Page 19 of Holmes Is Missing
“Left an hour ago,” said Wright. “By taxi. With a couple of suitcases.”
Marple turned to the left and pulled open a pair of accordion closet doors. The main rack was empty. So was the shoe organizer and both overhead shelves. Dozens of empty hangers rattled together on one side.
Wright stepped over and looked in. “I don’t get it,” he said. “She only moved in a few months ago. Why the hell would she bug out without telling me?”
“Well,” said Marple, “looks like the lady emptied her closet. That’s way too many clothes for a vacation.”
CHAPTER23
THE LOGICAL DEDUCTIONwas that Keelin Dale must’ve gone to Newark International. Marple agreed. Why would she opt for JFK or LaGuardia when there was a perfectly good airport just half an hour away?
As they headed west on Route 78, across Newark Bay, Poe reached under his seat and pulled out his stack of placards. He handed them to Marple. “Find something appropriate,” he said, swerving around a dump truck.
By the time he screeched to a stop in front of international departures, Marple had jammed aNJ TRANSIT—OFFICIAL BUSINESSplacard against the inside of the windshield. The wording was bolstered by a pair of New Jersey state logos and an excellent facsimile of the governor’s signature.
“Nice choice,” said Poe.
The blue Road Runner got a couple of curious looks from the baggage handlers as Poe and Marple sprinted across the sidewalk. Inside the terminal, Poe paused at a monitor and scanned the departures list. He was looking for destinations without extradition treaties. A hunch, but one that had paid off in the past.
“There’s a 2:15 to Rabat!” he called out. Morocco was a non-extradition country.
Marple was way ahead of him. He caught up with her at the TSA checkpoint, where a Plexiglas barrier separated the entry concourse from the departure gates. Behind the barrier, passengers shuffled through their preflight choreography. Belts off. Shoes off. Arms up. Poe worked his way down the side of the barrier to get another angle on the queue.
There! Skinny black jeans. Maroon blouse. Auburn hair pulled into a bun.
Freckles in abundance.
Poe caught Marple’s eye and pointed. She nodded. Positive ID.
Poe watched as Dale dropped her purse, phone, and laptop into a bin and pushed it toward the scanning machine. She slipped out of her heels and placed them on top of her carry-ons. From what Poe could see, she was traveling solo. Marple slid over to his side.
“What now?” he asked. He knew their PI licenses wouldn’t get them past the TSA screener. And they had no powers of arrest anyway. “I could fake a heart attack,” he offered. “Sheisa nurse.”
“Do you really think a lactation specialist would be your first responder?” asked Marple. She was fishing through her purse. Poe looked back at the TSA line. Dale was already standing in the body scanner, arms over her head.Dammit!
“Got it!” Marple pulled out her passport and started tapping away on her iPhone.
“What are you doing?” asked Poe.
“What do you think?” said Marple. “I’m buying a ticket to Morocco.”
CHAPTER24
EVEN WITHOUT Achange of clothes, Margaret Marple was fully prepared to take an eight-hour flight to North Africa. But she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. As she approached the gate B45 departure area, she spotted Keelin Dale sitting by herself in the row of seats closest to the wall, legs crossed, reading aPeoplemagazine.
Marple held her phone at hip level, snapped a quick photo, then sent it to Poe. She knew her partner must be fuming back in the main terminal. This should teach him to never leave home without his documents.
Marple strolled slowly past the gate a few times, watching to see if Dale made contact with anybody else in the waiting area. She didn’t. Just kept flipping through her magazine. After a third pass, Marple walked casually up to the desk, asked the gate agent for the latest departure update, then took a seat with a clear view of her prey. She held her phone in her lap and tapped out a text.
YOU’RE BEING FOLLOWED
She sent the message to the cell number that she’d seen listedon Dale’s profile page. Marple’s perfect visual memory came in handy in moments like these.
She waited a few seconds for the vibration to hum inside Dale’s handbag. The nurse pulled out her phone and looked at the screen. Her whole face tightened. She abruptly unfolded her legs and slid up to the edge of her seat. She looked furtively around the waiting area and smoothed her hair nervously.
Interesting,thought Marple.A trained operative wouldn’t have reacted at all. Whatever she was up to, Dale was an amateur, not a pro.
Even with her subject plainly in her sights, Marple knew that her options were limited. She couldn’t make a citizen’s arrest without actually witnessing a crime. She couldn’t restrain Dale or sedate her without risking a charge of assault or false imprisonment. Sometimes Marple wished she’d taken the academy route and worked her way up to detective. It would make situations like this so much easier. On the other hand, there was something to be said for creativity.