Page 61 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

Davis appeared to be slumped against the passenger-side window. Or had he just turned around to face the mystery woman? Sampson couldn’t tell.

He was, however, able to zoom in and read the SUV’s West Virginia license plate. He wrote the number down, feeling like he was finally getting somewhere.

Sampson thought about everything he’d seen and then realized there was one angle he hadn’t examined. Still using the front-door camera feed, he reversed the film and slowed it to a crawl at 1:12 p.m.

The Cherokee entered the parking lot by the same west entrance it later left from. The driver got out; she wore aBaltimore Ravens cap low over her sunglasses as she walked directly toward the front door and the camera. If she’d continued in that manner, Sampson would have had nothing.

But before she reached the front door of the bar, a red Corvette convertible sped by and passed so close to the mystery woman that she jumped back.

The sunglasses fell. The hat was knocked askew. She threw her arms wide and apparently yelled at the car going deeper into the lot. Then she tore off her hat, swung a mane of thick brunette hair around, jammed the hat back on, and retrieved her sunglasses.

Her face was hidden again as she entered Bowman’s. But Sampson believed he had what he needed.

He reversed the feed slowly and stopped it at the moment when she was swinging her hair and her entire face was revealed.

“Got you,” Sampson said.

CHAPTER 55

AROUND NOON, BREE SATdown to eat lunch with Jannie and Nana Mama. Ali had gone out on his bicycle. Tina Dawson had decided to spend the night with her team rather than at Jannie’s house.

“She’s running in the race today? Shouldn’t she go home after experiencing something like that?” Nana Mama asked.

“You mean finding Iliana?” Bree said. “I don’t know. Jannie? What do you think?”

Jannie thought about it. “I mean, if they were best friends, it would be a little weird, I guess. But they only met recently, and Tina’s like I am.”

“And how’s that?” Alex’s grandmother asked.

“Athletically competitive, Nana,” Jannie said. “And focused.”

“Oh, I get that,” Nana said. “People are all pulled in somedirection or another. Some competitive. Some not. Some bookish. Some not. Some good with numbers.”

“And some not!” Jannie said, laughing as she held up her hand.

Her great-grandmother smiled. “And some are pulled to teach. And still are.”

Bree studied Nana Mama. “You miss it? Teaching?”

Alex’s grandmother had spent decades teaching high-school English, and she’d been the vice principal of a local high school. “Of course I miss teaching,” Nana said. “It was my calling. It still is.”

Bree noticed that she said this not with gloom or melancholy but with kind of a glow about her.

Jannie said, “Nana, you teach me something every day.”

“Me too,” Bree said.

The older woman shrugged. “It’s not enough for me to cook and chat with each of you as you come and go about your busy lives. I still have too much energy, too much to give. And I feel like it’s all bottled up inside of me and going to waste.”

This kind of surprised Bree. It wasn’t often you heard a woman in her nineties talk this way. But then again, Alex’s grandmother was no ordinary woman.

Jannie said, “Well, you could find another way to teach. You know, where you don’t have to go to a school.”

At that, Nana broke into a wide grin and chuckled. “That is exactly right. I’m going on Zoom and maybe YouTube.”

“To teach what?”

“High-school English,” she said. “It’s what I do best. I’ve already spoken with the principal at my old school. She was happy to hear that I was willing to talk online about various books on juniors’ and seniors’ reading lists. If it works out, I’ll offer my services to the entire district. Or whoever wants to listen.”

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