A Game Most Foul, page 17
Holmes stared at me. He simply stared long enough to make me even more concerned when I noticed he wasn’t blinking. Then the mumbling started. I noticed his lips moving a mile a minute but there was no way I was going to understand a word of what he was saying.
“Yoo-hoo! Holmes!” I waved a hand, trying to get his attention. It didn’t work. “I wear hearing aids, so whatever you’re saying, I don’t understand, so can you—HEY!”
I shrieked at the sudden finger in my left ear and slapped Holmes’s hand away. He looked mortally offended at this. “What the—?”
“I assume the device in your ears are what you called hearing aids, and I wish to see them more closely for myself,” Holmes said, like I should’ve known. “I have never seen such a thing before. You cannot blame me for being intrigued.”
“Dude! You don’t just go around sticking fingers in people’s ears!” I said shrilly. “I know people in the Victorian era didn’t do that either, Holmes, so don’t try to tell me they did.”
Holmes frowned and looked for a moment as if there was more he wanted to say, then thought better of it. “No matter,” he said again. “If you are going to insist upon it, we can discuss matters of etiquette later. We really must be on our way. Stamford has left the door to the morgue at Saint Bartholomew’s unlocked, but only temporarily. We must—”
“Whoa, buddy. Hold up there for a second.” I threw up a hand to stop Holmes when he attempted to grab me by the arm again. “I am not going to a morgue with you.”
“Oh, no?” Holmes raised an eyebrow. “Surely you wish to see the remains of poor Miss Ramsey after all those sensationalist articles about her death that have been circulating.”
Funny, I thought. I couldn’t think of a time when I’d ever wanted to see a dead body, but hey—stranger things were currently happening.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Sure. And, uh, who was Miss Ramsey again? She—what did she like to do?”
Holmes rolled his eyes skyward. “This is why I insist you read my case notes ahead of time. Miss Ramsey was the most recent, unfortunate socialite to meet her end after perhaps spending too much of her time dabbling in the occult. She died just this last week in a most unusual manner after attending a séance. Not a drop of blood was left in her veins—allegedly.”
Holmes’s description had me fairly nauseated before he’d even finished speaking.
I didn’t know much about séances or the occult. My only visit to the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose for my ninth birthday, supposedly one of the most haunted houses in the United States, had ended up a spectacular blowout between my parents. I hadn’t absorbed much beyond the fact that Sarah Winchester, who apparently believed she was being haunted on the regular, liked to hold séances in one of her mansion’s many rooms.
Even then, it did sound incredibly strange that a séance would end with someone dropping dead, and without any blood left in their body.
“I thought you just did some table tipping at a séance,” I said to Holmes, still a little nauseated. “Maybe a little crystal ball gazing. How’d someone wind up dead?”
“That, my dear,” Holmes said, tapping me on the nose with his index finger, “is merely one of many questions we must ask ourselves.”
“And we need to go see the dead body, why?” I questioned carefully.
“Because although Watson and I have already examined the body, I wish to do so again before the young lady is buried tomorrow,” Holmes said in an undertone. I had to lean closer as he continued, “I am convinced that there is something missing from the equation here. An otherwise perfectly healthy young woman does not simply drop dead without cause. I want to know why.”
Don’t we all? I thought.
“Hey, Holmes,” I said as he began to forcefully lead me down the sidewalk again. “What’s the date again?”
Holmes stopped long enough to toss a shrewd look my way. “August the seventh, eighteen hundred and ninety-nine.”
“Oh.”
“It would seem you are even more in need of further practice to better manage your time,” Holmes said.
“Probably,” I said.
I’d been over an hour late to Professor Watson’s seminar this morning in the twenty-first century, and according to Holmes, I was just as tardy in the nineteenth century too.
And all this was leaving me stuck between a rock and a hard place. Five minutes of conversation with Holmes and it was obvious he was not even remotely in the present. I’d never read any of the Sherlock Holmes stories, so I had no way of knowing if the unusual death of Violet Ramsey was a case he actually solved, or if this was all made up and Holmes was putting on one Oscar-worthy performance.
We were getting farther and farther away from Chatham Hall and I was growing more and more nervous with each step.
What was I supposed to do here? Despite his lean stature, Holmes was deceptively strong, his grip on my shoulder like a vise, and I wasn’t sure I could make a break for it so easily without him catching up to me right away. On the other hand, I also didn’t want to just abandon Holmes on the street either. He may have kept insisting yesterday that he was fully capable of looking after himself, but I was sincerely doubting it now.
“Hey, Holmes,” I said as casually as I could manage.
“Yes?”
“Isn’t Watson supposed to be meeting us at the morgue too?”
The question made Holmes come up short. He’d already begun frowning in thought. “. . . is he?”
“Yeah! I mean, yes,” I said quickly. “I didn’t get your note, but I got the one Watson sent along, and it said he wanted us to get him from, um, Baker Street first so we could all go to the morgue together.”
Holmes remained silent, and the expression on his face was becoming pained. He started massaging his forehead with the tips of his fingers as he sucked in air through his teeth. “Well, perhaps Watson . . . but no, I’m not sure if I . . .”
