The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  To the southwest, he was fascinated to recognize the extinct volcanic basin they had been in that very morning, and far, far away, stretching into the distance, the dark red line of the Sangre de Cristo range.

  “Can we see your ranch from here, Skye?”

  “Well, I guess if we had binoculars, we might. I never tried, actually. But I know about where it is. Look down over there; see that big funny lookin’ rock outcrop? That’s Dog-Leg Rock. No, don’t ask me where it got its name; I don’t know, and it doesn’t make any sense to me, either. But it’s the same one you can see to the south from my house, and it’s about two miles away from the ranch.”

  “So…” Holmes squinted into the sun, estimating distances in the rarified air. Several tiny dark cubes appeared just visible to his sight, at the place he determined her house should be, and he decided he’d located it. “Look there,” he said, pointing. “Is that the cabin and barn?”

  “Where?” Skye leaned down to look along his finger, shading her eyes with her hand.

  “Sight along the point of this big boulder, elevation…mmm…negative ten degrees?”

  Skye screwed up her eyes and stared.

  “Darn! I think you’re right! Yeah, there’s the barn, and the shed…You found my ranch! Cool!”

  They shared a grin. Then Holmes winced, eyebrows drawing together.

  “What’s wrong?” Skye worried.

  “Nothing, merely a headache,” Holmes brushed aside her concern.

  “That’s not nothing, not up here,” Skye reprimanded. “We’re at over fourteen thousand feet. There’s one third less oxygen here than you’re used to.” The train sounded a long blast of its horn. “Aha, perfect timing. C’mon, the train leaves in ten minutes, and we need to get you back down the mountain. Altitude sickness is nothing to mess with, believe me.”

  “You sound as if you speak with the voice of experience,” Holmes observed, following her toward the train.

  “I do,” Skye said grimly. “About my third trip out here, I got cocky. Tried to do too much, and overdid at altitude. By nightfall I was sicker than a dog. Imagine the worst head cold and stomach flu you possibly can—combined.”

  Holmes did, and grimaced at the thought. They clambered aboard the train and took two seats together, huddling for warmth as the train started down the mountain minutes later.

  * * *

  At the bottom, they retrieved Skye’s Infiniti. Holmes hoped she might return to the ranch once more, having enjoyed sleeping with the window open to the cool breeze and coyote song the night before. But she turned toward the base, and he sighed inadvertently. She glanced at him with sympathy.

  “I know, and I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I was going to offer to let you spend the night again and ride down with me in the morning, but with that headache of yours, it’s better you stay at the lower altitude tonight.”

  Holmes gave her a sharp glance.

  “Yes, I know it still hurts, and no, you weren’t able to hide it from me,” she retorted. “I’m not blind. Your neck is stiff, and there’s a drawn look around your eyes. You’re also moving slower, which means you’re lightheaded, into the bargain.”

  “You observe quite well.” Holmes pursed his lips, one eyebrow rising.

  “Thanks. I do try. Now grab that bottle of water out of the cup holder, and start on it,” she instructed, pointing. “Water, and aspirin, and taking it easy until you get acclimated. That’s how to make sure you don’t get sick.”

  “Yes, madam,” Holmes said with mock meekness, reaching for the bottle of water. Skye laughed, then riposted smartly. Holmes raised an eyebrow at her cheek, retaliating in kind, and soon they were teasing each other unmercifully and laughing together.

  Chapter 4—This Isn’t London Anymore

  HOLMES’ HEADACHE WAS GONE THE NEXT morning. Skye swung by his quarters about seven-thirty.

  “Have you had breakfast yet?” she asked him.

  “Not as yet, no. The kitchen is tiny; consequently, so is the storage. I find I am out of anything which would constitute a proper breakfast, and frankly have no idea where to replenish my supplies.”

  “Eh. And the PX is at Peterson. Let’s run by the cafeteria, then. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved after everything we did over the weekend.”

  “Indeed, I find myself possessed of a considerable hunger as well,” Holmes agreed, pleased her appetite had maintained itself past the weekend.

  Soon they sat down to basic, good breakfast fare: scrambled eggs, bacon, and toasted English muffins with butter and jam. There was no tea, but there was ample coffee and cream, which satisfied Holmes.

