Chapter 71

CHAPTER 71

MARPLE CAUGHT A few hours of rest and a quick shower at headquarters before the next available flight back to New York—and slept throughout that as well, for once—but it was still nearly noon the next day before she landed at JFK. PC Dodgett had driven Marple to Heathrow himself. He had proven to be as solid as his literary namesake—hardworking and loyal—but Marple couldn’t wait to reunite with her true partners.

“Miss Marple! Over here!” a voice called out from the throng in the waiting area as she exited Terminal 4 at JFK. “Welcome back!”

It was Virginia. Black leggings. Denim jacket. Tinted hair.

Marple waved. “Where’s Holmes?” she asked as she neared. “And Poe?”

“Downtown at police headquarters,” said Virginia. “New development.”

“Take me there,” said Marple.

“That’s the plan,” said Virginia.

As they pushed through the door to the loading zone, Marple spotted a rakish two-door parked at the curb. Poe’s treasured Trans Am. A uniformed baggage attendant was sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Fantastic ride,” said Virginia. “I can’t believe Mr. Poe let me borrow it.” She moved quickly around to the driver side. She pressed a folded bill into the baggage handler’s palm as they traded places. Marple slid in on the passenger side.

“Strap in, Miss Marple,” said Virginia, wrapping her fingers around the shift knob. “This thing’s got balls.”

The tires screeched as Virginia pulled the car away from the curb. She quickly wound her way down the access road and onto the Belt Parkway. In no time, she had the Pontiac up to 75. Margaret realized this was the first time she’d ever seen Virginia behind the wheel.

“Is this how they drive in rural Pennsylvania?” Marple asked as Virginia swung past a delivery van, missing its bumper by inches. She wondered if Poe would approve.

“Can I tell you a secret?” said Virginia, eyes firmly on the road. “I did a little street racing in high school.”

“I see,” said Marple. “It shows.” She grabbed the armrest and held on tight, bringing her focus back to the message from Holmes. “What’s going on, Virginia?” she asked. “Holmes said somebody was about to be killed.”

“Oliver Paul,” said Virginia, her voice rising over the engine roar.

“Who would want to kill Oliver Paul?” asked Marple.

“No. Sorry,” said Virginia, banking into a turn. “He’s the killer . Mr. Holmes says Oliver Paul is going to kill somebody. And it’s going to happen tomorrow!”

The little watchmaker? A killer?

“Mr. Holmes says he’s sure of it. But he doesn’t know who the victim will be. Not yet.”

Marple’s mind was spinning. London. New York. Kidnappings. Murder. For a moment, her usually sharp multitasking faculties were slightly overwhelmed. She closed her eyes, losing track of time and distance as the Pontiac blasted past signs for Brighton Beach and Luna Park. The next thing she felt was a jolt from the transmission. Virginia downshifted as they approached the entrance to the Battery Park tunnel. A few minutes later, as they glided through the long tube under the East River toward the Manhattan side, Virginia glanced over at Marple. “He missed the hell out of you,” she said.

“Who did?”

“Mr. Holmes.”

Marple felt a slight burn in her cheeks. “Did he tell you that?”

Virginia sped up as she spotted the end of the tunnel. “He didn’t have to,” she said. “I pick up things.”

Marple heard a buzz near her feet. She looked down. Her purse had toppled off the seat and into the footwell. She reached down and pulled her phone out of the side pouch. She glanced at the screen. International call.

“Hello?”

“Margaret, it’s Ben. Ben Dodgett.”

Marple smiled. Apparently, the lovestruck PC was going to be a hard man to shake.

“It’s Rebecca Tran,” said Dodgett. “She’s dead.”