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“Which Paul probably wrote himself,” added Poe.

Milver smiled again. “I can assure you that the note is in Celia Rogers’s handwriting, but that’s beside the point. I’m here because Mr. Paul has a bargain to propose.”

Holmes felt his neck burning. Oliver Paul had threatened to kill him, destroyed their office, attempted to frame him for murder, and now he wanted to make a deal? “What kind of bargain?”

Milver cleared his throat. “Mr. Paul has connections with some very powerful forces. International forces. The fact is, more people are about to die. Many more. Unless…”

He let the last word hang. Like any good lawyer, he knew how to build suspense.

“Unless what?” demanded Holmes. “What does Paul want?”

“Very simple,” said Milver. “He wants his wife, Agnes Matts, released from federal prison.” He looked from Holmes to Marple to Poe. “Where the three of you put her.”

CHAPTER 11

THE DRIVE BACK from Archer’s Branch took twenty minutes. Snow was falling as Poe skidded to an abrupt stop in the lodge’s circular drive. Marple pulled up in the lodge’s truck behind him.

Poe turned to his passenger. “Sorry about that. It’s a little slick.”

“Maybe you need snow tires,” said Holmes.

“Or chains,” said Marple, slamming shut the pickup’s door.

“Chains? On a ’66 GTO?” Poe sounded offended. “And risk chipping the body paint? I have enough to worry about as it is with the sand and salt on these roads.”

Holmes and Marple headed inside. Poe pulled the car onto the gravel parking area, which was frozen solid and covered in low drifts. His other prized vehicles remained in storage in New York City and it drove him crazy that there was no garage on the lodge property. A classic car like his should not be exposed to the elements. Poe popped his trunk and hauled out a custom-made car cover, which he slid over the vehicle, from back to front, until the whole car was shrouded in a waterproof multilayer fabric of cobalt blue.

Hardly a climate-controlled garage, but better than nothing.

When Poe walked in the front door, he found his housemates seated around the long dining table that was located between the high-ceilinged great room and the kitchen. Marple and Holmes were at one end. Virginia was huddled at the other end with a blanket around her shoulders and Baskerville at her feet. Helene, the soon-to-be-mother of his children, was in the middle, facing him.

When Poe got closer, he stopped short. The old hunting rifle was lying across Virginia’s lap.

Marple spoke up. “Virginia said she felt something.”

“Felt what?” asked Poe. He grabbed a seat close to Virginia. Poe had a special rapport with their assistant. After all, he was the one who’d first met her working in a Brooklyn animal shelter, completely underutilized. He’d felt an instant, almost ethereal connection. Poe had offered her a job with the firm the same day. Everybody agreed that it was the best executive decision he’d ever made.

Virginia looked wide-awake but a bit rumpled and pale. She brushed her magenta-striped hair back from her face. “Something outside my window, Mr. Poe. Like a pair of eyes staring at me.”

“When?” asked Poe.

“When I was getting ready for bed. While you three were out.”

“I was asleep upstairs,” said Grey.

Poe jumped up from his chair and gestured to Virginia to hand him the rifle. He walked out the front door, and somehow the wind slammed it shut behind him. The snow whipped into his face as he walked down the porch steps and around to the side of the building where Virginia’s bedroom faced out.

He stepped carefully, pulling a penlight from his pocket and scanning for depressions in the snow. There were none visible. But it had been snowing for hours. Footprints could have been covered. He looked out into the woods. No movements—at least nothing he could see. He reached up to test the double-hung window frame in Virginia’s room with one hand and pushed hard on the lower frame. The latch inside held firm.

Poe cradled the gun and listened. All he heard was the soft creak of branches rubbing in the distance and the whistle of the wind as it curled around the sides of the lodge.

He stamped back up the porch steps and walked inside. He shook his head. “Nothing there,” he said. “No signs of attempted entry.”

Grey reached across the table and squeezed Virginia’s hand. “Maybe you were imagining it,” she said. “This place can be weird sometimes.”

Virginia shook her head. “No. I think I was foreseeing it.”

CHAPTER 12