“Skye? Are you hurt?” he asked, kneeling beside her.
“I’m getting too damn old for this,” Skye grumbled, sitting up slowly. “Nah, I’m not hurt. I’m gonna feel it tomorrow, and a hot soak is definitely on the agenda, but I’m okay.” She scrambled to her feet with Holmes’ help, and Holmes held the horse while Skye mounted.
A full thirty minutes later, Skye had been dumped twice more, but Penny had at last settled down. Skye spent the next fifteen minutes putting the mare through its paces from her seat in the saddle, then brought the horse to a halt in the center of the pen.
“Do you want to ride her out into the pasture?” Holmes wondered.
“No, not after the way she’s behaved,” Skye decided, dismounting. “I’d as soon not be on a runaway. If she’s better tomorrow, we’ll saddle Silver Blaze, and you and I can go for a ride around the ranch. That’ll help the training, too, because Blaze is a good, solid horse and he’ll keep her calm.”
“That sounds acceptable. Now if I may suggest, do you let me unsaddle this obstinate beast, while you go inside and take that hot bath you mentioned earlier.”
“Oh, bless you, Holmes,” Skye exclaimed gratefully. “I’m all over that like a duck on a June bug.”
He’d been diligently collecting colloquialisms in an attempt to learn modern lingo, but Holmes almost crossed his eyes on that one. He chuckled as he watched Skye start to scamper toward the house. An abrupt hitch in her gitalong slowed her to a walk, and she put a hand on her lower back before continuing toward the house—at a much slower pace. Holmes raised an eyebrow, then turned to his four-legged charge.
“You have been a very bad girl,” he informed the horse. “And for hurting the mistress of the household, you will get five more minutes under saddle.” Holmes loosened the cinch, but did indeed stand there and ignore the horse for a full five minutes before untacking her.
When he finally removed saddle and bridle, Penny followed him to the gate, nuzzling at his shirtsleeve.
Holmes slung the items over the top of the fence while he returned the water bucket to the pen and added fresh hay. Then he put away the tack and headed for the house.
* * *
Skye took a long soak, emerging with a few bruises and stiff muscles, but otherwise in good shape. They hopped into the truck and headed for Cripple Creek, eating a late lunch in one of the casino restaurants before going to the underground gold mine, spending the afternoon touring the working facility.
The next day, Penny was more cooperative, and soon Holmes and Skye were in the saddle, she on Penny, he on Blaze. They rode the periphery of the ranch, and Skye thoroughly familiarized Holmes with the boundaries of her property. Then, as Penny was still behaving herself well, they ventured off the ranch, riding along the gravel road almost all the way to Dog-Leg Rock before turning around and coming home again.
* * *
The first part of the week Holmes discreetly vetted General Morris and Dr. Hughes, via Colonel Jones and Agent Smith. Once that was done to his satisfaction, he sat down with Skye and they went through the rest of the team, discussing their personalities, habits, quirks and idiosyncrasies.
This took several days, as there were some fifty people on the Project: Tesseract team. Unfortunately, even with the help of General Morris, who provided informal personnel files for their perusal, nothing of significance turned up. And according to Jones and Smith, the latter of whom reported in on Friday morning, Sergeant Thompson appeared to be doing little other than his normal duty shifts.
“That in itself is strange,” Holmes noted, once they got back to their shared office.
“Why?” Skye wondered.
“Thompson is in his late twenties. He could be termed an attractive man as such matters go. There is every indication he is a…I believe Agent Smith said the modern term was ‘straight male,’” Holmes said, maintaining a neutral expression. “And as of six months ago, he had a very active social life—bars, several female companions, parties. Yet he is currently spending most of his evenings and weekends ensconced in his quarters—which, I might add, are almost as cheerless as the temporary quarters in the which I was housed.”
“It’s like he’s waiting for something…” Skye became pensive as she pondered this information.
“Indeed,” Holmes said with intense satisfaction. “You see it.”
“Yeah, but what’s he waiting for?”