I knew I was going to spend a lot of time feeling guilty about this outright lying to Holmes, but I couldn’t see any other way to get him back to Watson. I had to strike while the iron was hot.
“Why don’t we go and find Watson, just to be sure,” I said gently. “He’s a doctor, right? It makes sense to have him examine the body.”
That seemed to be enough to convince Holmes. He gave a jerky nod, turning back in the direction we’d come from. “Yes, perhaps we should go fetch Watson. Although I wonder if it would be easier if we hail a . . .”
I had to spend another minute convincing Holmes that it would be much better to walk instead of trying to find, say, a horse-drawn carriage, and then we were thankfully on our way back to Chatham Hall.
When Holmes suddenly stopped outside some high-end boutique to pick up a few pieces of change off the ground, I quickly pulled out my phone and shot off a text to Suruthi and Percy:
Send Watson outside ASAP. I’ve got Holmes.
I received no reply, but one of them must’ve gotten the message, because Watson was already waiting outside in the courtyard by the time we reached Chatham Hall. Holmes, who had previously been playing with the few coins he’d found, perked up at the sight of Watson and quickly strode over to him once we’d dashed across the street.
I was dismayed not to see Percy and Suruthi in tow, but knowing the professor, he’d probably made them stay put.
“Ah, there you are, Watson!” Holmes cried, slipping the coins into his pocket. “Please tell me you are prepared to visit the morgue at Saint Bartholomew’s, unlike our companion here.”
I could tell for one moment that Watson, while obviously very angry, was confused at Holmes’s remark, but caught on very quickly.
“I am afraid not, Holmes,” Watson said, clapping Holmes on the shoulder. “I was hoping to discuss Lestrade’s case notes with you before we went to examine Miss Ramsey.”
“It does one well to be thorough,” Holmes agreed, “but I insist we be quick about it. I do not know how long we will have access to the morgue before Stamford returns to lock the doors.”
“Indeed,” Watson said. “I believe we are in luck, as Mrs. Hudson has just prepared afternoon tea, and then we shall be on our way, I assure you. Come now, Holmes.”
Given Watson’s behavior and how he seemed to know exactly what case Holmes was referring to, this couldn’t have been the first time something like this had occurred.
Holmes was back to massaging his forehead and stumbled over his feet as Watson coaxed him toward the double-door entrance to Chatham Hall.
“I think it best you leave, Miss Montgomery,” Watson said without sparing me a second glance.
“Professor, I’m so sorry,” I said, trying to catch up with them. “I didn’t—”
“Regardless of what you did or did not intend, this was very foolish of you,” Watson said. He was radiating disapproval and it was awful knowing it was directed at me. “I trust it is evident now why I have been keeping Holmes in my office, where I can ensure his safety.”
I most certainly understood that now. I was grateful we hadn’t ended up lost in London or caught breaking into a hospital morgue. Also, I didn’t have to see any dead bodies.
Watson disappeared inside with Holmes, and I opted not to follow.
I sat down on one of the stone benches instead and pulled my phone out again, sending another message to the group chat with Percy and Suruthi: Meet me after class gets out. We’ve got a lot to talk about.
Chapter 20
Call in the Troops
What, no candlestick?” Suruthi said, grinning as she swept inside the antique shop.
“That one was sold a few days ago,” I told her. “But I’ll find an even bigger candlestick for you the next time you come over.”
It was already decently late, but I had planned another meeting in Dreams of Antiquity with a specific purpose in mind this time around. After having spent the last several hours dissecting my unexpected “adventure” with Holmes that morning, I was in desperate need of consulting my friends.
Percy stepped inside after Suruthi and shut and locked the back door. I was surprised to find him looking so anxious as he stepped closer.
“Jules, are you alright?” he asked in an undertone.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I said. “I’m totally fine.”
“Well, we could’ve done with a bit more of an explanation after your messages,” Suruthi said to me. “Percy’s been a right mess since this afternoon.”
“No, I have not,” Percy disagreed at once. “I was concerned, Suruthi, there’s a difference.”
Whatever reasoning they decided on, I still felt a rush of immense guilt.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Both of you. I didn’t mean to freak you guys out.”
“Ah, we know,” Suruthi said, giving me a playful nudge. “Percy will get over it.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Now, are you going to tell us what happened on your little outing with Holmes this morning?” Suruthi asked.
I jumped right into a detailed account of what went down with Holmes earlier as soon as we’d taken our seats in my corner of the shop. I tried to give as much detail as I remembered—what Holmes said, how he seemed convinced I was some kind of apprentice detective, and the “mysterious death” of Violet Ramsey.
By the time I’d gotten through all of it, Percy and Suruthi were looking at me with such dumbfounded expressions that I couldn’t decide whether they were frustrated or amused.
“Alright then,” Suruthi finally said. “So, either Holmes and Watson are telling the truth and they really have been floating around London since Victorian times, or they both are exceptionally good actors. Which is it?”
“Percy, you’re our resident Sherlock Holmes expert,” I said to him. He hadn’t said a word since he’d taken his seat on the floor by the armchair, and he might’ve looked a little green. “Was there any case about someone named Violet Ramsey that Holmes and Watson helped solve?”
