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The guard paused for a second but just grunted. He started to slide the metal hatch shut from the other side.

“Wait!” said Matts, trying to control the desperation in her voice. “My husband. He’s a master watchmaker. I can get you a custom design. Gold, platinum, titanium—whatever you want. Better than a Rolex. No charge.” She jammed her face into the slot. “Just tell me where the hell I am.”

A few seconds of silence from the other side. Then, “Sorry. All I can tell you is that you’re off the grid. Also, this conversation is being recorded.”

The metal hatch slid shut.

Matts grabbed the metal tray from the floor and banged it against the wall, again and again, until the edges were bent and her knuckles ached. She looked up at the camera and shouted, “Fucking record that, you bloody assholes!”

CHAPTER 54

“MARGARET, YOU’VE DONE it again. This is amazing!” Auguste Poe had almost polished off his serving of Lapin à la Cocotte, the hero dish Marple had prepared for dinner.

“I had some of Virginia’s rabbit in the freezer,” said Marple. “So I thought why not make use of it. In France, they’d call this peasant food.”

“Call it whatever you want,” said Helene Grey. “I think my appetite just came back.” She carved herself another bite of the delicately stewed meat.

“Eat up, Detective,” said Virginia with a smile. “The twins need the protein.”

Only Holmes was silent. Marple looked his way, hoping for a compliment, or at least a comment. The dish had taken hours to prepare, every step carefully planned and measured, every detail precise, just as her mentor Gestard would expect.

Finally Holmes put down his fork and looked up. “How long is this supposed to go on?”

Margaret was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Holmes pushed his plate away and pointed at his half-eaten portion. “This obsession of yours. This… hobby!”

Margaret was stung. Deep down, she knew that she was doing all this for herself, for her own mental and emotional health. But she also realized how much she wanted—needed—the approval of the man she still loved. She could feel her face turning red. The hurt came out as pique. “My last class is tomorrow morning,” she said evenly. “After that, you can eat corn flakes for all I care!”

Margaret looked around the table, hoping somebody would spring to her defense. Uncomfortable silence. Everybody’s eyes were down, staring at their food. Obviously nobody wanted to get in the middle of this fight. She picked up her plate and walked toward the kitchen.

Halfway there, she heard a knock on the front door. She turned, eyes flashing. “If that’s the FBI, they can eat leftovers!”

“It’s not the FBI,” said Holmes. “They’re too rude to knock.” He walked to the door and peeked out through the peephole. His shoulders slumped. “Christ. It’s Gregson.”

Holmes opened the door. The sheriff leaned in and saw the group gathered around the table. “Sorry for the dinner-hour visit,” he said. “I was on my way home.”

“Well, as long as you’re here,” said Holmes. “Don’t let in the cold.”

Gregson stepped inside as Holmes shut the door behind him. “Sweet Jesus,” said the sheriff. “Whatever that is smells amazing!”

“It’s rabbit stew,” said Marple, her tone dour. “Sit. I’ll fix you a plate.” She walked to the stove, where the Dutch oven was still sitting.

“I wouldn’t say no,” said Gregson, rubbing his hands as he headed for the table.

The sheriff took a seat alongside Virginia. In a few moments, Marple returned with a steaming plate. “Bon appétit,” she said, staring pointedly across the table at Holmes. “Somebody has to enjoy it.”

Virginia picked up her empty plate and slipped out of her chair. “Excuse me. I’ll leave you guys to your business. I have things to do.”

After Virginia walked into the kitchen, Holmes leaned toward Gregson. “Why are you here, Sheriff?” asked Holmes. “Besides the free meal.”

“The Rogers family,” said Gregson. “Celia’s folks.” He carved off a slice of rabbit and took a bite. He closed his eyes. “Wow. That is fantastic.”

“What about them?” asked Poe impatiently.

Gregson paused for a few seconds to chew and swallow, then immediately cut himself another piece. “They want Celia’s remains released for the funeral. I’ve been keeping her in the cooler at the county morgue in case we need the body for evidence.” He spooned some of Marple’s garlic mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Jesus. Delicious.”

“I told you before,” said Holmes. “You won’t find any evidence. This killer doesn’t leave any traces.”