  When they were almost done, Skye’s cell phone rang. She scrabbled in her laptop case, finally extracting and opening it.

  “Chadwick.” She paused and listened. “Yes, General. We’re in the cafeteria; almost finished. Yes, we can. Okay, see you in ten.” She closed the cell phone, looking at Holmes. “General Morris would like us to meet him in his office in ten minutes. Something about getting you off-base regularly.”

  “Excellent,” Holmes noted, picking up his mug. “One moment whilst I finish my coffee, and I shall be ready to accompany you.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, the pair sat with Morris in his office. “I’ve read the documentation you gave me, Dr. Chadwick, on Mr. Holmes’ various cases,” the general informed them. Both Holmes and Skye recognized the formality of Morris’ conversation and knew something was in the wind, but whether good or bad was too soon to say. “I was quite impressed. If this is all as it happened, Mr. Holmes is not only the soul of discretion, but also an extremely intelligent, trustworthy individual.”

  “I can vouch for all of it, General,” Skye averred.

  Holmes blinked, then sat observing.

  “I’m sure you can, Skye,” Morris’ tone softened. “And that testimony will count for much. I’d like to have a signed statement from you, a white paper detailing your knowledge of Mr. Holmes, for the record.”

  “Sure, General,” Skye responded, as Holmes looked on, struck by her assurance and not a little touched by it. “I’ll have it on your desk first thing tomorrow.”

  * * *

  “Before I go any further, I need to know how your weekend went. I hope it was enjoyable,” Morris said, straight-faced, but with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “I know it was longer than I expected. Mr. Holmes checked out through the gate on Saturday morning, and didn’t check back in until after dinner last night. His GPS tag shows you two went all over the place.”

  Skye grinned cheekily, having noted the twinkle.

  “It went very well, General. Holmes had my spare bedroom Saturday night, and was, as usual, a perfect gentleman. There was one little incident, though. We now have a simple, but effective, cover story for Holmes, due in part to an encounter with a park ranger in the Garden of the Gods. They were running a standard ID check in the park—illegal immigrant sweep, if I understood right—and we had to concoct a story fast, because Holmes, obviously, didn’t have any ID.”

  “Ah, good point,” Morris noted. “In that case, please make sure you provide me a separate report detailing the incident and your explanation, as well as the full cover story, in case the Parks Service comes back to me for confirmation.”

  “It’ll be on your desk by lunch.” Skye nodded.

  “Excellent. Now, regarding what else I need,” Morris said, and Holmes and Skye noted the reversion to formality in his tone. “Please understand, both of you: Mr. Holmes has done nothing wrong, and I have no grounds to detain him, nor do I wish to do so. From what I read over the weekend, I had much rather have him as an ally. But, as his arrival here was by such an…unusual…means, I need to make absolutely certain my documentation is as detailed as possible. Otherwise,” he dropped out of formality, “DSS will ensure ALL our asses are in slings.”

  Skye and Holmes glanced at each other.

  “What do you need from us, General?” Holmes queried.

&n
bsp; “I’ll need a signed statement from you, Mr. Holmes, indicating your allegiances and your willingness to maintain secrecy on the project, as well as some paperwork for you to fill out and sign. Skye, in addition to the reports you’ve already promised me, and the photocopies of Holmes’ cases, I need some—”

  “Video from the tesseract, confirming the events of the cases,” Skye finished for him, anticipating the request.

  “Doctor, you’re more like Mr. Holmes than I ever realized. Will that be difficult?” Morris’ eyebrows rose.

  “No. But I will need Holmes’ help to work out the dates of the different adventures, so we can find them to record.”

  “That should be relatively simple,” Holmes agreed.

  “Good,” Morris said, pleased. “Consider it a directive. It’s worth holding off on shutting down the project until we can get it. Once I have all that in hand, I can work on establishing Mr. Holmes as a bona fide member of this universe. It’s going to require a lot of international cooperation, you see, and I’ll need all my ducks in a row. And even then, I anticipate some hairy-ass glitches. It’s a unique circumstance.”

  “Indeed,” Holmes remarked dryly.

