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3:00 AM
UPSTATE NEW YORK
Jud had only just managed to fall asleep when the buzzing woke him. He groped blindly for the source of the noise, knocking several blameless books off his nightstand, before he grabbed hold of the familiar shape. The light of his phone screen was blinding as he flipped it over, and he squinted at the caller ID.
Why on Earth was Benoit Blanc calling him at- his eyes darted to the time and his groggy annoyance was replaced by sudden alertness. It was three in the morning. And while the detective could be erratic, frustrating and often straight-up rude, this could also very well be an emergency.
He swiped clumsily at the screen, pressing it to his ear.
“Hello?”
There was no reply, just a rustling of cloth. Jud briefly considered that this could be an accidental call, but then Blanc spoke.
“It’s late. He probably isn’t even at the church.” Fuck, but he sounded rough. His voice was slow and gravelly, his accent exaggerated almost to the point of slurring his words.
“Nice try, grandpa,” an unfamiliar speaker snapped. “I looked him up. This guy lives in that church.”
“Remind me why we’re suddenly knocking over a church in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere?” another man asked.
“Shut the fuck up, Keith,” the first speaker said. “If we can get the Thrombey fortune, we’re set for life.”
Well, none of this sounded like good news. Jud had no idea how they’d arrived at this point, but two things were clear: a threat was coming to Our Lady of Perpetual Grace, and Blanc was in trouble.
He muted himself and put the phone on speaker. If Blanc had hidden the phone somewhere, the last thing he needed to do was draw attention to it by making sound. He got dressed and ran downstairs, listening to a total of three mystery men bicker about a family fortune and an unhelpful cleaning lady.
Blanc was silent, which was more worrying than he wanted to admit.
When the detective did speak again, it wasn’t reassuring.
“Bridgeport already?” he muttered.
“What did he say?” Voice #1 barked.
“Shut up, dude,” Derek said. “Or I’ll shut you up.”
“As you say,” Blanc said dryly. “Imagine, all this for a million dollars.”
There was a thud and a clatter, then the phone call disconnected.
Jud stared at the bright screen for a moment longer. Blanc had given him a location. They were in a car, probably travelling fast along relatively empty highways. They were also close, close enough they’d get to the church before the cops. If he wanted to do something, he had to move fast.
8:00 PM, SEVEN HOURS EARLIER
OUTSIDE OF BOSTON
“You’re terrible at this game,” Marta observed.
“I’m bad at stupid things,” Blanc said, staring at the board.
“Go was invented more than 2,500 years ago and might be the longest continually played board game,” Marta retorted. Her hand hovered over a piece for a moment. “Harlan talked about it a lot.”
“I suppose that’s fair. But when you put a piece somewhere, it stays put.” He gestured around the kitchen with his half mug of tea. “When you claim territory, it stays claimed. Worst of all, you know what side everyone is on from the beginning!” She laughed, placing another piece.
“You feel very strongly about this.”
“Not about Go, particularly,” Blanc muttered. He gave the board a baleful glare. “Games in general. I like my puzzles to have more to them.”
“You’re an adrenaline addict,” Marta said matter-of-factly.
“Now that, I cannot deny.”
“Shall we call this one?” Marta poked at one of his pieces with a spoon.
“Call it a mercy killing,” Blanc agreed, sipping his cold tea and grimacing. “Here, give me yours. I’ll heat them up.”
“Phillip made us snacks, didn’t he?” she asked as he flipped a dish towel over his shoulder and whisked their teas across the large kitchen.
“Maybe,” he called back over his shoulder.
“You’re almost as bad of a liar as I am.” Blanc started the kettle and gave her a sidelong look.
“If you say so,” he said, with a supremely unconcerned expression. “It’s scones. They’re fresh.”
“Oh, those are so good,” Marta said, swinging her legs under her stool and spinning to survey the room. “Did you hide them?” There was laughter in her voice.
