She made a mental note to research what happened in the veterinary field during the war. It was honestly not a profession that crossed her mind often. Knowing Joe’s past career, however, opened up many conversations and inquires she had about animals that could help her solve future cases.
Irene glanced over at Joe when she slowed to cross train tracks on the road. She couldn’t picture him as a captor. Soft, sweet Joe, with his kind eyes and gentle soul, wouldn’t have done well as a prisoner of war. Or perhaps that’s what shaped his non-confrontational personality. She also couldn’t picture him with anything other than his signature mop of auburn hair. She certainly couldn’t imagine him any skinnier than he already was.
He'd opened up to her though, and a part of her had no idea how to feel about it. He was trusting her with such a personal story about his past. He trusted her not to judge him or make him feel poorly about his choice to share. Did that mean she was becoming a better friend? Did she need to share something grand about her past to keep it even?
Joe didn’t seem like the type to keep score with something so personal, and she was glad. He did seem slightly different after he recounted that time in his life. He seemed a wee bit lighter in his step, and he appeared a bit bolder with things that would’ve usually caused him to hesitate.
Maybe there was something to this sharing parts of yourself with people you trusted. She certainly trusted Joe, but still worried about his judgement toward her. But, if he could share his experiences seemingly without worry, then perhaps she could open up to him a bit more.
Contemplating the level of their friendship weighed heavily on her shoulders. Each day she felt a growing connection to this shy, awkward man she’d offered to share a flat with and she sometimes didn’t know what to do with their friendship, like it was some flame she kept having to tend to.
She looked at Joe once more as she drove into London. Maybe it was simple. As they grew closer, they would share more and more of their past, and then move forward, making new memories as friends and partners solving their cases.
* * * * *
Miss Hudson welcomed them with tea and sandwiches when they arrived at Baker Street, and they dug into the food immediately. She left the room, mumbling something about them smelling like a pigsty. Irene’s mouth was too full of food to retort, so she allowed the landlady to have the final word when she shut the door.
Irene finished her sandwich first, then wandered over to her bag, remembering the present she had for Joe. She waited until he was finished his last bite before whisking the plate off his lap.
“Thank you.” He raised a brow. “What’s going on? You rarely clear away my dishes.”
“I have a present for you,” she said.
He blinked at her. “How? We never went to any shops. Did you steal something from the house? Is there an ashtray in your purse from the sitting room?”
Irene laughed. “No, though they were nice ashtrays.”
She pulled Snowball’s horseshoe from her purse and held it out for him. He appeared genuinely surprised as he took it in his hands.
“I usually keep little tokens from the cases I solve,” she said. “To remind me of them if they are to be remembered. If you wish to do the same, then you may have this horseshoe.”
“You solved this case, Irene,” he said.
“This is the third time you’ve said that,” she huffed. “I solved it by using clues you obtained for me. I wouldn’t have picked Snowball’s hooves. I wouldn’t have realized the horses fought with one another. You assisted with many of my deductions due to your knowledge of animals and your intelligence in general. You made this case solvable, Joe. And, you know how much I hate to admit this, but you were probably more instrumental in solving this case than I was.”
He stared at the horseshoe and started to protest, but she cut him off.
“No matter what you think,” she began. “You are my partner. Equal partner. You are not as observant as I am, and not as quick to put things together, and do not have as many skills as me-”
“You really don’t need to keep that list going,” he muttered.
She grabbed his arm, trying to make her point clear. “You have the people skills I do not. You keep me level. You can handle all the animals. What I am trying to say is you are invaluable to me. And you deserve a memento from a case you took the lead on.”
For a second, his eyes turned glassy, tearing up. He blinked a few times and they cleared. He held up the horseshoe.
“Where shall I put it?”
“On the mantle, of course,” she said.
“That’s where your trinkets are, and there is no room.”
Irene hurried over to the mantle and began plucking items off, setting them on the couch. She kept only two up there. A brick with Victory Red lipstick smeared on it, and a note with a circular message scrawled on the paper.
“There.” She nodded to herself, pleased with her arrangement. “It is now our shelf for the cases we solve together.”
Joe stepped forward and set the horseshoe beside the message, leaning it against the brick. He looked at the other two trinkets, then at his horseshoe, and he smiled. A bit of hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it back, running his hands through the ginger-tinged strands.
“I do like your hair a bit longer,” she said. “Fashionable or not.”
He looked down at her and she saw how tired he really was. He needed another cup of tea and a night of good sleep.
“I will forfeit the bath to you,” Irene offered. “If you so wish.”
“You go ahead,” he said. “I may just turn in early. I was thinking of visiting the animal shelter at some point tomorrow and perhaps offering my services should they ever need it.”
Worry stirred in Irene. “Will you be okay?”
He nodded. “I believe I might be.”
Eager now to bathe, Irene went to her bedroom to collect her housecoat and pyjamas.
Before she closed the door, though, she took another peek at Joe. He reached out and gently touched the horseshoe and a smile spread over his face. Irene saw the square scar on his forearm, the skin catching the lamplight.
“Joe,” she said before she quite knew what words were leaving her mouth. “Should you ever need to talk again, about anything, I will listen. I mean, of course, I will listen, but I give you my word that I shall give you the attention you deserve.”
For a second, she feared her words didn’t make sense or sounded too sappy. Joe stared at her, mouth slightly agape.
“Thank you,” he said. “I extend the same offer, you do know that, right? I know there is more going on in your brilliant mind than you ever let on, but I am here for you as well.”
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, I am fine. Just bring me cases and I am happy.”
Irene shut the door before she began to squirm. She hadn’t realized he would offer to listen to her, or that he would want to. She started to her dresser and accidentally kicked a pile of books that had ended up in her room during a frantic cleaning spree. Her father’s book on cyphers and codes that had yet to be returned to the library slid across the floor.
She scooped it up and stared at her father’s name. There were so many stories she wanted to share with Joe. Happy stories, funny stories, but with those came the not so pleasant ones, as well. She didn’t even know where to begin. Did she tell Joe what happened to her uncle? Why she moved back to London in the first place? Why her father decided to keep bees? Should she invite him to read her uncle’s stories about her father?
She didn’t know where to begin with her life, but hopefully, the opportunity would present itself as naturally as it had Joe.
Perhaps the next case would bring some opportunities, whatever the following mystery may be. This one was tricky but ended satisfactorily. Much better than the previous two.
Irene set her father’s book on her bedside table, touching his name once more. Then she began the search for her housecoat and pyjamas.<
br />
The End
Holmes & Co. will return in:
The Happy Family Facade
Irene and Joe face their most curious case yet when a woman asks them to investigate the wealthy family she began working as a housekeeper for a few months prior. Locked doors and secret rooms permeate the estate and the further Irene and Joe probe into the family's life, the deeper the secrets become. They play a dangerous game of undercover to see just what mysteries lay beneath the floorboards of this dark household, but what they discover is more than either of them bargained for.
About The Author
Allison Osborne
Allison lives in Ontario, Canada with her son, their West Highland terrier, and an overwhelming amount of vintage trinkets. She attended the University of Western Ontario for creative writing, and when her mind isn't wandering through 1940s England, she is busily working at a vet clinic.
The Impossible Murderer Page 11
