A Study in Charlotte (Charlotte Holmes, #1)(42)

“This blows my list of suspects wide open,” Shepard said. “So we’re back to option one. Someone trying their damnedest to frame you two. We’ll need to talk about who out there in the world wants to get you. And I’ll have to notify the station that I won’t be needing a pair of cells. At least not tonight.”

So his plan had been to arrest us.

“Let us help you,” Holmes said. “I’m an official informant for Scotland Yard, and between Watson and me”—I was gratified to be back on a last-name basis—“we’re experts on the killer’s MO. Sherlock Holmes stories? We’re the obvious choice. Not to mention that we can informally question anyone at Sherringford without arousing suspicion, or that you’re getting an excellent chemist and a relatively fearless pugilist in the bargain. We’re not a bargain. We’re luxury goods.”

“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

Holmes shrugged; she’d anticipated this response. “Then I’ll conduct my own investigation, and deal with the culprit, after I catch him or her, as I see fit.”

“You actually think that threatening vigilante justice will make me want to take you two on?” Shepard demanded. “You’re a child. I don’t know how desperate the police are across the pond, but we play it by the book here. Isn’t it enough that you’re not suspects anymore? I don’t see any reason to put you and Jamie in the line of fire.”

“Really. Then perhaps call Scotland Yard again and ask them about what transpired after I sat through this exact conversation with DI Green. If she’s reluctant to speak to you, tell her you know all about the deep freezer, the meat hook, and how I found her two minutes before the killer returned. Honestly, I might’ve gotten myself there sooner if she hadn’t been such a cow about it. Just the year before I’d recovered three million pounds’ worth of jewels and given her all the credit.” She yawned. “Do it in the morning, though. I’m knackered.”

“But—”

“Mr. Watson, this was a lovely dinner. Would you mind taking us home now?” Without waiting for a response, Holmes disappeared into the garage, her gown trailing after her.

In her flair for the dramatic, she’d left behind my jacket and her phone. I collected them, trying not to feel like her valet.

“That girl is a piece of work,” Shepard said, somewhere between admiration and despair.

“Holmeses.” My father laughed, and reached for his car keys. “Would you know she’s one of the nicer ones?”





seven


IT TOOK SHEPARD LESS THAN A DAY TO AGREE TO HOLMES’S terms.

“You have until Thanksgiving break,” he said to us; I had him on speakerphone. He’d spent all that morning sleuthing in Holmes’s and Lena’s room, and come up empty-handed. I wasn’t surprised. Holmes, of course, had been thorough. “That’s a little less than a month. We’ll share information. Share it, do you understand me? DI Green warned me about how you like to play the magician so you can do the big reveal at the end. That won’t fly here.” A long, scratchy pause. “The only reason I’m allowing this Encyclopedia Brown business is because I don’t want any more hurt kids. You two are included in that. So, Jamie, I need you to keep an eye out for her. I’ve heard you’re a brawler. I’m okay with that.”

“Do you honestly think I can’t take care of myself?” Holmes asked, draped over the love seat like a boneless cat. “I’ll have you know I’m an expert at singlestick and baritsu.”

“Yes, and sometimes a pair of fists is much more useful,” I said, “if less dramatic. I’ll keep an eye out, Detective. Will you clear us publicly?”

“Terrible idea,” Holmes put in. “It might lead to escalation on the murderer’s part if they think they need to reconvince the police of our guilt. No, tell the school privately, but don’t let anyone release a statement.”

“Fine.” More crackling. “I’ll send over what we have so far on the snake.”

“And a copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” I said.

“Fine. You should know that we found the ski mask the intruder used in a garbage can outside Stevenson Hall, but we weren’t able to lift any prints off it.”

“These people are too good for that,” Holmes said. I coughed. “But yes, send over the bit about the snake. And I want access to the personnel files of all of Sherringford’s students and employees, including any EU immigration information.”

“I’d lose my job.”

“You’d lose your job anyway when they find out you’re letting us help.”

Static.

“Done,” he said finally. “Charlotte, Jamie—just keep your mouths shut.”

“Yes, yes,” Holmes said, “thank you,” and hung up on him.

It was Monday at lunch. I’d hidden away in Holmes’s lab in an attempt to finish writing my poem for Mr. Wheatley’s class that afternoon. It was already going badly, but then I watched Holmes finish her calculus problem set in the ten minutes between concluding some frothy, smelly experiment and picking up her violin for a spin through Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata as if it were “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”