The Impossible Murderer

By Allison Osborne

When a famous dressage horse goes missing in the middle of the night, and the bodies of an unknown man and local stable boy are found dead outside the horse's empty stall, the blame is immediately pinned on a gorgeous amiable stallion covered in the victims' blood. Eddy calls upon Irene and Joe's assistance as the stallion's handler swears by his, and his horse's, innocence. The trio take a trip to the country to navigate the intricate bond between horses and their trainers and discover layers of betrayal and secrecy coating this glamorous sport.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MX Publishing
• Release date: Jul 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781787059719

Book preview

The Impossible Murderer

Chapter I: The Stable Boy’s Story

Irene Holmes sat quietly at her small secretary desk at 221B Baker Street. Her dark wavy hair was secured with a dozen pins; one stubborn curl was hanging by her cheek, refusing to stay up. Her lips were dry, but her balm was in her bedroom at least seven steps away, and she didn’t want to leave her current experiment.

Test tubes containing blood from various animals lined the scuffed and stained wood of the desk. Five other tubes of a yellowish liquid sat in a small wooden holder, a hole for each to keep them upright. Her hands were covered by thin gloves stolen the last time she’d wandered through the university.

Irene plucked the first test tube, tilting it from side to side. Satisfied with the consistency, she grabbed an empty tube from a scattered pile at the corner of her desk, a few vials threatening to roll off at any moment. She slowly poured half the contents into an empty vial, splitting the consistency into two equal containers.

She then realized there were no other holders for her extra test tubes. She scowled at the whole experiment as if it was the equipment’s fault she was short a holder. Then she swept her gaze over her desk as if more supplies would suddenly appear out of thin air.

No such luck.

As she contemplated her next move, a loud thud came from the upper bedroom. Joe had been agitated all morning, stomping back and forth inside his room. At one point he left the flat, strolling around the block several times, before returning in a huff.

He thumped down the stairs and into the sitting room, breathing sharply out of his nose. Irene rolled her eyes. He could be so dramatic sometimes.

Joe let out a frustrated sigh behind her.

Look at this mess, Irene, he growled, the northern accent rolling through his words. It grew thicker when he was in a foul mood, turning the usual light cadence in his voice into clipped syllables.

Irene ignored his nagging, still trying to figure out what to do with her extra tube. Joe began to pace, so she held it out to him.

Hold this for a moment.

He grumbled, raising the object to the window so the light could illuminate its contents. What’s in here?

Snake venom, she replied with a grin. Eddy’s friend brought some fantastic samples back with him after the war.

Snake venom? Joe snapped, voice cracking in surprise. Bloody hell. Is that what’s in those tubes on the counter?

Yes. Different species found in Africa and India.

Right next to our kettle. Wonderful. Joe’s words oozed sarcasm as he glanced over at the nearby kitchenette.

He kept the tube in his grasp, though, as he trudged to his armchair and sunk down into the cushions.

Irene whirled around in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

Joe often grew flustered and agitated, but this was the first time she’d seen him simply fed up. His mind appeared to be overflowing with problems lately. His rich ginger hair was wild, sticking up all which ways, and his clothes were wrinkled beyond belief. He hadn’t even bothered to tuck his short-sleeve shirt into his trousers and his socks were mismatched: one black, the other a simple dark blue.

If I may make an observation- she began, before Joe cut her off with a wave of the test tube in his hand.

Since when do you ask? he scoffed.

You are agitated and restless. She tried to contain her annoyance at his rude demeanour toward her, but her words came out snappy nonetheless. Which are not your usual traits. You also have not made any progress in your current novel, though you are eager to read it. One would assume you are fraught with your panic-induced episodes, but that is not the case. Something is on your mind and I am stumped as to what the issue is. You have eaten; the weather, though dreary, has been on the favourable side lately; and that animal shelter around the corner has taken up entire afternoons while you watch the construction of it. So, what troubles you?

