Page 24

CHAPTER 24

EVEN WITHOUT A change of clothes, Margaret Marple was fully prepared to take an eight-hour flight to North Africa. But she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. As she approached the gate B45 departure area, she spotted Keelin Dale sitting by herself in the row of seats closest to the wall, legs crossed, reading a People magazine.

Marple held her phone at hip level, snapped a quick photo, then sent it to Poe. She knew her partner must be fuming back in the main terminal. This should teach him to never leave home without his documents.

Marple strolled slowly past the gate a few times, watching to see if Dale made contact with anybody else in the waiting area. She didn’t. Just kept flipping through her magazine. After a third pass, Marple walked casually up to the desk, asked the gate agent for the latest departure update, then took a seat with a clear view of her prey. She held her phone in her lap and tapped out a text.

YOU’RE BEING FOLLOWED

She sent the message to the cell number that she’d seen listed on Dale’s profile page. Marple’s perfect visual memory came in handy in moments like these.

She waited a few seconds for the vibration to hum inside Dale’s handbag. The nurse pulled out her phone and looked at the screen. Her whole face tightened. She abruptly unfolded her legs and slid up to the edge of her seat. She looked furtively around the waiting area and smoothed her hair nervously.

Interesting, thought Marple. A trained operative wouldn’t have reacted at all . Whatever she was up to, Dale was an amateur, not a pro.

Even with her subject plainly in her sights, Marple knew that her options were limited. She couldn’t make a citizen’s arrest without actually witnessing a crime. She couldn’t restrain Dale or sedate her without risking a charge of assault or false imprisonment. Sometimes Marple wished she’d taken the academy route and worked her way up to detective. It would make situations like this so much easier. On the other hand, there was something to be said for creativity.

She sent another text.

LADIES ROOM. NOW. HIDE THERE.

Keelin almost dropped her phone when the text arrived. She stood up and walked from the carpeted waiting area onto the concourse. The lavatories were only about fifteen yards ahead, past a Cinnabon stand. Marple followed close behind. But not too close.

As Dale walked through the curved entry to the women’s side, Marple hung back long enough to pull a yellow mop bucket out of a utility alcove and stretch a mop handle across it to partly block the entrance. It was as close to an out-of-order sign as she could manage on the spot.

When she stepped into the lavatory, a woman with a large backpack was washing her hands at one of the sinks. Of the five stalls along the wall, only one was occupied. The woman held her hands under the air dryer for a few seconds, then finished the job by wiping her hands on her Giants sweatshirt as she walked out.

Marple leaned against the sink directly opposite the closed stall. She pulled out the unmarked prescription bottle from Keelin’s apartment and shook out the contents. She could hear shallow breathing from inside. The tips of a pair of stylish shoes were just visible under the door.

Marple sent another text.

COME OUT. BE CAREFUL.

She heard a muffled, “Oh, Jesus.” Then a flush. The door latch turned. Keelin Dale stepped out of the stall, eyes wide, arms tight to her sides, clearly terrified.

Marple extended her hand and opened her palm. It was filled with oval blue pills.

“Nurse Dale,” she said. “Any more where these came from?”