Sherlock Holmes walked up the cobblestone walkway to the Haze household. It was the next house on the list for questioning. The murder in the small town was beginning to bother him so he decided to go from house to house to do a little inquiring. Unfortunately, when he knocked on the front door, nobody answered. In fact, not so many people were answering their doors that day which only made Holmes aggravated. With a grunt, he sped towards the backyard only to stop…
He saw a girl with her hair parted into two braids, lying in the summer grass with the sprinklers showering her in a light rain. She looked up with a curt smile.
Sherlock was expressionless. For a moment, he was at a loss for words but he quickly managed to open his mouth to speak.
"Is your mother home?" he asked.
The girl shook her head, a droplet of water rolling down her forehead.
He sighed and averted her gaze for a moment.
"Then I don't suppose I could ask you a few questions…"
"Shoot," she said.
He cleared his throat to speak. "A day ago there was a murder on Wellton Court. A note was left at the crime scene, saying something about a man called Wilbur—"
The young interrupted him with a sigh as she sat up a bit, leaning back on the palms of her hands.
"…About a man called Wilbur," he continued as the girl fidgeted with the dials on the radio beside her.
"Are you even listening?" he questioned in a stern tone. The brunette glanced at him with the same, curt smile.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Dolores. Dolores Haze," she answered, "But you can call me Lolita." She got up, nearly slipping on the slick grass. She approached Sherlock with a flirtatious grin.
"As a matter of fact, I do know a Wilbur," she said, motioning for him to come closer. Hesitantly, he leaned down a bit, but Lolita yanked on his tie, bringing him nearer.
"He was a gardener for the Monroes," she whispered, nodding to the house beside her fence, "and he used to diddle Mrs. Monroe while Mr. M was out and about."
Sherlock quickly straightened his back.
"That will be enough," he replied as he was about to leave the backyard.
"Wait!" Lolita exclaimed, grabbing his arm. "I didn't catch your name."
"Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective," he introduced himself in a jumbled mess.
"That's a cute name," she said innocently with a bat of her lashes. Sherlock nonchalantly turned around, leaving the girl to her beach towel and radio. He involuntarily smirked at her last sentence. Something about that girl intrigued him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it so naturally, he pushed the thought out of his mind.