is like eating potato chips, you can’t stop
Hard choice, but Poe….
Holmes! It is an honor to have you on here Mister Patterson. My husband picked up one of your Alex Cross books and has now read every one. He has Holmes is missing and House of Cross on hold. I don’t know if you remember Jerry Todd, but he did a cover for one of my books, and said he did some of yours. He told me reading your books is like eating potato chips, you can’t stop