Page 25 of Holmes Is Missing
“Joining the evil empire?” said Callie. “No, I didn’t. St. Michael’s is—was—one of the few independent hospitals left.” She rolled her beer bottle between her palms. “Look. I get the efficiencies of scale, the records sharing, the administrative streamlining. I sat through all the presentations. I really liked the idea of nobody looking over our shoulder, watching our every move. You know what I mean?”
“I do. Absolutely,” said Holmes. He felt the same way about needless supervision, had always preferred to work independently. “So, where are you going?” The word “going” had sounded odd as he spoke it. More like “gong.”
“Denver,” said Callie. “Small clinic. Privately owned. Obviously.”
“How were they dressed?” Holmes was aware of his own non sequitur, and the fact that his head was hanging lower. It felt like a lead weight. He saw Callie lean over, her head tilted sideways.
“Hey,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Can you describe them?” Holmes could feel his words oozing out. Not crisp. Not authoritative. Not good.
Callie slid off her stool and leaned into his face. “What’s up?” She called to the bartender. “Lou! How many has he had?” Lou held up one finger. She turned back to Holmes. “Are youonsomething?” She shook him by the shoulders. “What are you taking, Brendan?”
The subject has become the inquisitor,thought Holmes. His guardwas now totally down. “Buprenorphine,” he mumbled. “Sixteen milligrams.” He badly messed up the next word: “Sublingually.”
Callie grabbed his arm. “Buprenorphine? Are you kidding me?” She pulled his chin up and squeezed his cheeks. “You know that booze on top of bupe can be fatal, right?Do you know that?”
“I don’t really care,” said Holmes. At the moment, that was the absolute truth.
It was his last thought before his head hit the bar.
CHAPTER29
MARGARET MARPLE’S APARTMENTcupboard was fresh out of tea, which was why she was prowling the first-floor kitchen at 1 a.m. Virginia always stocked a supply of Margaret’s favorite chamomile in a tin by the microwave.
As she reached for the tin, the front-door bell rang. She turned and looked at the wall clock. It was late for visitors but not unheard of around here. She walked through the empty office to the entryway and looked at the security monitor.
It was Holmes. With an attractive young woman.
Margaret pressed the lock release and opened the door. The woman’s blond curls were damp from the mist outside. Holmes looked logy, not himself. His herringbone jacket was rumpled, and his tie was askew. There was a small lump on his forehead. A sedan with an Uber placard was idling at the curb behind them.
“Margaret?” the woman asked.
“Margaret Marple, yes.”
“You know this guy?”
“I do,” said Marple. “He’s my business partner. Who are you? What happened?”
The woman had a solid grip on Holmes, her hand on his upper arm. “I’m Dr. Brett. Callie Brett. Brendan had a little incident tonight.”
Marple’s heart started pounding.“Incident?”
“He’s fine. Just mixed two substances that should never be mixed. I stayed with him until he stabilized.”
Holmes twisted free and stepped through the doorway. “Like she says, I’m fine.”
Dr. Brett took a step back toward the sidewalk. “Okay, Margaret. He’s all yours now. But do me a favor. Watch him tonight—and do not let him anywhere near the liquor cabinet.”
“Of course,” said Marple. “How do you two…?”
“We just met,” said Brett, holding up her hands as if to plead innocence. “Bar buddies, that’s all.”
“Thank you for bringing him home, Doctor,” said Marple.
“No problem,” said Brett. “Good luck with your investigation.” She pressed her palms together in prayer formation. “Please find those babies.” Callie Brett turned away, and waved good-bye as she slid into the back seat of the Uber.
“Dr. Brett gave me an interesting lead,” said Holmes. He lurched toward a desk with a computer. “I need to follow up…”