Page 26

“It’s a power station,” said Holmes. “Hydroelectric dam. Huge.”

“Where?”

Holmes aimed another device at the TV. A digital reader. This time, the coordinates were not masked. They popped up on the screen as clear as day. Poe entered the digits into his cell phone.

“Niagara River!” he said. “Near the Canadian border. About a hundred fifty miles west of here.”

Holmes felt another buzz on his iPhone. Another text.

CLOSER TO HOME THIS TIME, SHERLOCK.

Holmes looked up at the TV screen. The image held steady on the giant wall. A few seconds later, a small puff of smoke bloomed next to one of the sloping supports.

“No!” Holmes shouted. As if it would help. He knew what was coming next.

He was right.

A split second later, a massive explosion shattered the wall. In an instant, tons of water burst through the gap, blowing away huge blocks of stone and demolishing concrete pilings.

Trucks were blasted off the tarmac and into the river, workers flailing beside them. The patrol boat flipped like a toy in a tub as its crew slid off the deck and spun away in the torrent.

“He blew the dam!” shouted Holmes.

Thirty seconds later, the view switched. Another camera. Holmes and Poe exchanged horrified glances. Now they were seeing a high-angle view of the river as an internal tidal wave rushed onward, carrying chunks of debris and flailing men downriver toward the plunging falls.

The picture went black.

Another text.

GET HER OUT, SHERLOCK. I MEAN IT.

Holmes heard the floor creak. He whipped around.

Grey was standing in the doorway, cell phone in her hand.

“Helene!” said Holmes. “How long have you been there?”

“Just long enough.”

“It’s Oliver Paul!” Holmes shouted. “He just blew a hole in a power station. And he wanted us to see it on the big screen. The sadistic bastard!”

“This is out of control,” said Poe. “And it all comes back to us. Maybe we should call in the FBI. Get some help.”

“No!” said Holmes. “They’ll cramp our style!”

Grey held up her phone. “Sorry. Too late. I already did it.”

Holmes ran out of the library into the great room. He could see red and blue lights reflecting off the snowbanks in the distance. A few seconds later, two government SUVs roared up in front of the lodge. Men in identical blue jackets jumped out.

Holmes kicked over a rocking chair.

So much for privacy in the woods.

CHAPTER 28

AT THE VERY same time, in the half-finished kitchen at La Forêt, Margaret Marple was in a state of deep concentration. Her cell phone was buried at the bottom of her handbag, and for the first time she could remember, she’d actually turned it off. Right now she needed total focus. No distractions.

The admission exam for Chef Luc Gestard’s seminar was oral. No notes allowed. Marple was perched on a stool on one side of a stainless-steel prep table. On the other side sat Gestard, in his chef whites, and his assistant, Gabrielle Desan, the stern-looking young woman Marple had spotted the day before. Desan wore a simple skirt and blouse. Marple noticed that her fingers, like Gestard’s, were reddened by burn scars. Another chef.