The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  * * *

  Back in the office Holmes shared with Skye, Holmes froze for a split-instant inside the door, then quickly snatched a handkerchief from a pocket, put it to his face, and sneezed violently.

  “Pardon me,” he apologized nasally. “Skye, when is the last time this room was properly cleaned?”

  “Um, the janitors come through a couple times a week,” she said, bemused. “Holmes, this is—”

  “I am sorry, Skye, but I fear as the flower season arrives, I shall have to be exceptionally careful. My responses to dust, blooming flowers, and the like are one cause for my constitution being weaker than I should like. Could someone please call the charwomen? I cannot bear…” another loud sneeze buried itself in Holmes’ handkerchief, “to be in this room until that is done.”

  “I’m on it, Skye,” Jones said, pulling his cell phone. “Maybe something got sucked into the A/C and he’s allergic.”

  Holmes drew Skye out of her office and closed the door firmly behind them all. Then he led them down the corridor several yards while Jones requested janitorial service.

  “Please forgive the delay,” he murmured, all sign of allergies gone, “but there is a tiny device atop the bookcase in the corner that was not there the last occasion I had to observe it. The dust has been disturbed sufficiently that a small ‘bunny’ is now hanging over the edge.”

  “Someone’s watching the office,” Smith breathed. “Good catch, Holmes.”

  “How long, do you think?” Jones wondered, as Skye’s eyes widened.

  “Mm, perhaps a week or so, perhaps a bit more,” Holmes ruminated, “which was the last time I borrowed a book from Skye.”

  “This is only supporting what I’m afraid of,” Skye almost whimpered, looking as if she might cry.

  * * *

  The janitor came and went, Jones giving him explicit instructions to dust the top of the bookcases very thoroughly. Holmes went back inside, took a deep breath, looked around, and nodded.

  “It is gone, and I see no sign of others. It is safe to discuss our situation now.”

  A nervous Skye entered, the others on her heels; Smith extracted a pocket device and swept it around the room.

  “I show clear too.”

  * * *

  Skye nodded, then went to her document safe and unlocked it, rummaging in the middle drawer.

  “Okay, it oughta be right—here it is!” Skye produced a fat folder. Taking it to her desk, she sat down and leafed through its contents.

  “Doctor, would you mind telling us what this is all about?” Jones demanded, even more impatient.

  “Yes, hang on a second, Colonel. I think…yeah, right here. Holmes, look on your list, and tell me what that power supply entry says—exactly what it says.” Holmes scanned down the list until he came to the requested entry.

  “It reads, ‘14—Switched mode power supply, AGMA12407-A18.’”

  “Oh, dear God,” she whispered, aghast. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Of what, Skye?” Holmes asked, concerned.

  “That’s a part number, Holmes. And it’s the very part installed in the tesseract RIGHT NOW.” She stabbed her finger on the spec sheet and parts list she’d been perusing.

  “What?!” Jones exclaimed, shocked. “He’s got part numbers?!”

  “It looks like it,” Skye admitted unhappily. “Holmes, take a look down that list. Let’s see if we can correlate some more part numbers.”

  “Very well,” Holmes said, letting his eye rove to the top of the page and drop down. “Mmm…Carbon dioxide laser…”

  Inside five minutes they verified that more than a dozen parts on Holmes’ document directly specified parts numbers used in Project: Tesseract.

  “Stop, you two,” Jones said, holding up his hands. “I don’t need to hear any more. That’s conclusive. Forget Dynamo. Someone’s after Project: Tesseract.”

  “It means a lot more than that, Colonel,” a deeply troubled Skye said before Holmes could. “It means they’ve got an insider on the project. There’s no other way they could have this kind of detail. Let alone a recording device in my office.” She shook her head in pain. “Somebody on my team—somebody I trusted—is a spy.”

  “Recall that I suggested there was a second mole, Jones,” Holmes reminded the colonel.

  “Damn,” Jones said with a frown.

  * * *

  Jones resolved to work with Smith to keep surveillance on Sergeant Thompson, while Holmes would work with Skye to see if they could deduce the identity of the mole inside Project: Tesseract. With a parting injunction to be careful, Jones and Smith headed back to Jones’ office, leaving Holmes and Skye to ponder these latest developments.

