Page 22

CHAPTER 22

“ SHOW ME YOUR hands!”

The man was tall, in his fifties or sixties, wearing a dark toupee that contrasted sharply with his greying stubble. His muscle had gone to fat, but Marple could tell he knew how to handle a weapon. Maybe ex-military. Or ex-cop. The rifle pointing at them was an M27 automatic.

“We’re private investigators,” she said. “We’re looking for Keelin Dale. Five six. Slender. Reddish hair. Freckle-faced.”

“She’s a nurse at St. Michael’s in the city,” said Poe.

“I know who she is,” said the man with the gun. “I’m her damn landlord.” He jerked the gun toward Marple. “What’s that?” He nodded at the bag of pills in her hand.

“We think your tenant may have a drug problem,” she said.

“Or a drug business,” said Poe.

“I don’t know anything about that,” said the landlord. “Come out here.” He backed into the bedroom and gestured with the barrel of the gun. “Slowly.”

Marple dropped the bag of pills into the sink with the other cabinet contents. Poe stepped into the bedroom, his hands raised to chest level. “Can I show you my ID?” he asked, sliding one hand under his jacket.

“No,” said the landlord curtly. “But since you’re heading that direction, you can show me your gun.”

Poe slid his Glock out slowly, keeping his fingers away from the trigger. He bent his knees and placed the gun on the floor. Marple stepped beside him.

“I’m Margaret Marple,” she said. “This is my partner Auguste Poe. Holmes, Marple, and Poe Investigations. As I said, we’re PIs on a case.”

“Holy shit!” the landlord muttered. “You’re them !” He lowered his gun and broke into a grin. He had stunningly white dentures. “I saw you guys on TV this summer. Channel 5.”

Poe let out a breath and dropped his hands. “Correct. That was us.” Local stations couldn’t get enough of them this past summer. Our fifteen minutes of fame, Holmes called it.

“Isaac Wright,” said the landlord, letting his gun hang loose in one hand. “I live across the street. Saw you break in. Very smooth.”

“You need to spend more on your locks,” said Poe.

“Any clue where your tenant is?” asked Marple.

“Left an hour ago,” said Wright. “By taxi. With a couple of suitcases.”

Marple turned to the left and pulled open a pair of accordion closet doors. The main rack was empty. So was the shoe organizer and both overhead shelves. Dozens of empty hangers rattled together on one side.

Wright stepped over and looked in. “I don’t get it,” he said. “She only moved in a few months ago. Why the hell would she bug out without telling me?”

“Well,” said Marple, “looks like the lady emptied her closet. That’s way too many clothes for a vacation.”