  “That’s wonderful, General,” Skye beamed. “And since we’re talking about such things, I wanted to tell you an idea I’ve had. I’d like to get him out of those temporary quarters as soon as possible and get him settled in a more permanent situation, but he doesn’t have a source of income yet, so he can’t rent or buy a place. Plus, he needs to have his liaison handy to smooth over the transition. And I’ve got a spare bedroom that goes unused ninety-nine percent of the time. So I want to invite Holmes up the pass to stay with me, at least until he gets his feet firmly on the ground and figures out what he wants to do here.”

  “Aha,” Morris grinned. “Now I understand the purpose of the extra-long weekend jaunt. A trial run?”

  “Something like that,” Skye grinned back. “I’ve already discussed it with Holmes.”

  “And?” Morris asked, turning to Holmes.

  “I found it quite comfortable, and more than acceptable,” Holmes acknowledged. “Skye already had the details well thought out, and is a gracious hostess. I believe it to be an excellent plan. Provided, of course, it meets with your approval, General,” he appended diplomatically.

  Morris considered the matter, then nodded.

  “I can’t imagine a setup that would make me—or DSS—happier, as long as you have to be away from the protection of the base. And I know sooner or later, you do; you’re not a lab rat, after all. I already discussed it with Welker, and while they’re reluctant, DSS agrees you have the constitutional right. And I told ‘em what adventures to read,” he chuckled. “So okay. As soon as I get all the documentation in hand, we’ll rig some temporary identification, and you can move in with Skye.”

  “Wonderful,” Skye beamed.

  * * *

  That Monday was spent doing paperwork: the report on the weekend’s event, Morris’ forms, and a statement of Holmes’ history, allegiances and loyalties; first and foremost was Great Britain, of course, but he indicated strong fidelity to the United States, and specifically to the project which had brought him here. By lunchtime, the pair had completed all of it.

  Skye wanted to start the character testimony immediately. But Holmes would have none of it, insisting they break for lunch, pointing out, “We can take the completed paperwork by the General’s office along the way.”

  Skye agreed, calling Caitlin, who joined them. A detour by Morris’ office unloaded the paperwork, and over lunch they explained the plan to Caitlin.

  “Oh, that’s fantastic,” the project manager exclaimed. “She’s got a very comfy place. You couldn’t be in better hands, Mr. Holmes. Skye will get you settled in all nice and cozy, and she’ll have you comfortable in our society in no time, too.” Skye blushed, and Holmes smiled.

  “It is evident to me she has thoroughly planned and prepared for this. I would have hated to disappoint her and turn down her offer.”

  Skye stopped with a bite of chicken-fried-steak halfway to her mouth, staring at Holmes in dismay.

  “You…I didn’t pressure you into it, did I? Did you not want…?”

  “No, no, my dear Skye.” Holmes raised an eyebrow. “Your plan is excellent, most appreciated, and might I add, eagerly anticipated. My guest quarters here are cramped, bland, and tiresome, although I am grateful for having a place to stay. On the other hand, your home is comfortable, spacious, and hospitable. Granted, your ranch is hardly my London; still, it is beautiful country, and the opportunity to see more of this world in which I will be living is relished.”

  Skye relaxed and resumed eating in relief. Caitlin grinned affectionately, throwing Holmes a glance that said, That’s typical. The manager noted, “Now that’s settled, how can I help?”

  “Actually, I was thinking about that,” Skye remarked. “I need to get this other white paper written, because I promised it to Morris first thing tomorrow. But we also need to get started on using the…” she glanced around the room, “the project, to document Holmes’ cases. But we can’t do that until we get the timeframes worked out. If you’d work with him this afternoon to get the dates while I write my report, we can start on the visual review tomorrow.”

  “I can do that,” Caitlin agreed. “Mr. Holmes, is that acceptable?”

  “Of course,” Holmes confirmed. “Shall we repair to your office after lunch, and allow Skye the opportunity to concentrate undisturbed?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Caitlin grinned.

  * * *

  Caitlin pulled up the short stories under consideration from an internet library, and she and Holmes set to work. It was rendered difficult because Holmes no longer had his detailed records and scrapbooks. But he did have an excellent memory, and between the two of them, they narrowed down the dates to within a few days.