“Maybe I’m going to eat all of them,” he said.
“Blanc…” Marta’s tone was suddenly serious, and Blanc dropped his smile. “I really appreciate you doing this. Coming out to visit me while the house is empty.”
“It’s a big house,” Blanc said, adjusting the kettle absentmindedly.
“With a few bad memories. Most of the time they behave, but with my family away…”
“I understand,” Blanc said, crossing back to take her hand. “I’m happy to come. And be destroyed at stupid puzzles.” She snorted, and Blanc’s eyes danced for a second with victorious amusement.
“There’s a jigsaw puzzle somewhere,” she said, and he groaned.
“Don’t get me started.”
The kettle whistled and he spun back, wrapping the towel around one hand to lift the ancient metal monstrosity off the burner.
He was therefore somewhat distracted when a man in a ski mask kicked the door to the kitchen down and brandished a pistol.
“Drop everything and put your hands up!”
“This is full of boiling water,” Blanc said slowly, as Marta’s eyes went wide. “I’m going to set it back on the stove and then raise my hands, okay?”
“Hurry up!” the man shouted, and Blanc carefully set the kettle down and raised his now-empty hands.
“Who’s in there, Keith?” a second voice called from the living room. Blanc raised an eyebrow.
“I’m the cook,” he said flatly. Marta squeezed her eyes shut, presumably against a bout of untruth-based nausea. “We’re no threat to you.”
“What are you, a maid?” Keith snapped, gun drifting between Blanc and Marta. Blanc’s expression hardened for a second, then smoothed back into Affable Southerner.
“That’s right,” he said, trying to ignore her gag. “Listen, no one’s home, okay? You can take what you want, but you don’t need us. Just let us go.”
“Shit,” Keith said.
“That’s rarely what you want a man holding a gun on you to say,” Blanc offered dryly.
“We’re looking for the owners. The rich idiot family.”
“They’re not here right now,” Blanc said again.
“Is that true?” Keith asked, turning to Marta. She swallowed hard, nodded.
“The Thrombey family isn’t here,” she said. True.
“Okay, um. Maybe we can wait until they get back,” Keith said. “We really need that money, and Derek said-“ He cut himself off.
“What did Derek say?” Blanc asked. Keith turned the gun on him again.
“He said he had this idiot uncle, or something, and we could come here and make the guy wire us the million and a half we need.”
“Need?” Marta asked. Keith shook his head.
“I’ve already said too much,” he said. “Don’t tell Derek, okay?”
“We won’t,” Blanc soothed. “Just stay calm. We can work this out.”
2:00 AM
SOMEWHERE ON INTERSTATE 90 WEST
“You shot him! Why the hell did you shoot him?”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”
“Everyone shut up!” roared Jeff, who was driving. “Is he dead?”
“No,” Blanc said. He sounded more annoyed than seemed reasonable under the circumstances. “He shot me in the shoulder.” He turned to Keith. “You shot me in the shoulder. On accident.”
“Would you stay still?” Marta hissed, pressing his rapidly-staining jacket to the entry wound. “And you, you know I can’t do my job if you keep these stupid handcuffs on!”
“Your job?”
“Of keeping him alive!” she snapped.
“I thought you were a cleaning lady?”
“Listen, he’s the only one who knows the way to this church that the family donated all the money to,” she said, and promptly threw up. Because she was a professional, she shoved herself away from Blanc an instant beforehand.
“You little-“ Derek said, moving to slap her. Blanc moved jerkily, eyes not quite focused, but managed to put himself between the two of them. Derek scowled and shoved him to one side.
“Fix him,” he snapped at Marta. “And Jeff, get us there now.”
Marta crawled back over to Blanc, sliding his flip phone into his hand. He winked at her.
“You’re all insane,” she muttered. “Every man I’ve ever met, completely insane.”
“Where are we?” he asked in an undertone, and Marta tried to peer out the windshield of the panelled van.
