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Marple unlocked the truck, opened the door, and climbed in behind the wheel. She patted the pocket where she’d put the card with her final assignment. She was thinking that if she didn’t actually earn her certificate, it might be her only keepsake.

She turned the key in the ignition. The noisy engine fired up. She glanced into her rearview mirror and reached for the gearshift. Suddenly the passenger door opened. Marple instinctively balled her hands into fists. At first all she saw was a hooded shape. She swung her right leg out of the footwell and prepared to deliver a hard kick.

The intruder’s hood came down. “Stop! Margaret! It’s me!”

Marple leaned back. “Gabrielle?”

“Please. We need to get out of here.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Please! Just drive!”

Marple put the truck into reverse and backed out. At the exit, she dipped her credit card into the slot to pay the fee, then turned left out of the garage. She could feel Desan trembling in the passenger seat.

“Where are we going?” asked Marple.

“I don’t care. Just away from downtown. Somewhere we can talk.”

Marple took a right and drove up a route that led through a hilly neighborhood packed with off-campus housing. She turned onto a side street that ended in a small park. They were still in the city but well away from the center. The park was empty except for a few dog walkers in the distance. Marple drove to the most remote corner of the parking area and shut off the engine. She turned toward her passenger.

Strutting around the kitchen in her chef uniform, Gabrielle Desan was a fierce, commanding presence. Now she looked like a little girl, her short hair tousled, her big eyes glistening and red.

“What’s wrong, Gabrielle? What’s this about?”

Desan lowered her gaze toward the floor. “I know who you are,” she said, her voice halting. “I ran a search on you.” She looked up. “You’re not just named after a detective. You are a detective.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Marple. “I’m here as a student, like everybody else.”

“I need help,” said Desan.

“Help with what?”

“It’s Gestard,” said Desan. “He’s been harassing me for months.”

“Harassing you how? Like a hard-ass boss?” Luc Gestard certainly had that rep.

“No. Not like that. It’s physical. He’s been grabbing me. Pressuring me for sex. Yesterday, in his office, I said no again, and…” Desan squeezed her eyes shut. “He almost raped me.”

Yesterday, thought Marple. Of course! The shouting in the basement. Desan dashing out the back door. She felt her pulse start to race. She reached for the young woman’s arm. “Gabrielle, did he hit you? Did he choke you? Did he leave any marks? Did you scratch him anywhere?”

Desan shook her head. “He grabbed me around the waist and tried to pull my pants down. I pushed him off and got away. He told me I’d regret it.”

Marple felt the blood rising in her neck. Men were disgusting about so many things. She reached for the ignition key. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you to the police station right now. I’ll stay with you while you make a report.”

Desan grabbed her hand. “No! I can’t! It’ll be my word against his. And I’ll never work in a restaurant again. He’ll blackball me forever. He has that kind of power. There has to be some other way.”

Marple sat back in her seat. “Gabrielle, we can’t just pretend this didn’t happen,” she said. “You can’t let him get away with it.” Then she stopped herself. She’d stared into the faces of enough victims to know that she couldn’t push it. Not here, not now. That was one sure way to scare off a witness for good.

Desan sniffed and wiped her eyes with the cuff of her hoodie. She looked lost and terrified. “Tell me,” she said softly, “what would Miss Marple do?”

Marple cocked her head. That was an excellent question. She thought for a few moments, then reached for Gabrielle Desan’s hand. “I believe that Miss Marple would gather the facts and get at the truth. Then she would raise holy hell. Politely.”

CHAPTER 59

THAT NIGHT, AT a Motel 6 on the outskirts of Houston, two vodka-fueled oil workers named Ron Carson and Pete Fields were about to get lucky. They were sure of it. Candi and Luanne, the two girls they’d picked up at The Hammerhead, were tipsy, flirty, and just over the age of consent, which in the Lone Star State was seventeen.

God bless Texas.