Page 29

“Right,” said Edwards. “So good you let Oliver Paul slip right through your fingers last September. I talked to NYPD. You guys had him, and then you lost him. So, as far as I’m concerned, every death he’s caused since then is on you.”

Holmes clenched his teeth, ready to lunge. Poe stepped in and held him back.

Edwards wasn’t finished. “That includes the twenty confirmed fatalities in the explosion this morning. They’re still looking for bodies up there.”

Holmes was getting hotter by the second. “Well, maybe government security should have been tighter, considering it’s the third attack on an energy center this week!”

Grey held up her hands. “Guys! Dial it down. All this testosterone is giving me a migraine.” She turned to Edwards. “What’s your plan? Any idea where Paul is?”

Edwards shook his head. “Homeland Security says he probably crossed into Ontario after the explosion. He could be anywhere up there.”

“Then why don’t you go look?” said Holmes. “I’m sure the Mounties would lend you a horse.”

Edwards stayed cool, not taking the bait. “You mean leave you guys on your own?”

“Exactly,” said Poe. “And let us do what we do.”

Edwards shook his head, as if disappointed in a child. “You two don’t get it, Mr. Poe and Mr. Holmes—or whoever the hell you really are. Your days of running a cute little detective boutique are over. This is a federal case and a matter of national security. You work for me!”

The front door opened. Margaret walked in with a large paper bag in her hands.

Edwards turned. “And here she is at last—the missing Ms. Marple.” He clapped his hands together. “Now we’ve got the complete set.”

“About time,” said Holmes, glaring at Margaret.

Grey stepped forward. “Margaret, this is Burton Edwards, special agent in charge, out of Albany. And these are special agents Campbell, Meyer, and Hubbard.”

Hubbard, the female agent, gave a cordial wave. The two guys didn’t even look up from their laptops.

Holmes was seething. When Marple finally answered her phone, he’d told her about the Niagara bombing and warned her that their hideaway had been taken over by the FBI. But her mind had seemed to be somewhere else. Did she even care anymore?

Marple shook Edwards’s hand and nodded politely to the other agents. “Welcome to Meade Lodge.” She slid a large white box out of her bag. “I know things are grim,” she said, “but would anyone care for a croissant?”

CHAPTER 30

MILES TO THE east, Virginia was hiking through the deep woods with Baskerville in tow. When she’d left the lodge before daybreak, Holmes and Poe were still in the comms room trying to get in touch with Marple.

That was hours ago. And Virginia had been out of touch ever since. Cell phone reception was nonexistent out here. It was like being in another time. Nice, in a way.

By now, Baskerville knew by heart the course Virginia took through the woods. He ran from one stopping point to another, sniffing his way. If he found a dead animal, he’d been trained to sit down and wait. He’d been happily galloping along the whole morning.

Virginia trudged after him and checked the area herself. All was quiet. No movement from the trees or tracks in the snow. Now she was coming up to the trail’s end.

Baskerville was circling a tree nearby the clearing where Virginia typically spotted a rabbit or two. He knew better than to get too close. Virginia stalked up and settled in with her pellet gun. There were hurried tracks in the snow that looked human. Virginia looked around. She’d never come across anyone else in these woods. Had she found another hunter? Was somebody trying to interfere with her catch?

Suddenly she heard feet pounding in the distance. She grabbed Baskerville by the collar. Fresh snow cover muffled the sounds, but they were footfalls, for sure. Human, not animal, coming from beyond a ridge in the distance.

Virginia ran through the calf-deep snow and humped her way up the steep rise. At the top of the ridge, she flopped onto her belly and pulled her dog close. She was looking down into a small hollow dotted with evergreens. In the center was a crude plywood-and-canvas shelter, with smoke wafting from a narrow metal chimney. Virginia stood and stared down the other side of the ridge. It was a steep incline. She kept one hand on Baskerville’s collar while she grabbed on to tree branches to keep from falling. She mostly skidded all the way down.

The snow around the shelter was flattened and discolored. Firewood was stacked on one side. Virginia felt her heart pounding. She thought she’d explored every acre of these woods. How could she have missed this?

She edged slowly toward the door, avoiding the sticks and twigs littered around. She put her hand on the rusted handle, took a breath, and pulled it open. The air inside was warm and acrid with smoke. The only light came from a flashlight hanging from the ceiling. A small metal stove sat in the corner, resting on bricks. She heard rustling in the shadows as her eyes adjusted.

Holy shit! People are living here!

A man and a woman were sitting on a narrow cot in the corner. They were slight and hollow-eyed, wearing ragged parkas and wool caps. Another figure stepped out from the shadow behind the stove. It was a girl, no more than eight or nine, with matted black hair and high cheekbones. She was holding a dead rabbit in her hands.

The other hunter!