Chapter 94

CHAPTER 94

ELEVEN P.M. MARPLE put down her phone after checking in with Poe one last time. The hospital was keeping Helene Grey overnight, and Poe was staying with her. As it should be.

“Auguste,” said Marple before she hung up, “don’t let that woman go again. Not tonight. Not ever .”

Marple was exhausted, emotionally drained. Earlier, she’d made some other calls. She’d woken Constable Ben Dodgett in the middle of the night, London time, to tell him that Agnes Matts was in custody. Then came the emotional calls with the parents of the rescued children.

She’d tried to call Sterling and Christine Cade first. But they weren’t answering, and she couldn’t blame them. Their son’s funeral was tomorrow. Though Marple would attend, it was possible they wouldn’t talk to her then either. The firm had already received word through the Cades’ attorney that they requested Holmes, Marple, and Poe donate their investigative fee to St. Michael’s neonatal intensive care unit. Marple was happy to turn over every penny.

As Marple sat on the edge of her bed, Annabel purred in her lap. At the moment, they were the only two beings in the building. Virginia had left with Baskerville hours ago, and Holmes was apparently still out searching for Oliver Paul. Waste of time, in Marple’s opinion.

In the wake of his near miss, she had no doubt that Paul had gone to ground, or maybe even scooted out of the country, using his fake wife’s contacts. Paul had clearly been dancing around the authorities with no problem for twenty-three years, Marple realized. Even with the evidence from his shop, he might never be found.

She briefly considered waking Dodgett again to rehash the status of his investigation, in the unlikely event he’d forgotten to share an important development. The four London babies were still nowhere to be found, and it was getting harder and harder to keep the kidnapping quiet. Marple checked the clock. It was now 4 a.m. in London. No. Let the constable sleep.

Annabel’s ears perked up, and she jumped to the floor, striking an attentive pose. A mouse? Then Marple heard it too.

A scratching noise. But not from an animal. Like metal on glass.

It was coming from downstairs.

Marple reached into her drawer and pulled out her pistol. She wasn’t about to be caught without a sidearm twice in the same day. She moved out of her bedroom, through her living room, and out the front door of her apartment.

She was in her bare feet, stalking quietly along the hardwood floor. At the edge of the balcony, she looked down. Nothing moved in the kitchen below, or in the office space beyond. She quickly padded down the staircase to the first floor.

She heard it again.

The sound was coming from outside the front door.

Marple clicked the safety off her pistol and went into a low crouch, moving through their open office space, then toward the entryway.

The sound was like nails on a chalkboard. Small, unsettling scrapes. Was somebody picking the lock? Trying to disarm the security system? Duff had offered to post a squad car across the street for the night, just to be safe. Now Marple wished she hadn’t turned him down.

As she reached the door, she peeked up at the security screen and checked the image from the entry camera. There was somebody outside! She looked closer, then exhaled slowly and lowered her pistol. She could only see the side of the figure’s head, but that was enough.

Brendan.

Marple opened the door. Holmes had one hand on the frosted glass panel to the side. He seemed to be working intently at something.

“Hello, Margaret,” he said without looking up.

“What are you doing?” asked Marple. She looked closer. Holmes was holding a single-edged razor blade between the thumb and two fingers of his right hand, using it to scratch his name off the company decal. As Marple watched, flakes of gilt lettering fluttered to the ground, until HOLMES was totally obliterated.

All that remained was MARPLE & POE.

“I told you I was serious,” Holmes said, stepping back to admire his minor work of vandalism.

Marple swallowed hard. In spite of everything Holmes had said since returning from rehab, she hadn’t believed this day would really come. She slid her gun into her side pocket. “Are you finished?” she asked.

“I am,” he said.

“Good,” said Marple. “Because there’s something I need you to know.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s a company personnel matter,” she said. “I’ve always had a firm policy against relationships between coworkers.”

Holmes looked puzzled. Marple stepped out onto the stone front step. Holmes lowered the hand holding the razor blade and let it fall to the ground with a light click. Marple moved in close. Very close. She slipped her arms around his neck and stood on her bare tiptoes to bring her face close to his.

“I thought you’d never quit,” she said.

Then she tugged his head down, parted her lips, and kissed him.

Marple felt Holmes tense, then tremble. Then, slowly, he began to kiss her back. His arms went around her, pulling her tight against him, so tight that the breath went out of her. She could feel his heart pounding through his shirt. Then he pulled back.

“Margaret, what…?”

She put two fingers against his lips. “Stop. No questions. Not everything is a mystery, Brendan. Sometimes the truth is staring you right in the face.”

Holmes exhaled slowly and brushed her hair back from her forehead. “I’ve loved you since the day we met, Margaret,” he said.

Marple smiled. “See how simple that was?” She wrapped her hands around her ex-partner’s back and pressed her cheek against his chest. “I love you too.”

She couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to realize it.