Page 6 of Holmes Is Missing
“Hi. What can I get you?” The black-clad bartender spoke in a monotone that seemed perfectly suited to the hour. It matched her jet-black hair and hollow-eyed expression.
“Bourbon. Neat,” said Poe.
“Ginger ale for me,” said Helene.
The bartender nodded and shuffled off.
“You’re still on duty?” Poe asked Helene.
She nodded, then lowered her eyes. “Funny, right? Just when you need a drink the most, you can’t have one.”
“You can have a sip of mine,” said Poe. “I won’t tell.”
Helene drew a deep breath then and exhaled slowly. She rested a hand on the bar and leaned toward Poe, looking him directly in the eye. “Auguste, I’m pregnant.”
Poe sat up straight on his stool, his heart racing. He blinked.It took a few seconds for the words to register completely. He reached over and grabbed Helene’s hand.
She flicked her eyes around the room and pulled away. “I know this isn’t what you were expecting,” she said softly. “Believe me, neither was I.”
“You’re sure?” asked Poe. Stupid question. Stalling for time.
“I’m a pretty sharp detective,” said Helene. “I think I can tell two lines from one.”
“What are you…? What can I…?” Poe was fumbling for words. Fumbling for thoughts. “I mean, are you… happy… or…?”
“Detective Grey!” A uniformed cop was shouting from the doorway. Helene looked back. The cop took two steps into the room and jerked his thumb toward the hospital. “Duff wants you to get back up there.Now!”
Helene stared at Poe for a second, then abruptly stood up. She gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “Stay,” she said.
Poe turned to watch Helene leave, the uniform right behind her. A moment later, the bartender reappeared and set down the drinks, placing the ginger ale in front of Helene’s now-empty seat. She turned and started shuffling back toward the other end of the bar. Poe glanced at his watch and then called after her. “Excuse me!”
“Something wrong with your drink?”
Poe shook his head. “I’m sure it’s fine. I haven’t even started on it. But seeing as you’re busy and it’s getting close to last call, I wanted to let you know that I’ll definitely need another.”
CHAPTER8
FOUR HOURS LATER, Poe was still reeling over Helene’s news and nursing a significant hangover besides. He’d tried texting Grey several times before dawn but had gotten no response. Either she was tied up with the case or she was avoiding him. When he came downstairs at 8 a.m. after barely two hours of sleep, he kept the pregnancy news to himself, as if telling somebody else would make it too real.
He sat down next to Marple at the island in the chef’s kitchen that adjoined their office space on the first floor of their shared building, a two-story brick structure originally built as a bakery in the 1800s. Poe and his partners had had the space gut-renovated shortly after joining forces to establish Holmes, Marple & Poe Investigations, installing three private apartments and a personal library for themselves on the second floor, with interior balconies overlooking the lower level’s open-plan workspace and an elegant staircase linking the two levels.
It was a perfect live-work situation, if a bit unconventional. What it lacked in privacy, it made up for in convenience. On mornings like this, Poe truly appreciated the one-story commute.
“Where did you disappear to last night?” asked Marple, sipping from a mug of tea.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I was in the St. Michael’s nursery investigating the security, which was supposed to be foolproof. Where were you?”
“Thinking,” said Poe.
“And drinking?” asked Marple.
“I don’t need a babysitter, Margaret.”
Virginia, the investigation firm’s young assistant-slash-housekeeper, was busy at the stove, the griddle sizzling. The twenty-four-year-old had been Poe’s first hire, and one of his best management decisions. Everybody agreed on that. Virginia had immediately brought order to the firm’s files, accounting practices, and contact lists. She’d even updated their security system. She had an uncanny knack for knowing what was needed at any particular moment.An absolute gem,Marple called her.
Virginia’s dark hair was newly tinted—orange today. The light glinted off the hoop in her nostril. Baskerville, her huge white mastiff, was hunkered down at her side, waiting expectantly for scraps. Marple’s black cat, Annabel, sat poised across the room, clocking each of Virginia’s movements.