“For word from our mole, perhaps?”
“To do what?”
“That is the pertinent question,” Holmes observed.
* * *
The following Tuesday morning, Skye encountered Bob Harris in the hallway.
“Bob! What are you still doing here?” Skye wondered, surprised. “Most everyone else in the Processing division is on vacation.”
“Oh, well, I had something planned for later in the year,” Bob averred, “and I didn’t want to blow all my leave now.”
“But what are you charging to? With the project on hold, the charge numbers are closed.”
“General Morris worked something out for me. I’m expecting to get a temporary assignment sometime this week. It’ll be okay.”
But Skye noticed he didn’t meet her eyes.
“Oh, that’s fine,” she said smoothly. “That’s always good, to know you’ve got a charge number.”
“Why are you here?” Bob asked, the faintest hint of insolence in his tone.
“What?”
“General Morris announced you were on administrative leave. I’d have thought you’d be wherever home is, or visiting family, or something.”
“Oh, well, the general made me Mr. Holmes’ liaison, you know,” Skye said, thinking fast. “His knowledge is a little…out of date. General Morris asked me to train him for something that would be…” Skye scrambled for words to divert Harris from their true intent, “um, useful in our modern world.” She secretly winced.
That was awkward, she thought, and not too complimentary of Holmes. But the last thing I want is for him to realize Holmes is leading an investigation. Especially when something about the story Bob just gave me doesn’t wash.
“Ooo. That must be a barrel of fun. Is the guy any good at anything?”
“Well, I’m teaching him how to use the computer now,” Skye noted, hiding her offense at the disdainful insult to the ingenious detective, omitting the fact Holmes already had the hang of it and was merely learning useful websites on the internet. “Any coursework he might take will likely involve using it, so he needs to be able to handle it.”
“Yeah,” Bob agreed cynically. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Skye grinned thinly. “I’m gonna need it. Better get back and see what he’s got into. Hope your temporary assignment comes through soon.”
“Me, too. See you, Dr. Chadwick.”
“See ya, Bob.”
* * *
As soon as Bob was out of sight, Skye betook herself straight to General Morris’ office, waving a greeting to his secretary. Skye knocked, then entered, closing the door behind her.
“General Morris,” she launched in.
“Well, this is a surprise, Skye,” Morris said, glancing up from his paperwork. “What brings you here? I thought you and Holmes would be hard at work for Hank—er, Colonel Jones.”
“That’s why I’m here. Do you have a new assignment lined up for Bob Harris during the hiatus?”
“Why, no,” Morris said, startled. “He’s assigned to project analysis for the duration.”
“On whose authority?”
Morris shrugged, then rolled his desk chair to his filing cabinet. He pulled out a drawer and riffled through its contents, emerging with a signed order.
“Looks like Caitlin Hughes,” he said, scrutinizing the form.
“Get Caitlin and Holmes up here right away,” Skye said grimly.
* * *
“Hell no, I never authorized anybody outside of Hardware, Software and the team leads for continuance through the hiatus
. They’re working on getting the apparatus back in repair after the emergency shutdown, not to mention finding out what happened. That snarky little rat! Let me see that form.” Caitlin’s furious face was nearly the color of her hair. Morris handed it to her while Holmes and Skye watched Caitlin study it. “It’s good, but that’s not my signature.”
“Show us, please,” Holmes said, offering Caitlin a pen and a pad of paper.
Caitlin gave Holmes her signature, and a sample of her handwriting, for comparison. Holmes whipped out the lens Jones had given him and studied the two signatures in detail.
“No, Dr. Hughes is quite right. Note the differences in the tail of the G, the definitive downward stroke in the original’s L, and the lack of dots on the I’s of the forgery. No, this is definitely not her signature. It is a reasonably decent forgery at a brief glance, and would pass readily enough to those with a modicum of familiarity with her signature, but forgery it is, and no mistake.”
“But why would he do it?” Caitlin wondered.
