Page 23

CHAPTER 23

THE LOGICAL DEDUCTION was that Keelin Dale must’ve gone to Newark International. Marple agreed. Why would she opt for JFK or LaGuardia when there was a perfectly good airport just half an hour away?

As they headed west on Route 78, across Newark Bay, Poe reached under his seat and pulled out his stack of placards. He handed them to Marple. “Find something appropriate,” he said, swerving around a dump truck.

By the time he screeched to a stop in front of international departures, Marple had jammed a NJ TRANSIT—OFFICIAL BUSINESS placard against the inside of the windshield. The wording was bolstered by a pair of New Jersey state logos and an excellent facsimile of the governor’s signature.

“Nice choice,” said Poe.

The blue Road Runner got a couple of curious looks from the baggage handlers as Poe and Marple sprinted across the sidewalk. Inside the terminal, Poe paused at a monitor and scanned the departures list. He was looking for destinations without extradition treaties. A hunch, but one that had paid off in the past.

“There’s a 2:15 to Rabat!” he called out. Morocco was a non-extradition country.

Marple was way ahead of him. He caught up with her at the TSA checkpoint, where a Plexiglas barrier separated the entry concourse from the departure gates. Behind the barrier, passengers shuffled through their preflight choreography. Belts off. Shoes off. Arms up. Poe worked his way down the side of the barrier to get another angle on the queue.

There! Skinny black jeans. Maroon blouse. Auburn hair pulled into a bun.

Freckles in abundance.

Poe caught Marple’s eye and pointed. She nodded. Positive ID.

Poe watched as Dale dropped her purse, phone, and laptop into a bin and pushed it toward the scanning machine. She slipped out of her heels and placed them on top of her carry-ons. From what Poe could see, she was traveling solo. Marple slid over to his side.

“What now?” he asked. He knew their PI licenses wouldn’t get them past the TSA screener. And they had no powers of arrest anyway. “I could fake a heart attack,” he offered. “She is a nurse.”

“Do you really think a lactation specialist would be your first responder?” asked Marple. She was fishing through her purse. Poe looked back at the TSA line. Dale was already standing in the body scanner, arms over her head. Dammit!

“Got it!” Marple pulled out her passport and started tapping away on her iPhone.

“What are you doing?” asked Poe.

“What do you think?” said Marple. “I’m buying a ticket to Morocco.”