Percy spent one long moment staring at his hands as if they might have the answer he was looking for. And his answer was, “No. Not that I can recall reading.”
“Nothing about a séance or some sort of bloodsucking creature that went around killing people?” I pressed.
There had to be something we could work from here.
“I really don’t think so,” Percy said. “Granted, it has been some time since I last read anything from my Sherlock Holmes anthology, so I suppose it’s worth another look.”
It was a minor offer and maybe it wouldn’t amount to much, but it still made me feel one small surge of hope.
“Well, there you go then,” I said, clapping my hands together. “That’s one hurdle down.”
“One?” Suruthi repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You mean there’s more?”
“Obviously,” I said. “Ashley’s still missing, and the police just searched her dorm yesterday, right?”
“Yes, but if they’d found anything, I would think Watson would tell us,” Percy said. “Wouldn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Suruthi said. “According to Jules, he was caught up in going along with whatever memory Holmes was reliving. Also, are we just going to call him Watson instead of Professor Watson now? Because that’s honestly much easier.”
“Sure, let’s go with that,” I said. “Look, either way, I think we can agree that the police are kind of dragging their feet about Ashley. It took them how long to come back and search her dorm? Why couldn’t they have just done that the first time they came down to question us?”
Percy seemed to seriously debate my question before he spoke, sounding like he was trying to convince himself of what he was saying too. “Jules, they’re probably just understaffed. They’re doing what they can to—”
“Are they really?” I wasn’t sure when I’d gotten to my feet, but I was pacing now, trying to make sense of the million thoughts bouncing around my brain like a pinball. I knew Detective Constable Evans had made a fair point and I really hadn’t known Ashley that long, but still. My gut instinct was telling me more was going on. One second Ashley had been there, the next she was gone, and somehow despite being only a few feet away, I’d managed to miss everything. “Look, you can choose not to believe me, but I was with Ashley right before she went missing. She was happy to have found the Narnia door, trying to call her grandmother, and she didn’t even have a bag packed or any of her belongings with her. Why would she have run away? I’m telling you; this doesn’t make any sense!”
“Okay,” Percy said quickly. “Okay, that’s a fair point, but you might want to lower your voice, Jules. You’re shouting.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said automatically. “Sometimes I don’t realize how loud I’m being.”
There was a brief pause that left us all staring at each other expectantly, waiting for someone to say something. I didn’t last too long before I gave in, almost stomping my foot in frustration.
“But still! Guys, something about this isn’t adding up, and if the police are just going to treat Ashley as some teenage runaway on vacation, then I think it’s time we do a little sleuthing on our own.”
Percy caught on to it first, sitting up straight in alarm. “Oh, no. Please tell me you’re not serious, Jules.”
“It’s not a bad idea, Percy,” I said.
“No, I think it’s a very bad idea!” Percy said heatedly. “You’ve literally just told us a story about Holmes thinking he was solving some case from over a hundred years ago.”
Well, that one I couldn’t wiggle out of. “Yes, but—”
“Can someone please fill me in here?” Suruthi cut in, raising her hand. “Preferably before you have your little romantic row.”
Completely ignoring the teasing remark, Percy turned to Suruthi and said, “A little sleuthing, Suruthi.”
That seemed to do the trick. Her eyes lit up and then she gave a disbelieving laugh. “You’re not talking about asking Holmes to help us do our own investigation, are you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” I said firmly.
Backtracking somewhat, I went into more detail about my conversation with Holmes over tea this morning once the topic of his “recreational” drug usage came up.
“He said himself he needs the stimulation,” I told Percy and Suruthi. “I don’t think staying locked up in Watson’s office is doing him any favors. He’s obviously going stir-crazy, and I think he might actually enjoy the challenge. I mean, the man is supposed to be a genius, right? And between the three of us, I think we ought to be able to keep a hold on him.”
“He’s a grown man, Jules, not a dog,” Percy said exasperatedly.
“And a grown man with memory issues who likes to wander,” Suruthi added helpfully.
“I’m not suggesting we kidnap him or anything, geez!” I exclaimed. “All I’m saying is that I think it might be worth a shot having Holmes help us look around Ashley’s dorm.”
Suruthi seemed in on it after only a short moment to think it over. I’d sort of been expecting it, but I didn’t think Percy would be so difficult to convince, as fond of the Sherlock Holmes stories as he was.
“What makes you so sure Watson hasn’t whisked him off to some safe house by now?” Percy asked me. “After your outing today, do you really think Holmes will be so easy to find?”
The question had me frowning.
“Maybe not,” I agreed grudgingly. “But he’s been getting out and about somehow. He’s a frequent visitor here, remember?”
“That’s fair,” Percy said.
“Shall we put a note in the front window then to catch his attention and wait to see what happens?” Suruthi said sarcastically.
There was another bout of silence as we all tried to think this one through.
Percy didn’t sound very confident when he finally spoke. “Well . . . I realize this might be a long shot, but there is the Sherlock Holmes Museum.”
“There’s the what?” Suruthi said, eyebrows raised.
