Holmes

By Samantha Lee and Michael Lee

A woman's dead body is found in a park missing a single red shoe, but that is all Holmes needs to embark on an investigation that will lead him to uncover a conspiracy that will shake the foundation of everything he knew about his small town until now. Holmes will need his friends, wits, and quirky personality to uncover the truth, all without missing his high school graduation.

 

The Game is Afoot.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samantha Lee
• Release date: Jan 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393334682

Book preview

Chapter One

Holmes held the phone to his ear as he moved the heavy burgundy-colored curtain out of his view of his neighbor’s house.

911, what is your emergency?

Gloria, where is Lestrade?

He heard her long-suffering exhale over the phone and knew she was going to give him another one of her tongue lashings. He knew yelling at him was usually the highlight of her week.

Holmes, we reserve this line for emergencies, not passing messages to Lestrade. For the last time, call the non-emergency line.

I would, but the hold time is atrocious, and I have told you that repeatedly. If you want me to call the non-emergency line, you will need to make sure competent people handle the phone. Really, Gloria, it speaks volumes about your performance that I continue to call you.

Her low, throaty voice chuckled. He didn’t think it was a haha chuckle. Instead, it was an I don’t buy it chuckle.

Holmes, you are what, seventeen, almost eighteen years old?

Yes, but I hardly see how this line of questioning will get you to the point quicker, Gloria.

Ms. McDonald, not Gloria. Not that phone lady, not Lestrade’s personal secretary. I’m your elder, and you should respect me by calling me, Ms. McDonald. Holmes, you don’t call your elders by their first names.

No, Holmes said.

No?

Yes, no, because we are equals in our pursuit of justice. Age knows no number when working together to rid the world of criminals, Gloria, now stop parroting me and take this down. Holmes didn’t wait for her to prepare to take his message before he continued. Tell Lestrade to meet me at this address, 1314 E Newbury Dr. There was silence on the line. Hello, Gloria? Are you still there?

Why do this every time you call?

Do what? Holmes said, genuinely confused.

You tell me a random address, presumably where something bad is going to happen; then you don’t tell me what will happen. It’s like you want to keep me in suspense or waste the city’s time.

Now, Gloria, Holmes said, letting the curtain fall shut against the early morning sun. Of course I don’t want to waste time. I barely have enough time to do the job of an entire police department and a host of others in this godforsaken city, including working as special counsel to the mayor.

I don’t think he agreed to that. You just keep showing up at the council meetings, yelling at him. I don’t think that’s the same thing.

Agree to disagree, Gloria. What were we on about? Ah, I remember I was hanging up. Bye for now. Do make sure Lestrade gets that address; it’s a matter of life and death for someone else, not me. If I were in trouble, I wouldn’t call Lestrade. Okay, good day.

He liked Gloria but trying to tell her anything beyond an address took two hours and three pots of tea. He didn’t have that kind of time.

HOLMES TURNED ON HIS heels. His feet felt light on the ground thanks to the high-grade plush carpet he had installed last summer. Nothing felt so good against his feet. Not even his Armani men's shoes, not even the most expensive shoe, could be so soft. He should know because he knew shoes and clothes. Only a clever man could make sleuthing look this good. He wasn’t exalting of himself. He really was fastidious about his clothes. He wasn’t as concerned with where he dropped them after he’d worn them to his mother’s constant chagrin. Walking to the door, he stopped to put on his gray wool coat and matching hat. He had to wear a school uniform, but it was his luck; the gray with a touch of blue and gold on the breast pocket complimented his coffee-colored skin. Although he’d be happier if he wasn’t required to attend school in the first place. It vexed him every day he had to carry out the charade of being a typical high schooler, but his new age parents wouldn’t allow him to skip grades. Instead, they tortured him by surrounding him with teenage hormones and barely qualified educators on the pretense he needed to learn age-appropriate social skills. Hardly.

He took the steps down to the driveway and made a left turn to his parents’ kitchen. His father sat at the round wooden table reading the paper. His mother sat across from him, reading on her tablet. He opened the door and walked in. His mother smiled and stood with her arms out expectantly. He knew what she wanted and obliged; bending down, he hugged her. A passerby would think they weren’t related because of the awkwardness of their embrace, all tangled limbs, and hesitation. He never caught on to familial affection. It just wouldn’t stick, but his mother kept trying. Even now, when his height was nearing six feet, she still demanded an incredibly uncomfortable embrace. At least the attempts would keep him out of therapy. It always annoyed him how he had to pay to give someone else advice. Clara really shouldn’t have charged him for their sessions. He let her because of her gambling debt, an addiction that arose from her feelings of inadequacy after her father abandoned her and her mother for the mailwoman. No, more importantly, he let her charge him to make his parents believe he was in therapy.

