The Great Shelby Holmes (13 page)

Shelby gritted her teeth. “You're telling me that there's been
security footage
this entire time and you neglected to mention it to me?”

Did I really think of something before Shelby? I mean, security footage seemed pretty obvious. Although I just thought of it now.

“But security didn't see Daisy on the footage.”

“I don't care what security thinks they did or didn't see. I need to look at it with my own eyes.”

Tamra seemed defeated. “Okay, let me go ask.”

Zane followed Tamra out, while I felt pretty proud of myself for helping Shelby. For once.

Shelby looked me up and down. “Well, Watson, I have to hand it to you. That was rather … enlightening.”

“Why, thank you!” I had a goofy grin on my face, which Shelby chose to ignore. She wasn't going to get off the hook so easily. “So what was that all about?”

“Are you referring to my slight mental lapse?” She was visibly frustrated that she hadn't thought of the footage first.

“No, I'm talking about you and Zane.”

“I was simply inquiring about his extracurricular activities. Isn't that the same thing you've been annoying me with for the last two days?”

“No, you were flirting!” I pointed at her accusingly.

“Please,” she said with a scowl. “However, I do have a question for you. In which sporting activity does one play the position of a point guard?”

“Are you serious?”

“I am extremely serious. Detective work isn't something to take lightly, Watson.”

“Okay, but it's not like you've never heard of basketball. Right?”

“Basketball.” She swirled the word on her tongue like she was speaking a foreign language. “And that's a sport that's played on a …”

“Court! A basketball court.”

“So that was the ‘ball' that you and Zane have been conversing about?”

“Yes.” I rattled my head back and forth in an attempt to make this insane conversation make sense. “Do you really not know anything about basketball?”

“Why would I?”

“But you know about sleepwalking drugs and black coral and the height at which people spray-paint!” I could hardly keep my voice in check.

“Yes, I like to keep myself informed about
important
things.”

“Sports are important!”

“To some.” She scrunched up her nose.

“So what do you want to know?” I liked that I finally knew more about something than her. I could use this in the future if she made fun of me for not knowing the currency of a particular country I'd never heard of or the sleep habits of some wild creature.

“You've told me enough,” she said as she went back into the hallway. “And I hope to forget it as soon as possible. I mustn't take up space in my brain attic with useless knowledge.”

Brain attic?

Okay, maybe Shelby Holmes wasn't a genius. She was plain nuts.

“So?” Shelby looked expectantly as Tamra and Zane entered the hallway.

“You can go look at the footage,” Tamra informed us.

“Excellent!” Shelby clapped her hands together. A ringing noise came from her large backpack. “Ugh,” she sighed as she took out a cell phone.

“You have a phone?” I asked.

“My parents wanted to place a tracking device on me. This was the compromise that we reached.”

Shelby's parents were a lot smarter than she gave them credit for.

“This is Shelby Holmes,” she answered impatiently. “I see. However, this is not a convenient time, as I'm in the middle of a very important case.” Shelby's face pinched tightly as she listened to the person on the other end of the line, probably some business associate or contact or whoever else would be calling her. “While I appreciate your sentiments, I mustn't—No, I'm simply … But it's an urgent—” She stomped her foot on the ground, and a few of the vases near us rattled. “But,
Mooooom
!”

It was her
mom
?

After a few more protests, she threw her phone into her bag with a frown. “I, unfortunately, need to take a rain check on the surveillance video. But I'll be back tomorrow to view it.”

Seriously? Now Shelby was the one who had to leave. Maybe I could watch the footage?

Zane looked at me. “You want to go hit the court, John?”

I couldn't believe it! I was going to finally hang out with Zane and play ball and do something normal.

“Sure, that'd be cool,” I said with a little tip of my chin, attempting not to appear as desperate as I felt.

“Sorry, Watson.” Shelby gave me a tight smile. “Unfor-tunately, you have to come with me. That call concerned you as well.”

CHAPTER

15

T
wo
hours
later
,
M
om
and
I
found
ourselves
knocking
on
the
door
to
apartment
221
B
.

“Come in!” A woman with the same red hair as Shelby, but pulled back in a loose bun, answered the door. “I'm so glad you were able to join us for dinner.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Mom said as she handed over a pie that just came out of the oven. Mom and Mrs. Holmes ran into each other in the hallway, and Shelby's mom invited us to dinner.

“Shelby! Come over and say hello to our guests!” Mrs. Holmes motioned to her daughter.

I tried really, really hard to not laugh. I did. But I couldn't help myself. It was too much: Shelby was in a floral dress with a bow in her hair and didn't appear to be very happy about it.