  “It occurs to me, Skye, perhaps a friendly visit from the Chief Scientist to her team, just prior to beginning the hiatus, might be in order, my dear,” Holmes suggested with a sly smile. “Do you think that sounds like a good plan?”

  “If you mean does it sound like a nice, subtle opening salvo in our little war, I’d say so, Holmes,” Skye agreed, and he saw the grim, almost fierce expression in her eyes. “Would you like to join me?”

  “Oh, I think not, my dear. I know I have been welcomed into the project, but I am an adjunct, after all. And I might create discomfort in our unknown quarry, as well. That could tell against us in ‘our little war.’”

  “Okay. I better get going, so I can pop by everyone’s office before lunch. It’s Friday, and the way General Morris set up the hiatus, there’ll be nobody left after lunch.”

  Holmes watched while Skye spent a few seconds adjusting her mindset to something appropriate to the ruse. The fell, grim look in her eyes faded, replaced by a wistful smile, and he nodded to himself, pleased. She can act, as well. I do indeed have a worthy ally.

  She left the office while Holmes returned his special list to his safe. About an hour later, Skye returned, crestfallen.

  “Well, that was a wasted effort,” she noted in disappointment.

  “Why?”

  “Everyone’s already left,” she sighed, frustrated. “Bob was still there, and Peter was in his office—and Caitlin, of course. But everybody else is gone.”

  “Skye,” Holmes broached delicately, “are you certain of your friend Caitlin?”

  “Yeah, but you’re welcome to check her out if you need to. Heck, you ought to check me out, for that matter. You don’t really know me.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” Holmes murmured, gratified, gazing at her in satisfaction over her unruffled reaction. “In truth, I do know you now. I had ‘checked you out’ initially, when first we met. You pass the test, ringing true every time. I will have Jones check General Morris, and once he has been vetted, I will obtain Dr. Hughes’ records from the general. How long have you known her?”

  “Oh geez, Holmes, I’ve known Cait for years. We’ve been best friends ever since we were roommates in college. People have mistaken us for sisters, even though we don’t look anything alike—we’re that close.”

  “Aha. So there is no doubt in your mind. That is very good to know.”

  Holmes was about to say something else, but a knock sounded on the door, and they broke off.

  “Come in,” Skye called, and General Morris stuck his head in the door.

  “Ah, there you are, you two. Skye, I wanted to come by and check on you.”

  “I’m fine, General,” Skye said quietly. “But thank you.”

  “Are you two hard at work on the investigation, then?”

  “At the moment, we are pondering our next move,” Holmes acknowledged, “but we are not in a position to act as yet.”

  “Do you need to stay here? I’ve already done the rounds and discovered everyone else is gone. I was going to release you, Skye, if you wanted to go home and take a break. I know you worked straight through last weekend, and you’ve put in more overtime in recent months than anyone else on the project. I figured you could stand to have an extra few hours away from this place.”

  Sky
e gave Holmes a querying look, and the detective suddenly realized he was now her supervisor.

  “Yes, General, I believe that to be a good plan. We can work out our strategy as well from the ranch as here.”

  “Good,” Morris nodded, satisfied. “Get on home and take a break. You’ve earned it, both of you. Damn rough going you’ve both had lately.”

  “Thanks, General,” Skye gave him a grateful half-smile. “Has anyone told you you’re a big teddy bear?”

  “Not since my wife said it this morning,” Morris grinned. “But don’t tell my men, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Our lips are sealed,” Holmes remarked with amusement. “Come, Skye, let us go home.”

  “Okay, Holmes.”

  As they left the office, it suddenly struck Holmes that, for the first time, he had meant the statement. He was going home.

  Chapter 7—Of Burrowing Rodents and Giant Rats

  HOLMES ROSE WELL BEFORE DAWN THE next morning. It was Saturday, and George would be arriving soon with his recalcitrant mare, having delayed delivery the previous weekend due to the tesseract catastrophe. So Holmes showered and dressed in boots, jeans, and a t-shirt, made a pot of hot tea and filled his mug, then grabbed a jacket and slipped outside to await George.