RIGHT NOW
UPSTATE NEW YORK
Lights on the road outside the church. A panelled van, like workers or kidnappers used, pulled up into the empty church parking lot.
From his vantage point, Jud tried not to panic.
He was doing okay until the door slid open and Benoit Blanc was shoved into view. His jacket was missing and his button-up was hanging open, showing some kind of fabric tied around his shoulder. He seemed disoriented, staggering and glancing around wildly.
A second later, a woman was shoved out the door after him. She was similarly handcuffed, but moved to Blanc right away. He turned his head to say something to her. Behind them, the three mystery men piled out of the van.
Jud had left the light on in his office, and he saw them pointing in that direction. Blanc and the woman were looking that way too, until suddenly Blanc craned his head back to stare directly at Jud’s perch in the tower.
Run, he mouthed.
Then he turned his gaze back to the office and said something just loud enough that a hint of his rolling drawl could just barely be heard inside the church proper.
Well. The church was under refurbishment. And their visitors were going to find out the hard way that it was no easy place to search.
With time and the cautionary tale of the last time the church had been searched for valuables, Jud had managed to secure most of the irreplaceable items in lockable containers. He wasn’t sure that would stop this crew, but at least it would buy them some time for the cops to arrive.
As they approached the church, he saw that only one of them seemed to be armed with a small calibre pistol. That made him the priority.
They threw open the church doors and headed for the office. Jud crept along the catwalk above them, boots abandoned in favour of stealth.
His office was currently in a strange older area of the church. It had barred windows, stone walls, and a very heavy, metal-plated wooden door. Until today, that had all been more of an annoyance than anything. Now, though… He watched Blanc see the office and hesitate.
“Blanc?” the woman said, as he suddenly stumbled to one side. “Hey, hang on!” She awkwardly draped his arms around her neck, trying to support him, and he whispered something in her ear. The two of them fell back from the group. A little of the tension dropped from Jud’s shoulders. Now the plan just needed to work.
“Holy shit!” the lead man said, and rushed into the office. “Look at this diamond! This must be the place!” The other two followed close behind.
Jud dropped from the rafters, landing in a crouch and sending both of the (hostages?) reeling backward. He slammed the door shut, heavy metal thudding into place. A second later, Blanc and the mystery woman were by his side holding it shut as shouts sounded from inside.
“One second!” Jud said. “Hold it for one second!”
He scrabbled in the dark hallway, fingers latching onto the heavy beam he’d pried off and set aside when he’d set up his office here. With a heave, he dragged the giant wooden bolt off the floor and slammed it into place, sealing the door.
“Let’s move, before they get the bright idea to shoot at us,” Blanc said, voice ragged.
They ran, Jud and the woman dragging Blanc along with them, until they made it to the pews.
“Whew,” Jud said. “Okay. I was not sure that was going to work. The cops and paramedics should be here shortly.”
“I’m sorry,” Blanc said, fumbling for Jud’s shoulder.
“Set him down,” the woman ordered, and Jud cupped the back of the older man’s head with his hand as they lowered him to the stone floor. It was uncomfortably familiar, and he very carefully didn’t let his gaze go to the spot only a few dozen feet away where he’d held another person trying to confess.
“What happened?” Jud asked. The woman moved with mechanical precision despite her cuffed hands, ripping fabric intro strips and pressing down on Blanc’s shoulder. He flinched, going even paler.
“I needed… someone within driving distance. Someone I had on speed dial, because they’d notice otherwise. And Helen has all the third graders, I couldn’t risk it… but I knew it was dangerous for you. Marta, tell him-” Blanc coughed again, then glanced around with sudden alarm. “I’m not going to die in a church.”
“If you stop moving around, you’re not going to die at all,” Marta snapped. “Father, can you calm him down so I can keep pressure on?”
