Page 49

“Can you blame him?” said Marple. “The raid was a bust, and Brendan showed him up.”

“Never apologize for exposing mediocrity,” said Holmes.

Looking out the window, Marple was struck by how much she missed the city. Her old life. The rush of solving case after case on the world’s biggest stage. The tempting glow of publicity and the growing attention of fans. In New York City, Holmes, Marple, and Poe were legends. In Archer’s Branch, they were merely eccentric.

And, of course, she missed the creature comforts of their old home office. Meade Lodge simply couldn’t compare.

As the SUV approached Clinton Avenue, Marple leaned forward from the back seat and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Would you mind taking a small detour?”

The driver stared straight ahead. “My orders are to get you to the Navy Yard for exfil.”

“It’s a personal matter,” said Marple. “I’m sure Agent Edwards wouldn’t object.”

The driver sat stone silent, hands on the wheel.

“Just call him,” said Marple. “Or we’ll get out and catch a cab.”

“Who will?” asked Poe. “What are you doing, Margaret?”

The driver picked up his radio mic. “This is Unit 4, mobile. Get me Edwards.”

A burst of static from the other end, then, “Negative. They took him to Brooklyn Hospital to get his hand checked out.”

“Copy that.” The driver clicked off the call and glanced at Marple in the rearview mirror. “You heard the man.”

“That’s perfect,” said Marple. “He’ll never know. I promise this will only take an extra ten minutes. I’ll take full responsibility. After all, we did discover the meth lab.”

Holmes looked over. “We?”

“The collective we.”

The SUV was stuck behind an eighteen-wheeler that had no business being on a Brooklyn street. Lights and sirens weren’t going to help in this situation. The driver cranked the wheel to find a detour. “Screw it. Where to?” he said. “I need to get out of this mess anyway.”

“Bushwick,” said Marple. “Just a few blocks south.”

Poe and Holmes both turned to look at her. She could see them catching on. “You two might not be sentimental,” she said. “But I am.”

CHAPTER 51

FIVE MINUTES LATER, the hulking SUV rolled to a stop in front of a converted bakery, a sturdy remnant from the nineteenth century. The building took up a good part of the block. The exterior was mostly intact, but the first-floor windows were boarded up on the side facing the street. Some of the brickwork above the windows was broken and charred.

Marple opened the heavy rear door of the SUV on the passenger side. Holmes grabbed her arm. “Margaret! The place is a disaster zone!”

“I just need to see it again. In the daylight.”

“Then we’re coming with you,” said Poe, unbuckling his seat belt.

“No!” said Margaret firmly. “The rest of you stay right here. I want to do this alone. Humor me for once, will you?”

“For once?” said Holmes, his eyes wide.

Marple walked around to the front of the car and tapped on the driver’s window. He rolled it down.

“I won’t be long,” said Marple.

The driver looked across at the abandoned building. “What the hell do you need from a demolition site?”

“I know how it looks,” said Marple. “But this used to be home.”