  Thus for the first time he watched the sunrise over Pikes Peak. It was beautiful, and wild, and primal, in a way he had not experienced in many years. Holmes sat on the edge of the deck, letting his long legs dangle between the railing spindles, and watched as the sky in the east lightened from a deep, star-spangled cerulean blue up the spectrum, finally becoming white as the copper sun split the rugged horizon. As the solar orb ascended, the heavens reverted to turquoise.

  Holmes sat, temporarily at peace with the world, cradling his mug in his hands and sipping it as the chill of the morning ebbed away. Anna wandered up, sniffed the contents of his mug, and let out an approving mew.

  “Aha,” Holmes chuckled. “I’ve no doubt you think it should be yours, Anna. But please believe me when I say you would likely not care for the admixture of tea in your cream. When I return to the kitchen, I shall put down a saucer for you—provided you do not tell Skye.”

  This seemed a fair arrangement to the little feline; she meowed again and head-butted Holmes’ hand. He chuckled anew, giving the cat an affectionate pat before sipping his tea.

  The crunch of tires on gravel announced George’s arrival, and Holmes finished his tea and went to meet the rancher.

  “Mornin’ to ya,” George greeted the detective, extending a hand as he clambered out of his pickup. “You must be Mr. Holmes.”

  “I am, indeed,” Holmes said affably, shaking the man’s hand. “Sherlock Holmes, if you can believe it. My parents named me after that detective in the books.”

  “George Prendergast. Pleased to meetcha. Where’s Skye?”

  “Oh, Skye has yet to arise this morning. The last few days have been…difficult.”

  “Yeah, she said something about an industrial accident when she called me last week. Had to work overtime.”

  “Yes, well, the accident killed a friend of hers and poor Skye saw it,” Holmes revealed only the details agreed-upon with Jones and Morris as cleared. “She took it hard, as you might expect. So I thought I would provide her the chance to rest this morning. She has already instructed me where to place your mare, Mr. Prendergast, and she will work with it later this morning, when she arises.”

  “Aw, man, that sucks,” George noted, shaking his head sympathetically. “Poor Skye. If it ain’t one thing, it’s three, seems like.”

  “Indeed. Now, shall we unload your mare and see her put to rights?”

  “Sure. Gimme a second to open up the trailer…”

  * * *

  Half an hour later the copper-brown quarterhorse mare, Penny, was in the round pen before the barn, with a full water bucket, several flakes of hay, and a scoop of feed in her feed bucket. She seemed content, and George thanked Holmes, closed the trailer, climbed into his truck, and was gone.

  Holmes performed one last check of the new horse before returning to the house, a certain little cat trotting at his heels, awaiting the fulfillment of his promise.

  In the kitchen, Holmes put down a saucer with a scant tablespoonful of cream. Anna mewled her delight, rubbed her thanks on his boots, then turned her attention to her liquid breakfast.

  * * *

  Holmes let Skye sleep as late as she would that morning. Around ten the scientist stirred. Knowing she was going to work with George’s misbehaving horse, she didn’t bother showering, only threw on work jeans, boots, and an old, grass-stained t-shirt. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and wandered into the den. Holmes met her with a cup of hot tea.

  “What do you wish to do regarding breakfast?”

  “Have you eaten yet?” Skye asked, sipping the tea gratefully.

  “Yes, although it was nothing fancy. Cold cereal with milk.”

  “That’ll do for me. Not long until lunch anyway. I didn’t mean to sleep this late.”

  “Obviously you required it. George Prendergast came by this morning. Penny is in the round pen by the barn.”

  “Good. I’ll eat, let my food settle, then go see her.”

  “Would you like my assistance?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t mind your company. I’ve trained horses for years, but sometimes I need the distraction of a human companion, or I’m apt to get exasperated. Penny can be a real handful. She’s a good horse underneath, but headstrong, and George lets her get away with all kinds of stuff. And that teaches her bad habits. I do this for him about every two or three years.”

  Holmes acceded to her request, and after Skye ate her cereal, the pair wandered outside. Skye watched the horse with an experienced eye for awhile, then fetched a lunge whip from the tack room in the barn.