Joe tipped his test tube back and forth, watching the venom move. His cheeks reddened with embarrassment and he shook his head, speaking softer. I apologize. It’s nothing.

False. Irene jabbed a finger at him. It is something if it alters your attitude.

Joe let out a soft, tired chuckle, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. How do you know this isn’t my true personality emerging after three months of living together?

I observe people for a living. Irene returned to her desk and took a dropper from her tray of tools. She sucked up half a dozen drops of pig’s blood from the first test tube in the holder before walking over to Joe and grabbing his wrist, holding his hand steady. She squeezed the dropper of blood into his tube. And I know a lot about you, Doctor Joe. Your emotions show plain as day on your face and you wear your heart on your sleeve. Tell me why you are so restless – and keep that hand still. The concoction will eat at your skin should it come into contact.

Joe froze, mumbling a curse under his breath. A flicker of amusement passed across Irene’s face.

I suppose, he said, eyes glued to the mixture, that I am unsure of what to do.

There is nothing to do, Irene said, taking the tube from his grasp and pushing a cork in. We have no case. Gently shake this.

"You have no case. Joe took the tube, flipping it back and forth in his fingers. People seek you out, not me."

"Wrong. They seek our services, even if it’s my name they know."

But how long can this go on? This is not what my career was supposed to be. This is not what I was supposed to do after the war.

What were you supposed to do? Irene wandered back to her table to start on some more blood. Go back into the medical field?

He cringed, loosening the collar of his shirt. I don’t think I could. Not for a full-time profession, anyway. The thought alone makes me queasy, but I must do something. The money I’ve saved is quickly running out and London is only growing more expensive.

Irene moved to face him, full dropper in hand. A rogue drop escaped, splatting onto the floor.

"Money is what’s troubling you? Oh, nonsense Joe! We have plenty; at least enough to get us by. This house is paid for and the bills are covered by the earnings from our cases. When we need more, I have plenty tucked away that I can access. If there is one thing not to worry about, it is money."

Joe sighed. I suppose, but what happens if no one seeks out our services? Now, I had a thought if you shall indulge me.

Always.

That bombed-out bakery next door that they’ve just cleared away. Well, the base still stands and they are rebuilding the first floor. What if we took it over and opened it up?

Irene paused, her blood dropper hovering over a test tube. She sucked it back up and set everything down, then turned to him, fighting to keep the disbelief from her face. Joe absentmindedly flipped his test tube back and forth, keeping the blood-venom mixture moving.

I have never seen you in a kitchen, nor have I heard you express any interest in cooking of any kind. You certainly have never seen me near Miss Hudson’s kitchen and I assure you that I have no plans of stepping foot in there other than to sneak a taste of a dessert she is baking.

Joe laughed, the sound warm and seeming to chase away the last of his agitation. I should have worded that better. We convert the bakery to a legitimate private investigation business to advertise and welcome clients.

The mixture in his vial started to solidify, turning into squishy chunks. Irene concentrated on it, keeping the angry ball in her stomach at bay.

Since being back at Baker Street, she’d had several ideas about how to turn a more profitable business. A new office, with storage, a filing system, and a place for clients to lay down all their secrets was vehemently temping. But whenever she weighed the pros and cons, her thoughts always drifted back to the comforts of 221B and how she did her best thinking in her housecoat in her own living room. She couldn’t very well do that around an office with big windows.

Well, she could, but putting her mismatched pyjamas on display for all of Baker Street would leave poor Joe scrambling to find curtains and put Miss Hudson into flustered fits.

She decided to ignore Joe’s suggestion altogether until a more appropriate time when she could counteract all his offers with reasons as to why they simply would not work.

Is it money you need at this moment? she asked instead. I can always give you some if-

Goodness, no, Joe sighed. I don’t need an allowance.

It’s not an allowance. It’s just something to make sure you have what you need.

A gentle knock came from the door and Miss Hudson popped her head in.

Tea for two! She entered the flat with a tray and Irene blew out a breath. Miss Hudson’s white puffy hair was askew, her shoes splattered with mud. A