  They took a break mid-afternoon, Caitlin providing tea and some snacks from the break room machines down the hall. Holmes was grateful, having always appreciated the English institution of afternoon tea—unless, of course, he was working an intense case, during which he seldom ate at all.

  By the end of the day, they had observing windows prepared for tesseract use the next morning. Caitlin took the opportunity to show Holmes the use of a laptop. He caught on quickly, writing up the observing schedule himself. Then they went to see Skye.

  Skye was so deep in her writing she never even heard them enter her office. Caitlin glanced at Holmes with a tolerant grin, putting her finger to her lips to signal him to be quiet. He smiled back, understanding, and the pair eased into visitor chairs and waited, listening as Skye muttered to herself.

  “Mm, yeah, that’ll work,” she mumbled, typing at a great rate on the laptop’s keyboard; the staccato clatter of the keys put Holmes in mind of a Maxim gun. “Wait…what’s the best way to phrase that? I don’t want to give the wrong idea…Oh! Duh, of course. Skye, where’s your brain? I think I need some coffee,” she grumbled. “I could use a jump-start.”

  But she didn’t stop, and she didn’t make any move to get coffee or anything else, merely continued typing. So Holmes shot a glance at Caitlin, miming drinking from a cup. Caitlin pointed to the table in the corner behind Skye, then curling a finger, reminded him the cream was in the small fridge beneath.

  Holmes rose, keeping low to hide behind the computer screen, and moved to the coffeepot, noting it contained several piping hot cups of coffee. He picked up a mug and poured the coffee, then extracted the cream. Close observation had told him how Skye preferred her coffee, so he added a considerable quantity, replacing the container in the refrigerator.

  * * *

  Watching him, Caitlin was amazed: The man made no sound as he moved about, considerately preparing a cup of coffee for his preoccupied liaison.

  In seconds, he was placing the mug of coffee on the desk beside the laptop, adding a couple of shortbread cookies from the tin Caitlin had left the previo
us week. Caitlin gave him a smile and a thumbs-up as he sat, and Holmes’ grey eyes twinkled.

  They waited several minutes, until the aroma of the coffee reached Skye’s nose. She sniffed once or twice, then glanced over and spotted the mug and cookies.

  * * *

  “AH!” she exclaimed, jumping in her seat as she realized she wasn’t alone. “Dammit! Don’t do that to me!” she blurted. “How long have you two been here, anyway?”

  “Almost ten minutes,” Holmes observed with amusement, while Caitlin giggled. “You were most intent on your work.”

  “Skye, it’s pushing six,” Caitlin noted. “How close are you to being finished?”

  “Is it that late?” Skye asked, surprised, reaching for the shortbread and coffee and tucking them away. “I’m not far from being finished, but I’ve still got maybe another half-hour to go on this.”

  “Okay. What say I get Chinese take-out?” Caitlin suggested. “You can finish while I’m gone, then we can eat and head home?”

  “Perfect,” Skye agreed, and Holmes nodded.

  “Back soon.” Caitlin rose and headed out.

  * * *

  While she was gone, Holmes wandered around Skye’s office, looking at her awards and diplomas, and studying the books and knickknacks on her shelves.

  “If you see any books that look interesting, feel free to borrow ‘em,” Skye offered absently.

  “I was actually wondering if there are some texts here to help me understand your project better.”

  “Oh, yeah, there are,” Skye agreed, rising and stretching for a moment. “I need to stand up for a second anyway. How’s your math background?”

  “It should be sufficient for the basics. I could comprehend Moriarty’s research papers.”

  “And he was a professor of mathematics. Yeah, that’ll do. Here,” she said, moving to the bookshelves. She scanned the books briefly, selecting one. “The first thing you need to know is some quantum mechanics and relativity theory. This ‘modern physics’ textbook is a good basic one that covers mostly quantum mechanics, but also some relativity and other things. It’ll give you a start. Don’t be afraid to ask me about anything that doesn’t make sense to you. Once you’ve gotten a good handle on this, we can sit down and I can go into a detailed discussion with you.”