Skye shot a querying glance at both Holmes and Morris; the expression on both men’s faces told her they were not yet ready to make the matter more public.
I guess enough people already know about it, Skye sighed silently. The more people know, the harder it is to keep it under wraps.
“I expect he was worried about a paycheck, Doctor,” Morris offered. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle the situation. You’re getting ready to go on vacation, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I was almost ready to walk out the door. Nate’s getting the neighbor to take care of the cattle for awhile, and we’re going to visit family in California. Our flight leaves this afternoon.”
“Then you go right ahead,” Morris said solicitously. “Don’t worry about a thing. You’ve earned a break. I’ll take care of this little matter.”
“Okay,” she said uncertainly.
“You take care, hon. We’ll hold it together while you’re gone, I promise.” Skye gave her a hug.
“Thanks, honey,” Caitlin said, starting to smile again. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” She stood and headed for the door.
“Safe flight,” Skye called after her as she closed the door.
The room fell silent.
“I guess we’ve found our mole,” Skye observed.
“Sounds like it,” Morris agreed.
“Not necessarily,” Holmes noted. “Admittedly, it does appear highly suspicious. But there is also another member of the team who is still on duty without being actively involved in the analysis, is there not? The medical officer?”
“True,” Skye admitted. “But that’s protocol. The medic stays around to handle any emergencies that come up. Just because the device isn’t active doesn’t mean accidents don’t happen, or that people can’t have heart attacks or the like.”
“She’s right, Mr. Holmes,” Morris verified, “but you have a good point too. I’ll have a little look-see into the matter, or rather, have Jones do it, I suppose. Meanwhile, what do you want me to do about Harris?”
“Nothing, for the moment. Let him think his little deception is continuing as planned, and he has successfully played both ends against the middle. Skye and I will contact Jones and Smith, and notify them of this latest development. Then, my dear Skye, I think you shall do a bit more consorting with the enemy, to see what we can find regarding his schedule.”
* * *
That proved more difficult than either anticipated. While Holmes called Jones and requested a meeting with him and Agent Smith, Skye sauntered by Harris’ office on the pretext of asking what his vacation plans were: Skye intended to take a break, and was considering bringing Holmes along, but wanted ideas.
Harris wasn’t in his office.
Nor was he to be found the rest of the week.
On Friday, Jones called a meeting with Smith, Skye, and Holmes.
“We must locate Harris,” Holmes observed. “He must be kept under surveillance. If he is the mole, he could do untold damage at this point, if allowed to run amok.”
“I’ll put my people on it,” Smith murmured, scribbling a cryptic note and putting it into his inside pocket.
“Dr. Chadwick, you used to be a police officer.” Jones unexpectedly addressed Skye.
“Yes, Colonel. A reserve investigator, actually.” Skye blinked, startled.
“Have you maintained your pistol certification?”
“I have.”
“Good,” Jones scribbled the information down in the case file. “I’m considering giving you a kind of adjunct police status on the base. It’s not generally done, but I’m not comfortable with the two of you going unarmed on this case. And until Holmes’…personhood…is established, we can’t get him a weapon.”
“Ooo, good point,” Skye murmured, grasping his concern. “Okay, let me know what I need to do. I’ll get out my Glock and clean it, have it ready to go.”
“Excellent. Be patient. I’m going to have to go through some odd channels for this one.”
“I think I can help there,” Smith added. “I’ll work it from my end, you tackle it from yours.”
“Copy that,” Jones noted. “It’s almost quitting time now. You two get on up the mountain, have a good weekend, and get that Glock out, Skye. We’ll handle things down here, and I’ll call you if anything important shows up.”
* * *
Holmes walked up to the house from the barn, having taken advantage of the unusually warm sunshine to bathe Silver Blaze. Blaze was coming to be Holmes’ horse, the two having developed a strong attachment in the days since they’d been introduced. The horse now stood happily in the sun, his coat drying speedily under the influence of the dry Rocky Mountain air. Holmes cast a fond glance over his shoulder at the horse, then turned his attention toward a consideration of what to do next.
