Page 8 of Holmes Is Missing
Even on small cases, Marple missed her partner’s deductive skills and technical savvy. As a detective, he was one of a kind. She missed their everyday camaraderie too. The banter. The discussions. Even the arguments. Holmes, Marple, and Poe. The magic of three. One on one, she sometimes found Poe’s moodiness exhausting.
Marple looked over at him, his hands tight on the steering wheel. So far on the drive, Poe had been quiet for long stretches, seemingly lost in his own world. Except for the ten times he had tried to speed-dial Helene—without result.
“Is something on your mind, Auguste?”
“Nothing I want to talk about right now.”
“All right, then…” Time for a distraction. Marple turned on the radio and pressed Scan. Reception was iffy until the receiver locked on to a classic rock station, which came in loud and clear.
When Marple recognized the bass line to “Every Breath You Take,” she cranked up the volume and began singing along, adding a sweet high harmony to the lead vocal—the one about watching somebody’s every step, every word, every move.
“This should be our company theme song,” said Marple, humming along when she ran out of lyrics she knew. Poe stared ahead at the road. Something was eating at him, Marple could tell. She also knew enough not to pry. At least not at the moment. Patience. It was a lesson she had learned from countless interviews and interrogations over the years. Give the dam time to burst on its own.
Marple kept humming along with Sting as she pulled out her iPad and started zipping through international crime reports. As her fingers flew across the keys, she thought about how much the world had changed since she was a fledgling investigator. It didn’t seem that long ago. Now even Interpol had a presence on social media.
She spent the next couple of hours digging down to a file of current investigations around the world—cybercrimes, government corruption, counterfeiting. A few firewalls and keywords later, she landed on a confidential report from London. Four infants had recently gone missing from a private, upscale hospital in Kensington. The authorities were keeping it quiet. Somehow they’d even managed to keep the parents out of the media.
“Aha!” she said. “Take a look at this!” She held the screen up so Poe could see it.
“Not now,” said Poe. “We’re here.”
Marple looked up and put away her iPad. They were approaching a set of fieldstone pillars with a thick iron gate. No engravedplaque told visitors that this was Lake View, but as the gate immediately swung open upon their arrival, Poe eased through the entrance and onto a winding gravel road. A minute later, the rehab center rose into view. The brick building had an almost Norman design, with wood and natural stone around the entryway, some of its hues blending in with the surrounding woods. In the distance, Marple could see sunlight reflecting off Cayuga Lake.
As they pulled up to the entrance, she smiled when she spotted Holmes on the front porch, the only Black man in the row of residents sitting in huge Adirondack chairs. His shaved head gleamed, and his bare feet rested on a small stool. He wore a plush white robe over pajamas.
“Do you think he knew we were coming?” asked Poe.
“Well, heisHolmes after all.”
Poe pulled the car to a stop in a visitor parking space. Marple opened her door and stepped out. She waved. Holmes waved back. He wiggled his bare feet.
“He looks content,” said Poe. “Maybe he’s planning to stay through the fall.”
“No,” said Marple. “He’s ready to leave. I can feel it.”
CHAPTER10
AS MARPLE ANDPoe ascended the wide porch steps, Holmes jumped up from the chair and held his arms out wide, like an actor owning a stage. Then came a pronouncement at the top of his voice. “‘How small we feel with our petty ambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental forces of nature!’”
“I’m glad to see you’ve been catching up on your reading,” said Marple. She moved in to give him a hug. He felt solid and looked healthy.
“The country atmosphere has changed me for good,” said Holmes. He took a deep breath and let it out with a burst. “‘How sweet the morning air is!’”
Poe looked irritated and impatient. “Are you just going to keep quoting from mystery novels,” he asked, “or can we have a serious conversation?”
“You’ve come to drag me back to that great cesspool, haven’t you?” said Holmes.
“How are you feeling, Brendan?” asked Marple. “How are things going with the program?”
“I’m clean, Margaret,” said Holmes. “Renewed, restored, and reformed.”
Marple had to admit that his eyes seemed clearer, and he was definitely full of pep.
“Brendan,” she said, “if you’re really better, and I truly hope you are, it’s time to come back to work. We’ve got a huge case on our hands, and we need your—”
“Let’s workhere!” Holmes interrupted. “Join me! I’m sure we can find two vacant rooms.” He started pacing across the porch in his bare feet, ignoring the other residents. “The woods are so stimulating!” he said. “Cool nights, wind through the leaves, the occasional scream of madness.” He paused and leaned against a porch rail. “I can see why my mother liked this place.”
Poe walked over and cleared his throat. “Brendan, I have something to tell you.” He looked back at Marple. “I have something to tellbothof you.”