“Greetings and salutations,” Shelby said with an exaggerated curtsy. “Welcome to our oh-so-humble abode.”

The living room had the same layout as ours one floor
below: brick fireplace along one wall and a bay window looking out onto Baker Street. They had a green velvet sofa on one side and two leather armchairs on the other, with an oval coffee table stacked with books in between. Sir Arthur was sleeping in a corner.

Off the living room was an alcove that held a dining table, which led into the kitchen, and then there was a staircase leading up to another floor.

“Dr. Watson brought us some pie. Isn't that nice?” Mrs. Holmes straightened the bow in Shelby's hair, and Shelby swatted her hand away like her mother was a fly.

“What kind of pie?” Shelby asked as she squirmed away from her mother's preening.

“Apple. I hope you like it,” Mom replied.

“Hello! Hello!” A tall, pale, and extremely thin man with hair that was nearly as white as snow came into the room. “I'm Charles Holmes. So glad you could join us, Dr. Watson and John.”

“Please, call me Janice.” Mom shook Mr. Holmes's hand. “Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure!” He clapped his hands together. “And, John, I hear our little Shelby has taken you around the neighborhood. I hope she didn't get you into too much trouble. Unfortunately, if there's trouble, she seems to find it.” He rubbed Shelby's head.

“Daaaad.”
Shelby took a few steps back, her arms folded defiantly.

“It was a great way to get to know the neighborhood,” I replied. “Plus, we went to a classmate's apartment in this giant building. I'd never seen a place so big.” I spent the entire time Mom was baking trying to describe the Lacys' home. I might have left out that it wasn't anywhere close to where we lived. And that it had the separate dog room. That would've been too harsh to describe to her in our tiny apartment.

Okay, truthfully, I didn't mention anything about the dogs at all. I wanted Mom to think that I was having a normal afternoon with normal people doing normal kid things. Not investigating a dognapping. I figured it wasn't really lying if I simply happened to omit certain details.

“What friend?” Mr. Holmes asked. “That's great that you're making friends, Shelly.”

“It's Shelby, Father. How many times must I remind you of that, especially since you had given me that designation?”

Shelby stomped back into the kitchen, where the clattering of pans could be heard.

“Oh, the perils of raising a rambunctious daughter. She certainly keeps us on our toes!” Mr. Holmes said with a shake of his head. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”
He gestured to the seating area, where Mom and I sat down. After taking our drink orders, he gave us a big smile before retreating to the kitchen.

“He seems really nice,” Mom commented while we sat in silence, hearing the occasional noise from the kitchen.

Shelby approached us with a tray that had our drinks.

“Thanks, Shelby!” Mom said. “It's been very sweet of you to show John around.”

“Not like I had a choice,” she muttered under her breath.

“Sorry?” Mom tilted forward.

There was another crash in the kitchen. Mom stood up. “Let me see if I can help.”

Shelby sat down on the couch, her legs swinging nearly a foot above the carpet.

“Is
he
one of our esteemed dinner companions?” A boy with the same pale complexion as Mr. Holmes, but with light blond hair, sat down next to Shelby.
Michael Holmes, I presume?

“Affirmative,” Shelby replied. “His mother is in the kitchen assisting the parental units.”

“Good thing she has combat training,” Michael scoffed.

“Hey, man, I'm John!” I leaned over to shake his hand.

Michael studied me with bored eyes before picking up a large book from the coffee table.

“As you can see, Watson, Michael is the personality of the family.”

“I'm also the brains,” he said with a crooked grin.

“You wish.”

Michael finally looked over at me. “Don't let her pedestrian parlor tricks impress you. My sister is more on par with your basic street con artist than the real detectives she's so desperate to impress.”

“And how many cases have you solved, Michael?” Shelby shot back at him.

He crossed his legs and went back to reading his book.

Well, one mystery was solved: weirdness runs in the family.

“Dinner is served!” Mr. Holmes came out of the kitchen holding a dish with chicken, with Mom behind him with a bowl of green beans.

“I was thinking that you could sit at the head of the table, Janice.” Mrs. Holmes pulled out the chair. “I'll have Charles sit at the foot, while the children and I take the sides.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Mom sat down, while I sat to her left. Michael sat down next to Shelby without even a glance in our direction.

“Michael,” Mrs. Holmes said as she placed a napkin in her lap, “please say hello to Dr. Watson.”

“Hello to Dr. Watson,” he echoed in a monotone voice.

An awkward silence fell as we passed the various dishes around the table.

“So,” Mom began, always attempting to make the best out of any situation no matter how awkward it might be, “what grade are you going into, Michael?”