“It’s okay, Blanc,” Jud said, only mostly sure that was true. “You, what, got taken hostage? And you needed somewhere to lead them without collateral damage?” Part of him was furious that this place, so recently drenched in blood, had been made unsafe again. They’d make the news again, probably. His parishioners technically could come here any time, so there was no way of saying for sure this hadn’t put anyone in danger.
But there was another part of him, the important part, that told him someone had asked him for help. Had come to his church for sanctuary, regardless of his own feelings, trying to protect as many people as he could.
“You have me on speed dial and not a single cop?” he asked, and Blanc huffed a sound that was conceivably a laugh. “Aren’t you, like, a consulting detective?”
“I’m not Sherlock Holmes,” he grumbled.
“No, I don’t think Sherlock Holmes gets shot,” Jud said.
“He shot me on accident,” Blanc complained, and finally stopped trying to wriggle out of Jud’s grasp. “The idiot was gesturing with a loaded gun with the safety off, because they’re a bunch of stupid kids with gambling debts in way over their head.” There was the sound of breaking glass, and Marta’s head whipped up.
“The windows are barred,” Jud said. “All they can do in there is make a mess.”
“Why was there a diamond in your church’s office?” Marta asked, eyes slightly narrowed.
“Let’s just say I met Detective Blanc under strange circumstances,” he said with a sigh.
“Oh. Well. Join the club, I guess.”
“There’s a club?” Blanc said, somewhat deliriously. “I should tell Helen. She’ll want to come.”
THE NEXT MORNING
ST JOSEPH’S HOSPITAL HEALTH CENTER
Jud woke with a start, hands coming half-up into a guard before he’s even sure where he is.
“It’s all right, son,” a voice said, level and calm. He glanced up and saw the hospital bed, Blanc still asleep. Across the bed from him, a man with a scruffy beard and bags under his eyes was sitting in another uncomfortable hospital chair. He was holding Blanc’s hand, carefully avoiding the IV. Marta was asleep in the corner, slumped against the window. Her breath was fogging up a small section of glass.
“You must be Phillip,” Jud said quietly, hastily attempting to rearrange himself into a less aggressive stance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” the man said, with a faint smile. “I’d shake your hand, but-” he glanced down at where his hands were wrapped around Blanc’s.
“No, I understand,” Jud said, a little too quickly. “I’m- I’m sorry, this must be a terrible surprise.”
“Terrible, certainly,” Phillip said. He sighed. “Not a surprise. My husband makes a lot of enemies, Father Jud.”
“To be fair,” a sleepy voice said. “I think these might have been my enemies.” Marta stirred, stretching and glancing at Blanc’s chart. “How is he?”
“They said they’ll discharge him today,” Phillip said. “Which is good, because all three of us could probably only slow him down if he tried to escape.” His hands tightened reflexively on Blanc’s. “They said he was lucky. The bullet missed everything important, and he had a very competent medical professional there.” Marta flushed, ducked her head.
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “I was working with bandages made from suit jackets and couldn’t do anything right with the handcuffs on.” Angry bruises ringing her wrists showed she had pulled again and again against the restraints to provide aid.
“But you kept him alive,” Phillip said. “You brought him back to me. Thank you, Marta.” The sincerity in his tone was obvious, and Jud was blushing before Phillip even turned his gaze on him. “And thank you, Father. Your quick thinking stopped anything else from going terribly wrong.”
“We all did what we could,” Jud said.
Blanc looked strangely human like this, asleep with someone holding his hand
“Do you think we can convince him to stay still for longer if we do a debrief?” Jud asked.
“I’m starving,” Marta said. “And Phillip, you look like you drove all night. Diner after discharge?”
“He bribed you to say that,” Phillip accused. “What did he promise you? I promise it’s not worth the cost of eating diner food.” Jud tuned out their good-hearted bickering, watching as Blanc’s chest rose and fell evenly. Too evenly. He leaned close to the bed.
“You’re only pretending to be asleep,” he whispered.
Benoit Blanc, famous detective, opened his eyes a crack, looked straight at Jud, and winked.