Page 7 of Holmes Is Missing
“Who wants pancakes?” Virginia asked, spooning golden batter into the sizzling skillet.
Poe raised his hand. “Yes, please.” Virginia’s sweet potato pancakes were amazing.
“Me too,” said Marple, nibbling on a slice of leftover cider cake, another of Virginia’s specialties. Recently, Virginia had begun to honor the building’s history as a bakery by turning out an irresistible array of muffins, breads, and desserts. The aroma of the pancakes mixed with the aroma of the thick-cut bacon from the oven.
Poe rubbed his head, trying to clear the ache and fog from hisbrain. A massive injection of protein and carbs was exactly what his weakened system needed. And, as usual, Virginia seemed to anticipate it.
“Virginia, you’re spoiling us,” said Marple.
“It’s the farmer in me,” said Virginia. “I like feeding people.”
As Poe had learned, Virginia was raised in rural Pennsylvania, the only daughter of a Quaker dairy farmer. When she realized she was not cut out for country life, she moved to New York, bringing her farm recipes, her Quaker discipline, and her love of animals with her.
Virginia dropped a half slice of cooked bacon into Baskerville’s huge maw and tossed a much smaller piece to Annabel, then slid a fresh platter of pancakes onto the table and lifted the lid off a small ceramic dish. “Honey butter,” she said. “Made it yesterday.”
Poe looked up from his plate. “Virginia, sit,” he said. “Stop cooking and eat.”
“Already did,” said Virginia, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was always the first one in the office, even though her apartment was several blocks away. “I’ll just have coffee.”
She sat down on a stool across from Poe and Marple and looked out over the first-floor office space. Then she let out a long sigh. “It’s not the same without Mr. Holmes, is it?”
Poe’s nerves were already frayed. By the kidnapping. By the momentous secret Helene had shared with him. But for some reason, this was the breaking point. He slapped his hand on the countertop and muttered through gritted teeth, “Will everybody please stop stating the obvious?!”
Virginia sat up straight, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quaking, “I just…”
Marple put her hand on Virginia’s forearm. “Don’t worry about it. Mr. Poe is simply frazzled by the case.” Virginia alreadyknew all about the hospital kidnapping. It had led the local news that morning.
“Six babies,” said Virginia. “So horrible.”
Poe put down his fork and looked over at Marple. “Everybody misses Holmes,” he said. “You. Me. Virginia. The dog too, no doubt. I think it’s time.”
Marple cocked her head. “You mean…?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Marple slid off her chair and looked across the table. She wiped the last bit of honey butter off her lips with a napkin. “Hold down the fort, Virginia,” she said. “Mr. Poe and I are going on a road trip.”
CHAPTER9
“ARE WE ABSOLUTELYsure this is a good idea?” asked Marple. She was now having second thoughts about the mission, not least the toll a ten-hour return trip might take on her sleep-deprived driver.
“What? Surprising him?” asked Poe. “It’s the best possible idea.”
“What if we trigger him? Throw him back into his old patterns?”
“Are you sayingwemight be a bad influence on Brendan Holmes?”
“No,” said Marple after a moment’s thought. “Probably the other way around.” Whether the trip was prudent or not, the truth was she couldn’t wait to see him.
They were heading up Route 79 toward Ithaca, New York, in Poe’s ’66 Pontiac GTO—a better cruising machine than the Charger, he claimed. Marple couldn’t really tell the difference. To her, all of Poe’s flashy muscle cars were loud and uncomfortable. Fun to drive, maybe, but not great for the passenger. Alljerky shifts and engine whines. Marple much preferred sedate high-end sedans from Uber Black, but Poe loved to drive, and she wasn’t about to deny him that small pleasure. Not in the mood he was in.
They were west of the Catskills now, about halfway to Ithaca, two and a half hours northwest of the city. Along the way, they passed bare fields with isolated farmhouses and small towns that had seen better days—the kind of places where Marple loved to indulge two of her favorite hobbies: antiquing and bird-watching.
“How long has it been?” asked Poe. “Since he left.”
“Two months, eleven days, six hours,” said Marple. She’d been keeping count. She could have added the minutes.
Marple absolutely agreed with Virginia. The office was not the same without Holmes. Without him, the place lacked a certain drive and energy. Fortunately, the workload had been light since he’d been away—minor cases, easily disposed of, or ongoing investigations that could afford to simmer for a while. At least until last night.