Chapter 11

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.