Page 122 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

“Oh, Captain,” Fiona said.

He said, “She called Hampstead, the headmaster at the Charles School, and told him she was quitting and we were suing him and the school unless he reinstated me as coach.”

“And?” I said.

“I’m back on the field this afternoon,” Davis said, grinning.

“Exactly where he should be,” Fiona Plum said. “But now I just want to go home and recover and plan our wedding. Thank you all again.”

Two EMTs helped Davis lift her wheelchair into the back of a private ambulance he’d hired. With promises to be in touch soon, they drove away through the last of the slush from the big storm.

Sampson said, “I’m off to pack. Willow and I are going to Disney tomorrow.”

Bree said, “She must be out of her mind.”

John laughed. “It’s all she’s been talking about since I booked it a few days ago.”

I said, “I could use a few days off myself.”

Bree said, “I second that. How about Jamaica for a long weekend before Christmas?”

“Oooh, I like that idea.”

Mahoney’s phone dinged with a text. He read it and looked up at us. “Paddy Filson died twenty minutes ago of a heart attack in his cell in Alexandria.”

“Jesus,” I said. “I wanted to talk to him about Maestro again.”

“I did too,” Bree said. “See if there was any connection to Malcomb.”

For the past few months, Bree had become convinced that our old nemesis M, the leader of the vigilante group known as Maestro, was Ryan Malcomb, a brilliant, reclusive billionaire who ran a cutting-edge data-mining company called Paladin in Massachusetts.

I said, “How about we postpone the vacation until after Christmas?”

“Take a flight to Boston?” Bree asked.

“I think it’s time we put an end to M and Maestro,” Mahoney said, nodding.

“I do too,” I said. “Once and for all.”

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