But it was a lovely Saturday, more like something out of June than early May, and Skye had refused to make any plans, informing Holmes that sometimes a “cat day,” a lazy, do-nothing day, was in order. Well, he decided, when in Rome…
Holmes aimed for the deck along the back of the house, concluding a catnap in the sunshine sounded like an excellent idea. It would also give his water-splattered clothing the opportunity to dry. Why is it impossible, in any age, to bathe a horse without getting oneself thoroughly wet as well? he wondered with no little amusement.
So Holmes mounted the stairs along the south wing of the house, wandering around the corner of the deck to the eastern side, in search of a likely napping spot.
Only to discover he wasn’t the only one with that idea.
And the other person with that idea was already stretched full in the sun…
…With almost nothing on.
“Dear God,” Holmes murmured, flushing, uncertain where to look. “Skye, what on earth is the meaning of this?”
Skye lay on a blanket on the deck, blonde hair splayed about her head, sunglasses protecting her eyes, and a bubble-gum-pink bikini covering the essentials. It was seldom that men of his era saw much of a woman’s body at all, and despite himself, Holmes’ eyes roved the curvaceous figure. He did have the good grace and presence of mind to avoid staring; however, his eyes seemed determined to alternate between observing some new feature of her body, and darting off toward Castle Rock distantly peeping over the forests to the north. His mouth grew dry, and he found himself unable to decide whether to await her answer or beat a hasty retreat. He was spared the decision when Skye responded.
“Oh, I thought I’d get some sun,” she purred throatily, not at all unlike a sunning cat.
“In your undergarments?” Holmes wondered, totally at sea.
“No, silly,” Skye grinned up at him from behind the sunglasses. “This is my swimsuit.”
“Swimsuit? You mean a bathing costume? Great Scot. My vest—undershirt,” he corrected himself, trying to use the term Skye would know, “contains more material.”
“Now see, this is something you’ll have to get used to,” she
noted with a laugh, then patted the blanket beside her. “C’mere and sit down. I made iced tea,” she said, sitting up and reaching toward the cooler Holmes just then spotted in the shade under the eaves. He shook his head in private irritation at the observational omission, realizing her attire had so flabbergasted him that he had temporarily lost his usual attentive demeanor.
* * *
Skye opened the cooler, extracted a plastic jug and two tall glasses, scooped each glass full of ice, then poured the tea over the ice. Turning around, she found Holmes still standing beside the blanket, refusing to come any closer.
“Holmes, sit down,” she said firmly, patting the blanket once more. “I swear, I don’t bite, and I won’t try to violate you,” she grinned behind the sunglasses, attempting to soothe the heart of his concern with humor.
* * *
If I refuse, passed through the detective’s mind, I shall undoubtedly alienate my liaison. And that is an undesirable situation. I have already done so once, and she took it ill. And she has had several nasty experiences in recent weeks; so much the more is it unwise. But to sit next her?! In that state of undress? Hm. Perhaps a compromise is in order…
So an uncertain Holmes eased himself into a seated position on the blanket, ensuring several feet of space existed between himself and Skye to maintain some semblance of propriety. She handed him one of the glasses, and he tried not to flinch as her fingers brushed his. The color in his face deepened, his cheeks becoming a dusky red as heat rose in them. What in God’s name is going on here? he wondered, staring at the top of Pikes Peak, directly in front of him.
* * *
Well, this is going over like a lead balloon, Skye thought in disappointment, watching him visibly retreat in response to her carefully considered, deliberate actions. I guess I went a little too far, a lot too fast, but it’s such a lovely, warm day, it was perfect for sunbathing. He has to see this sort of thing eventually, and I thought it’d be better with me, here in private, than out in public in an uncontrolled environment, maybe even on a case. Besides, I needed the opportunity to relax after…the last couple of weeks. She internalized the sigh, and attempted a different tack.
The Case of the Displaced Detective Page 22