  Meanwhile Holmes entered the round pen and removed the water pail and empty feed bucket. Skye held the gate for him to exit, then went inside the pen with the horse. She leaned the lunge whip against the fence and walked over to Penny while Holmes carried the feed bucket to the barn and refilled it.

  “Hi there, girl,” she said, rubbing the horse’s neck. “Looks like you’re back again. If your daddy would make you behave, you and I wouldn’t have to keep dancing this waltz all the time.” Penny snorted, and Skye laughed. “My sentiments exactly. Okay, let’s get started, girl.”

  Skye retrieved the whip and slowly approached Penny with it. Penny snorted again, but didn’t spook or pin her ears, and Skye gently rubbed the whip over the horse, reminding the animal the whip was not there to hurt it, but to guide it, an aide like the bit and reins, or the rider’s legs.

  * * *

  From his position leaning on the fence, Holmes watched approvingly as Skye proceeded, sympathetic to the horse’s feelings; he had seen too many harsh horse masters in his time and he liked the positive approach Skye used. Once Penny was comfortable with the whip, Skye backed up to the center of the round pen and extended the whip.

  “Penny—gid’dap,” Skye called, smooching to the horse. Penny tossed her head, but didn’t move. “Penny, walk on,” Skye tried again, this time tapping the horse on the rump with the tip of the whip as she smooched. That apparently triggered a memory in the mare, and Penny started forward. “Good girl,” Skye praised.

  Skye pivoted as Penny walked around the pen, keeping the lunge whip extended and allowing it to lag several feet behind Penny’s tail as a cue. After several laps, Skye raised the whip over her head and brought it slowly down in front of the horse, calmly but firmly saying, “Whoa, girl.” Penny stopped immediately.

  “Very good,” Holmes observed. He picked up the feed bucket and held it for Skye, who scooped out a handful of feed.

  “Oh yeah, she knows what she’s doing,” Skye agreed, offering the grain to the horse as a reward. Penny dove nose-down in Skye’s hand. “Like I said, she’s a good, well trained horse. But George won’t make her mind, and lets her do as she p
leases, and gallops her back to the barn, so discipline goes out the window. Then Penny thinks she can do anything she wants to, and gets barn sour and stuff. George told me she almost ran away with him the other day, and started bucking because she didn’t want to go down to the creek. Now, George is a rancher, and some of his property is so steep, you need horses to work. A horse that bucks on a mountain slope is dangerous.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So I’ll spend some time today and tomorrow reminding her of her manners, maybe fifteen minutes after work on Monday and Tuesday, and she’ll be a good girl…until he teaches her to misbehave again. Um…is there going to be work on Monday?”

  “You refer to the investigation? I fully anticipate it.”

  “Okay. Just checking.” Skye used the whip to turn Penny, and started her around the pen in the other direction.

  Within an hour, Penny was moving through her gaits, speeding up, slowing down, stopping, turning, and backing up on command. Holmes brought out a western saddle and bridle, slinging them over the fence, and Skye saddled the mare. Holmes looked on with interest, comparing and contrasting the western tack with the English saddle and girth with which he was familiar. Skye secured the cinch, then swung into the saddle.

  “C’mon, baby,” she said, smooching to the horse. “Let’s have a canter.” Easing forward on the reins, Skye smooched again, applying pressure with her legs.

  But this was not at all to Penny’s liking; she was already hot, tired and impatient, ready to rest, not canter with a rider’s weight. The horse started bucking, and Skye had hard work of it for several moments. Holmes watched with deep concern as she pulled up the horse’s head to counter the bucking, squeezing with her legs to push the animal forward.

  “Go! Go! Git!” Skye cried, planting her seat as deep in the saddle as she could, and Penny lunged into a brief canter before bucking again.

  “Sonuvagun!” Skye grumbled, starting the process all over. “Pay attention, horse!”

  Skye hauled the horse’s head up once more, and Holmes thought she had it, when Penny abruptly bucked and shied sideways. The combination move dumped Skye from the saddle. A self-satisfied Penny stepped aside. Holmes was over the fence in a split-second.