Good morning, my love.

Good morning, Mary, he said, then turned to his father, Good morning, Alec.

Alec sat down his paper and focused his familiar hazel eyes on him. Are you on drugs?

He couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling. Every time his father had to save an overdose patient, he became hyper-aware that he had sons who could be on drugs.

No, still drug-free, do you want to talk about it? he asked. Not because of sentimentality, but curiosity. His father shook his head and went back to his paper.

A pity, Holmes thought. Watson loved a good retelling. Mary offered him eggs, toast, and tea.

Thanks, but no thanks, I will have tea at 221B. I was just stopping to say good morning. I will be a little late tonight. The debate club is having an event.

His father laughed. If you are going to lie to us, try to use a better excuse. The very idea of you socializing with people is laughable.

His mother let out a few quiet snickers. She turned her pixy face toward Holmes. Mirth swam in the depths of her big brown eyes. She looked like a little chocolate fairy. Honey, to be fair, I could see our son in the debate club. They literally yell at each other until someone decides the other yelled better.

Holme’s hackles reared. If you two find my life so hilarious, why do you make me go to school? Admit it, I’m the subject to one of your studies, aren’t I, Mary?

His mother reached out and clasped her warm hands around his cold fist. Of course not. You are my son, and that’s really unethical. Plus, you like school. It’s where you met Watson. You wouldn’t have met her if you weren’t in school.

He was going to comment but decided it would be a waste of breath. Instead, he agreed with Mary and turned to leave. As he closed the door, he heard her call out, Drive carefully! Hands on the wheel at ten and two. Oh, and blind spots, don’t forget to check for those! Stop, don’t stoop!

HOLMES BACKED HIS BLACK Lexus coupe into what he claimed as his personal parking spot and jumped out of the car. He didn’t carry any books, not a pencil, pen, or notebook either. He didn’t see the point. This school was full of the elites, but the education was sub-par at best. Definitely not something he’d need to take notes for. If the school board would honor his request to restructure the school curriculum, he could give his peers a better education. Far better than Mrs. Kompernackle, who taught social studies and continually said, ‘I didn’t know that,’ or Mr. Joberin, who thought he taught Algebra.

The white-walled and locker lined halls of Baker High were bustling with students, talking, texting, and holding hands, which was against the student distance policy. They weren’t supposed to be closer than a body’s width. If they were using the principal as the measurement, they would need to be on different sides of the hall. But to his deep dismay, nobody ever read the policy book. Nobody followed the rules at this blasted school.  

Holmes, my man, what’s good today, bro?

He glared at the student. I’m not your brother. Today is Tuesday; we are at school, Holmes looked down at his watch. It is seven-thirty in the morning. Will you never purchase a calendar or watch? Every day you ask me this same question. Truly, a man of any consequence at least owns a watch and knows who is in his family. Tell me your address. I’ll send you a watch and a complete history of your genealogy, which will clearly show you and I aren’t related. Shall I go back ten or maybe twenty years?

Jake smiled, and his blue eyes glowed with amusement. You know me, bruh. I just be hanging here and there.

Obviously, your parents need to be spoken to about their neglect of your basic needs. Tell me your address; hurry with it. I’m still supposed to be on time for these dreaded classes, apparently.

Jake’s smile widened. Bruh, you always bugging. It’s dope. Keep it real, one.

Holmes stared at Jake’s back, open-mouthed. What did bugs and the number one have to do with anything, and why didn’t he understand they weren’t related? They weren’t even the same race. Holmes understood the dope. It was probably the root of Jake’s problems. If only Holmes could save them all. Shaking his head, he began his standard walk past his never-used locker and around the corner that led to the pool. He was just about to take the right turn toward Watson’s lockers when he heard.

Hi, Holmes.

He nodded to Jennifer, who wore her dress three-quarters of an inch above dress code regulations. He shook his head at her and pointed to her skirt. He’d told her before. She yanked her dress down and kept walking.

