Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

POE WAS STILL reeling an hour later when he walked in the front door of the building in Brooklyn. Virginia was in the kitchen with Baskerville at her hip.

“You were up and away early this morning, Mr. Poe,” Virginia called out.

“Correct” was all he could say. He’d been equally terse with Helene. She had mumbled something like “We’ll talk.” He had nodded. Then they’d each gone their separate ways.

Poe looked up to the balcony level and saw Marple emerge from Holmes’s apartment. Her skirt and blouse were rumpled, and her hair was uncharacteristically untamed. Holmes followed close behind in a robe and silk pajamas.

Virginia’s eyes widened at the sight of Holmes and Marple descending the staircase together. Poe stared at Holmes as the pair approached the table.

“So,” he said. “You and Margaret are roommates now?”

Holmes gave him a dismissive wave. “Margaret was my sofa sentry last night. For some reason she thought I needed monitoring.”

“Monitoring for what?” asked Poe.

“Nothing,” said Holmes. “Abundance of caution.”

“How is everybody this morning?” chirped Marple as she took her seat. Even in her rumpled state, she seemed cheerful. “I hope we all remember what we’re up to this morning.”

Poe slid his mug across the table. Virginia filled it with coffee. “Don’t tell me it’s another goddamn task force meeting,” he mumbled.

“I’m not setting foot in that place again,” said Holmes. “Nothing but a den of underachievers.” Virginia pushed a cup of coffee in front of him and then turned to fetch the hot kettle from the stove.

“This is totally different,” said Marple. “You’ve probably forgotten. We’re scheduled to be on a panel at the crime-writers’ convention at the Marriott Marquis.”

Poe leaned across the table. He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. Had he heard correctly? “What? A writers’ convention?”

“Yes,” said Marple. “We committed to it back in…”

“July,” Virginia finished, pouring steaming water over the tea strainer in Marple’s favorite mug.

“That’s correct,” said Marple. “And we keep our commitments.”

“Well, I wasn’t part of that, Margaret,” said Holmes. “Besides, why in God’s name would we waste time at a crime-writers’ convention when there are actual crimes to solve? Missing babies, remember? Distraught parents? The case you both talked me into working?”

Virginia lit up as she handed Marple her steaming mug. “Mr. Holmes! You’re staying?!”

“A temporary reprieve,” said Holmes.

Poe took another sip of his coffee. “Margaret,” he said. “Brendan’s got a point. You must be kidding.”

“I know we’re busy,” said Marple. “Think of this as a refreshing respite. And there’s a lot we can learn from crime writers. We all know that.”

Poe rubbed his eyes. He felt emotionally exhausted, and his nerves were raw.

With everything on his mind, this was the last thing he needed, today of all days. “Waste of valuable time,” he said firmly. “I’m not going.”

“You certainly are,” said Marple. “I made a promise.”

Poe was working hard to keep his temper in check. “Margaret. You can’t go making promises for all of us.”

“And yet I did,” she replied evenly. “You were spending a weekend with Helene when I made the arrangements. And Brendan was incommunicado in Ithaca. But like us all, I’m authorized to speak for the business. As an equal partner.”

“Then you go by yourself,” said Holmes. “As the representative of the firm.”

Poe saw Marple’s features relax while her shoulders tightened slightly. It was the same demeanor he’d seen her adopt with balky suspects. Sweetness, underpinned with steel.

“The contract specifies Holmes, Marple, and Poe,” she said, “and that’s who they’re getting.” She turned to Holmes. “This is perfect for you, Brendan. Now that you’re about to retire, you’ll have time to write a crime novel of your own.”

She patted his wrist lightly as she sipped her tea. “Maybe you can pick up some tips.”