Page 13 of Alex Cross Must Die

“That surprises me,” said Grey, taking a sip of her drink, “based on the way he looks at you.”

“Who?”

Grey nodded toward Holmes. “Your partner.”

Marple smiled into her sherry. “Brendan? He’s just watching to make sure I don’t nod off and fall into a planter.”

“Mmm,” said Grey.

Marple leaned down to set her glass on a nearby table. “Oh. Actually. While I have you …”

Grey frowned. “We’re not talking shop tonight, are we?”

“Do you know anything about the history of this building?” asked Marple.

“This building? No.” Grey nodded toward the side window. “But I think Vice broke up a meth ring next door.”

“Somebody was killed here years ago,” said Marple. “A girl.”

“How long ago?”

“Nineteen fifty-four,” said Marple. “Never solved.”

“Not surprising,” said Grey. “Our clearance rate on homicides right now is probably about 60 percent, even with all our fancy forensics. That’s a piss-poor stat. I can’t imagine what it was like back then. Especially in this neighborhood.”

“So you wouldn’t want to look into …?”

“What? No. Forget it,” said Grey. “That case has cobwebs.”

“Of course,” said Marple. “I understand.” She picked up her glass again and clinked it against Grey’s. “I guess I’ll just have to solve it myself. In my spare time.”

“You mean you haven’t had enough death and betrayal for one week?” asked Grey.

“Fig with bacon?” A slim young man with slicked-back hair was waving a tray of offerings under their chins.

“No thanks,” said Marple.

“Pass,” said Grey.

The server nodded politely and turned toward other prospects. Grey polished off her vodka in a gulp. She leaned in close to Marple. “Thereisone mystery about this building I’m dying to work out,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“How three people were able to get New York State PI licenses without leaving any of their fingerprints on file. Almost as if they were trying to conceal their true identities.”

“Well, I try not to make a thing out of it,” said Marple. “But we are very good at what we do.”

“Right,” said Grey. “Whoever you are.”

Marple smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Whoever we are.”

CHAPTER 14

DANA DUFREIGN WOKEup very slowly. She was naked beneath black silk sheets. As she stirred, feelings from the night before started coming back. Good feelings. She’d never been with anybody quite like Auguste Poe. Tender. Giving. And deliciously mysterious. She looked to the side and realized that she was alone in bed.

“Auguste?” she called out.

The door to the bedroom opened and Poe walked through, carrying a bamboo tray with a French press coffee maker and more.

---