Page 47 of Holmes Is Missing

Holmes nodded, then stood up also and seemed to suddenly notice her small carry-on bag waiting by the door, with her laptop tucked into a zippered front pocket. He grabbed it for her, then they walked downstairs to the waiting car. “Good hunting, Margaret,” he said, opening the rear door.

Marple could feel his confusion and disappointment. She hated to abandon him in this state. He handed over her bag, which she set, with her purse, on the floor mat, then she ducked back out.

“Listen to me, Brendan,” she said. “For the sake of your mental health, don’t go running off chasing ghosts until I get back. Work the baby case with Auguste. Stay put. Promise?”

Holmes nodded.

Marple climbed into the car. Holmes closed the door after her. Marple saw him standing with his hands in his pockets as the driver pulled away.

Marple was usually good at compartmentalizing. As the car crossed Jamaica Avenue and headed south, she did her best to focus on the long flight and daunting tasks ahead of her. But she also fretted about Holmes.

She worried that her partner had made yet another promise he couldn’t keep.

CHAPTER51

BY THE TIMEHolmes got back to his apartment upstairs, he was sweaty and queasy again. It seemed to come in waves. He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the drawer where he had kept his main supply of withdrawal meds. No more. The night he’d returned from Canal Street, he’d tossed out every remaining pill.

He picked up his phone and scrolled through a long list of messages from his rehab counselor—the one he was supposed to have been contacting every twenty-four hours since he left Ithaca. The phone number was right there. Maybe he should call. Check in. Find somebody to refill his prescription.No, dammit! Weakness! A step backward!He tossed his phone onto his side table.

He stood up and grabbed the back of a chair, suddenly unsteady on his feet. He crossed the room and opened the door to his closet. He knelt on the carpet and ducked his head under the row of impeccably organized shirts and suits. His fingers found the keypad of the safe embedded in his back closet wall. He pressed the code by feel and heard the whir of the smallmotor that released the lock. The door popped open with a satisfying click.

Holmes leaned over and peered into the tiny sanctum, the solid steel box where he had always kept his heroin stash. But of course that was gone too.

Now he reached into the safe and lifted the thin felt liner that covered the floor. Underneath was a single yellowed envelope with one edge ripped open. He pulled it out and sat back against the closet door, his heart pounding.

From the envelope, he carefully extracted a one-page letter, written in elegant script. Holmes held it up under the closet light and read it slowly, absorbing every line. The words were very familiar. He’d probably read this same letter a hundred times before. In many ways, he’d built his life around it.

It was the last thing his mother ever gave him.

CHAPTER52

SEVEN THE NEXTmorning.

Auguste Poe was on his second cup of coffee when he saw Holmes slumping his way down the staircase to the first floor. The air was filled with the scent of cinnamon. Virginia’s apple-spice muffins. New recipe. A basket of the treats sat on the table, still warm from the oven. Poe took one onto his plate and broke it in half, drooling over the warm apple filling and sugar-crumb topping.

As he reached the first floor, Holmes inhaled deeply, then called out, “Virginia, stop! You are overwhelming my senses!”

Virginia’s head turned away from her computer screen, her hair streaked with a striking new tint. Purple today.

“You’re welcome!” she called back.

Holmes walked past Poe to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Margaret’s flown off,” he muttered.

“I know,” said Poe. “London. She told me yesterday.” He stared down into his coffee mug for a few moments. “I should probably tell you: Helene’s gone too.”

Holmes sat down at the table, his hands wrapped around hissteaming coffee mug. “What do you mean, gone? Gone where?” He reached over for a muffin.

“Apparently,” said Poe, “she decided that she and the babies would be better off without me.”

“Babies?” said Holmes, his eyebrows shooting up. “Plural?”

Across the office, Virginia rolled toward them in her desk chair, nearly running over her dog.“Babies?”

Poe let out a long sigh, then jerked his head to invite her over. No sense in going through this twice. Virginia hurried over to the table, eyes wide and alert.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

“To bring you up to speed,” said Poe, “Helene is pregnant. I’m the father. And we just found out she’s having twins.”

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