Page 18 of Holmes Is Missing

“Insomnia, anxiety, panic disorders,” said Marple. “It’s a benzodiazepine. Highly addictive.”

“Okay,” said Poe. “Maybe she’s nervous. Maybe she has a hard time nodding off.” He shoved around the contents of the cabinet. It was an old-fashioned unit set into the wall, probably original to the apartment, the kind that still had a narrow slit in the back for disposing of used razor blades. Poe slid a bottle of hydrogen peroxide over to one side.

“Hold on,” he said. “Look.”

Marple peeked into the cabinet. With the weight of the bottle to one side, the bottom shelf tilted up slightly at the opposite end. Poe stuck his pistol back into its holster. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the top shelf and slid the tiny tongs between the bottom shelf and the cabinet frame. The shelf was loose along its entire length.

Marple plucked all the toiletries out and dumped them one by one into the sink.

Poe pried the thin wood up all the way. Marple grabbed asmall hand mirror and reflected the light from the ceiling fixture into the gap.

“Hello, there!” said Poe.

Marple looked in. Set between the studs underneath the cabinet was another shelf, about six inches down. Resting on the shelf were four clear plastic bags, secured with twist ties. Marple reached in and pulled out one of the bags. It was filled with Halcion tablets,hundredsof them.

“Guess what,” said Marple, dangling the bag from her fingers. “Our lactation consultant is a benzo junkie.”

“Or a dealer,” said Poe.

“Freeze! Both of you!”

Marple looked up to see a rifle barrel in her face.

CHAPTER22

“SHOW ME YOURhands!”

The man was tall, in his fifties or sixties, wearing a dark toupee that contrasted sharply with his greying stubble. His muscle had gone to fat, but Marple could tell he knew how to handle a weapon. Maybe ex-military. Or ex-cop. The rifle pointing at them was an M27 automatic.

“We’re private investigators,” she said. “We’re looking for Keelin Dale. Five six. Slender. Reddish hair. Freckle-faced.”

“She’s a nurse at St. Michael’s in the city,” said Poe.

“I know who she is,” said the man with the gun. “I’m her damn landlord.” He jerked the gun toward Marple. “What’s that?” He nodded at the bag of pills in her hand.

“We think your tenant may have a drug problem,” she said.

“Or a drug business,” said Poe.

“I don’t know anything about that,” said the landlord. “Come out here.” He backed into the bedroom and gestured with the barrel of the gun. “Slowly.”

Marple dropped the bag of pills into the sink with the other cabinet contents. Poe stepped into the bedroom, his handsraised to chest level. “Can I show you my ID?” he asked, sliding one hand under his jacket.

“No,” said the landlord curtly. “But since you’re heading that direction, you can show me your gun.”

Poe slid his Glock out slowly, keeping his fingers away from the trigger. He bent his knees and placed the gun on the floor. Marple stepped beside him.

“I’m Margaret Marple,” she said. “This is my partner Auguste Poe. Holmes, Marple, and Poe Investigations. As I said, we’re PIs on a case.”

“Holy shit!” the landlord muttered. “You’rethem!” He lowered his gun and broke into a grin. He had stunningly white dentures. “I saw you guys on TV this summer. Channel 5.”

Poe let out a breath and dropped his hands. “Correct. That was us.” Local stations couldn’t get enough of them this past summer.Our fifteen minutes of fame,Holmes called it.

“Isaac Wright,” said the landlord, letting his gun hang loose in one hand. “I live across the street. Saw you break in. Very smooth.”

“You need to spend more on your locks,” said Poe.

“Any clue where your tenant is?” asked Marple.

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