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Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: Little Elm Press
ISBN-10: 1952408024
Type: Fiction
Pages: 338
Copyright: August 30, 2020
ISBN-13: 9781952408021
Price: $4.99 (eBook)
The holidays arrive with more than one surprise in the second case from the Early Case Files of Sherlock Holmes when Sherlock comes across a body in the barn.
What’s a holiday without surprises?
It’s Christmas 1867 at Underbyrne, the Holmes family estate. The house is filled with family, relatives, and three unexpected arrivals—all ready to celebrate the holidays. That is, until another uninvited guest appears: dead in the stables.
The discovery marks the beginning of a series of bizarre occurrences: Sherlock’s young cousin reports hearing footsteps outside the nursery, Mycroft suddenly falls head-over-heels in love, and the family learns more than one person under their roof harbors secrets.
Is someone in the household a murderer? Sherlock must discover the dead man's identity before another unwelcomed body materializes.
“Fans of unconventional takes on the canon, such as Leonard Goldberg’s Daughter of Sherlock Holmes series, will look forward to more.”
- Publishers Weekly
Excerpt
Mother pivoted, swung her foot, and hit her opponent squarely on the jaw. The man landed on his back against the wooden floorboards with enough force to send tremors through the soles of my feet.
Mr. Moto raised himself onto one elbow and rubbed the side of his face with his other hand. “Very good.”
Mother extended her hand to our baritsu instructor, but he waved it away. “I’m quite amazed,” she said, “at the freedom of movement these Turkish trousers allow.”
I couldn’t argue with her statement. The blousy coverings permitted full use of her legs—something her skirts had never done. At the same time, I found them rather unsettling. Until she had introduced the garment for our lessons, I had not seen her lower extremities, and certainly not in motion. I also couldn’t help but wonder what our instructor thought of her visible, albeit covered, limbs.
On the other hand, both he and I bared most of our legs. The traditional baritsu costume, or gi, consisted of a loose, long-sleeved white tunic that all but covered a pair of very short pants.
When he rose to his feet, I was struck again by our instructor’s diminutive size. He matched my mother closely in height and weight, but I had learned at our first lesson his stature did not indicate his strength when it came to defending himself.
Of course, my mother was rather tall compared to many women in our village. Slim and dark-haired, I was told repeatedly how much I resembled her.
“Your turn, Master Sherlock.”
By this time, I’d gotten used to his accent and enjoyed how he pronounced my name, roughening the l almost into an r.
I took the traditional opening stance, but before I could bow, Trevor entered, leaving my uncle’s workshop open to the winter air. My seven-year-old cousin stood just inside, almost as if he were afraid to enter. The cold air rushed in, causing goose bumps to break out on my legs.
“I was told to come and get you. Cousin Mycroft is here.”
“How wonderful,” my mother said. “I know he’ll want to freshen up from his trip, so we’ll be there shortly. Sherlock was about to have a go at this new move. If you wish to stay and watch, you may. But please shut the door.”
Once we were no longer exposed to the elements, I bowed to our trainer and prepared to imitate the kick my mother had just executed.
Trevor spoke up behind my back. “But Mother said you were to come directly and bring Uncle Ernest with you because a friend of his has come too.”
I turned my back to Mr. Moto to ask my cousin to repeat the statement. In all my years, I couldn’t recall a single time my quite, private uncle had received a visitor. Before I could voice this observation, my instructor swept his leg behind mine, flipping my feet out from under me and the rest of me toward the floor. The air rushed out of my lungs with a whoosh. I wasn’t sure which hurt more, my back or my pride, when I heard Trevor giggle.
My instructor’s face hovered over mine. “Are you all right, Master Sherlock?”
I nodded and accepted his hand to pull myself up.
Once righted, he pointed a finger at me. “Never turn your back on an opponent.”
My cheeks burned from his reproach. While he might have overplayed his point, he was correct in demonstrating I had given him the advantage. I had no time to note this because Mother spoke again.
“A friend of Ernest’s? That does put a different wrinkle on things.” She tilted her head to one side, as if weighing this new information, and turned to Moto. “I’m afraid, then, we’ll have to cut our lesson short today. Let’s continue tomorrow, shall we?” She glanced at me. “Sherry, dear, please collect your uncle from the barn and join us in the parlor. We’ll see you at dinner, Mr. Moto.”
The man bowed low. “Until then.”
Retrieving my pants from a nearby workbench, I pulled them on over my gi.
When I turned to go, Trevor asked, “Might I go with you?”
I hesitated in my response, seeking a socially acceptable excuse to avoid including him. To be honest, I found the boy annoying. I was, after all, six—about to be seven—years his senior, yet he insisted on following me everywhere. Since he’d arrived two days ago, whenever I turned around, I found him staring at me with wide eyes and a slight smile on his face.
Mother solved my quandary, although not in the fashion I’d hoped. “An excellent idea. Trevor’s been asking to see the horses. This will give him an opportunity to do so.”
With a sigh, I bowed once again to Moto and moved to the door, where I jammed my feet into my boots and wrapped a scarf about my neck. “Come on, then I need to change before dinner.”
The boy’s delight was obvious. He bounced next to me and kept up a running commentary as we made our way to the stables. He noted how cold it was, how we could see our breath, and didn’t he resemble a dragon when he blew out through his nostrils, and how quiet it was here in the country. I considered pointing out the last was difficult to note with his persistent jabbering, but instead, let my mind wander, providing various grunts and other noncommittal noises while he nattered on. My ill humor was only partly related to his constant tagging along. Another portion reflected the humiliation I’d just experienced at the hands, or rather the feet, of Mr. Moto.
The majority, however, involved Mycroft’s arrival. While he’d been away at university, I’d been able to relax in a way I found difficult when he was at home. His criticisms of my violin practicing; constant corrections to my French, German, and Latin pronunciations; and complaints about any noise I made that disturbed his thinking always kept me on guard. With his return, I would have to, once again, increase my caution. Not that I didn’t like my brother. We had certainly developed a greater appreciation for each other when our family had solved a murder and freed my mother from gaol a bare three months ago. He simply wasn’t the easiest person to get along with.
As we neared the barn, I stopped and turned to Trevor. “Can you repeat what you just said?”
“I said the woman visitor was very pretty.”
Thankfully, I was no longer in the middle of a baritsu lesson because Moto would have kicked me onto my back for a second time as I stared dumbfounded at my cousin. Uncle Ernest’s friend a woman? And pretty? I didn’t recall Ernest ever mentioning a woman, other than once, and she had been the daughter of an Indian royal.
“Is she an Englishwoman?”
When he nodded, I quickened my pace. I had to get my uncle back to the house to see his female friend for myself.
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