Hey there, Holmes, coming to the party after homecoming this weekend? It is going to be wicked fun. Holmes looked down at Sally. Her lips were glossy, and she coated her eyes with a soft color. Her eyelashes were abnormally long, which he couldn’t help but both notice and be concerned for as her eyes fluttered when she spoke. She was pretty in a flawless, chemical way. He never understood why everyone believed her to be so beautiful when she couldn’t solve a simple biquadratic formula. He was not impressed. He’d seen her grades. "No, probably not. You talked me into one of these wicked parties before, and that didn’t turn out well."

Sally lifted her hand and flicked her hair to one side. "That party did get a little out of hand."

Holmes scoffed. A little? Parts of the house were on fire when I left.

Yeah, well, this time is supposed to be chill. Plus, you will win homecoming king, and I will win homecoming queen, so we should make an appearance together.

I think not, Holmes said.

So you’ll, like, think about it then? Sally said before winking at him and walking away. Holmes clucked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. When would she realize ‘like’ shouldn’t be injected into her sentence structure? Yet, she kept doing it. Baffling.

Holmes pressed on until he reached his oasis. There she was, a riot of long brown curls, down on her knees in gray corduroy pants, a white button-up shirt with a gray cardigan tied around her neck, sucking her teeth at a hole in the wall. He bent down next to her. What do we have here?

Watson looked up. I saw a rat run into here, so I’m trying to coerce it out. I’m still grounded from purchasing lab mice for my experiments. Nobody said anything about kidnapping.

I thought your parents told you, you couldn’t do any more experiments after the last time.

She shrugged and kept sucking her teeth, coaxing the rat out of his home. After a few unfruitful minutes, Watson stood, disappointment clear on her face.

I need that rat.

Holmes gave her a worried look. Really, after the last time, maybe you should take a break.

Watson walked toward their first class. She didn’t have a book bag, notebook, pen, or pencil either. If I don’t experiment, then I will start solving medical mysteries again, and you remember what trouble that caused us last time.

Holmes shivered. Yes, the wet suits alone were unbearable.

One of the football players ran by them. He yelled, Holmes! What it do, Man? and kept moving to dodge the few students that still made their way to their class.

Holmes flinched. It’s like they speak a different language, he mumbled to himself.  Watson giggled at his side.

Chapter Two

Mr. Joberin’s hand trembled as he wrote on the board. His armpits were disgustingly damp, and he kept looking back as he wrote. So substitute 5 for X, right, Holmes? Holmes waved him on, impatiently. Mr. Joberin licked his chapped lips and pushed the remaining brown strands of hair over to the other side of his head before he finished writing. Now remember class, what you do on one side you have to do on both.

Holmes scoffed in disgust but held his tongue, which didn’t help because Mr. Joberin had already dropped his chalk. He bent to pick it up, then the bell rang. Holmes watched Mr. Joberin breathed out a sigh of relief. Holmes and Watson waited for the other students to leave. They watched Mr. Joberin erase the board and organize the papers on his desk. All the while, he tried to ignore their presence. As far as Holmes could tell, Mr. Joberin was a good person, but he wasn’t qualified to teach the nation’s future.

Watson stood from her creaky wooden chair next to him, which was always his signal that they should leave. On the way out, Watson stopped at Mr. Joberin’s desk. He jumped, startled as he realized they’d moved to stand in front of him. Mr. Joberin stuck his hands under his sweaty arms and smiled at them. Have a good day, Holmes, Watson.

Watson smiled sweetly. Sir, your lesson was horrendous once again.

Mr. Joberin nodded his head in agreement, but he smiled because this became a game for Mr. Joberin and Watson. If she said his lesson was just bad, it was as if she slapped him, but if she told him his lesson was terrible, absolutely treacherous, he smiled happily. Holmes could only shake his head as he and Watson walked out of the class. He whispered to Watson, You would think after all the times we urged him to quit, he would.

Watson shrugged, I think the word is masochistic, but at least he is consistent. Day in and day out, his lessons are horrendous.

Holmes tilted his head in thought."I guess mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius, which is why you and I are friends. Sally stopped me in the hall earlier to tell me about another ‘wicked party,’" Holmes said in a falsetto imitation of Sally’s voice.

Watson snorted. "Unlike you, Holmes, nobody talks to me. Anyway, I already told you that I would never, ever, in this life or