Page 8

CHAPTER 8

FOUR HOURS LATER , Poe was still reeling over Helene’s news and nursing a significant hangover besides. He’d tried texting Grey several times before dawn but had gotten no response. Either she was tied up with the case or she was avoiding him. When he came downstairs at 8 a.m. after barely two hours of sleep, he kept the pregnancy news to himself, as if telling somebody else would make it too real.

He sat down next to Marple at the island in the chef’s kitchen that adjoined their office space on the first floor of their shared building, a two-story brick structure originally built as a bakery in the 1800s. Poe and his partners had had the space gut-renovated shortly after joining forces to establish Holmes, Marple & Poe Investigations, installing three private apartments and a personal library for themselves on the second floor, with interior balconies overlooking the lower level’s open-plan workspace and an elegant staircase linking the two levels.

It was a perfect live-work situation, if a bit unconventional. What it lacked in privacy, it made up for in convenience. On mornings like this, Poe truly appreciated the one-story commute.

“Where did you disappear to last night?” asked Marple, sipping from a mug of tea.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I was in the St. Michael’s nursery investigating the security, which was supposed to be foolproof. Where were you?”

“Thinking,” said Poe.

“And drinking?” asked Marple.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Margaret.”

Virginia, the investigation firm’s young assistant-slash-housekeeper, was busy at the stove, the griddle sizzling. The twenty-four-year-old had been Poe’s first hire, and one of his best management decisions. Everybody agreed on that. Virginia had immediately brought order to the firm’s files, accounting practices, and contact lists. She’d even updated their security system. She had an uncanny knack for knowing what was needed at any particular moment. An absolute gem, Marple called her.

Virginia’s dark hair was newly tinted—orange today. The light glinted off the hoop in her nostril. Baskerville, her huge white mastiff, was hunkered down at her side, waiting expectantly for scraps. Marple’s black cat, Annabel, sat poised across the room, clocking each of Virginia’s movements.

“Who wants pancakes?” Virginia asked, spooning golden batter into the sizzling skillet.

Poe raised his hand. “Yes, please.” Virginia’s sweet potato pancakes were amazing.

“Me too,” said Marple, nibbling on a slice of leftover cider cake, another of Virginia’s specialties. Recently, Virginia had begun to honor the building’s history as a bakery by turning out an irresistible array of muffins, breads, and desserts. The aroma of the pancakes mixed with the aroma of the thick-cut bacon from the oven.

Poe rubbed his head, trying to clear the ache and fog from his brain. A massive injection of protein and carbs was exactly what his weakened system needed. And, as usual, Virginia seemed to anticipate it.

“Virginia, you’re spoiling us,” said Marple.

“It’s the farmer in me,” said Virginia. “I like feeding people.”

As Poe had learned, Virginia was raised in rural Pennsylvania, the only daughter of a Quaker dairy farmer. When she realized she was not cut out for country life, she moved to New York, bringing her farm recipes, her Quaker discipline, and her love of animals with her.

Virginia dropped a half slice of cooked bacon into Baskerville’s huge maw and tossed a much smaller piece to Annabel, then slid a fresh platter of pancakes onto the table and lifted the lid off a small ceramic dish. “Honey butter,” she said. “Made it yesterday.”

Poe looked up from his plate. “Virginia, sit,” he said. “Stop cooking and eat.”

“Already did,” said Virginia, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was always the first one in the office, even though her apartment was several blocks away. “I’ll just have coffee.”

She sat down on a stool across from Poe and Marple and looked out over the first-floor office space. Then she let out a long sigh. “It’s not the same without Mr. Holmes, is it?”

Poe’s nerves were already frayed. By the kidnapping. By the momentous secret Helene had shared with him. But for some reason, this was the breaking point. He slapped his hand on the countertop and muttered through gritted teeth, “Will everybody please stop stating the obvious?!”

Virginia sat up straight, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quaking, “I just…”

Marple put her hand on Virginia’s forearm. “Don’t worry about it. Mr. Poe is simply frazzled by the case.” Virginia already knew all about the hospital kidnapping. It had led the local news that morning.

“Six babies,” said Virginia. “So horrible.”

Poe put down his fork and looked over at Marple. “Everybody misses Holmes,” he said. “You. Me. Virginia. The dog too, no doubt. I think it’s time.”

Marple cocked her head. “You mean…?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Marple slid off her chair and looked across the table. She wiped the last bit of honey butter off her lips with a napkin. “Hold down the fort, Virginia,” she said. “Mr. Poe and I are going on a road trip.”