The challenge from Teej was to use the words "semelparous", "pareidolia" and "slyboots" and have the story take place in a used car dealership. Yep, once again the old dictionary made itself known. Beta'ed by my friend Donna who, on hearing the challenge, said "I want to see what you do with this one!"
Observations
John and Sherlock arrived at the used car dealership in Leigh just as the sun was setting. On first glance, 'Marsdonne's Motors' seemed typical of its type. There were five or six cars parked out front, and though none of them were new, they had been cleaned and polished until they positively gleamed in the rosy rays of sunset. There were two large planters on each side of the door filled with brightly blooming flowers, and the door itself was propped open in a welcoming manner.
On entering the showroom, one was embraced by a feeling of comfort, of calm. The walls were painted a soothing light grey with accents of blue. The lighting was bright but not harsh and rather than the usual car adverts, the walls were festooned with prints of green hills, a small creek, woods and birds.
Definitely not what I expected, thought John as his attention was drawn to the large reception desk and the three people standing there, worry evident on their faces.
They had been contacted by Janice, the receptionist, that morning. The owner of the dealership, Mr. Marsdonne himself, had not been seen for several days and his employees were worried. He wasn't the type of person to just leave with no word. In fact, Janice had said that the joke of the office was that if you looked up the word "dependable" in the dictionary, you'd find Mr. Marsdonne's picture. So, where had the man gone?
Stepping into the small showroom, Sherlock gestured John towards the reception desk. "Find out everything you can about Marsdonne's habits," he said as he headed towards the offices lining the back wall.
Twenty minutes later, after handing out comfort and tissues to Janice and bracing platitudes to the two young salesmen, John stood in the doorway to Marsdonne's office watching Sherlock at work. The office was small, and exceptionally neat, even down to the post-it notes that festooned the blotter on the desk. They were perfectly arranged, leading John to think that the man who worked at that desk was either OCD or extremely forgetful. The room was decorated with several photographs and a large terrarium.
"What's in the tank?" he asked, pointing to the terrarium sitting behind the desk.
"Two Labord's Chameleons. One of the few semelparous chameleons," responded Sherlock as he turned his attention away from the array of photographs hanging on the wall. "Oh," he said, in response to the look of confusion on his friend's face, "semelparous – meaning reproducing or breeding only once in a lifetime. Another example would be …"
"Oi, shut it!" said John in an indignant tone. "Doctor, remember? I did take biology classes. I was actually wondering how you knew it was a Labord's Chameleon. Don't those things all look pretty much alike?"
"Each member of the Chamaeleonidae family has distinctive markings," said Sherlock in a vexed tone. "You just need to observe."
Motioning John closer, Sherlock pointed to the small green reptile basking under the heat lamp. "Look at this one. Note the violet and green markings on the flanks, and the bright orange on the backbone? This one is a female. That one over there with the large protuberance on its face and the red stripes under its chin – definitely the male of the species. Like I always say, John, you just need to observe."
Staring at the two reptiles motionless in the tank, John couldn't help but chuckle. Gesturing to the male chameleon, he said with a snort, "I wonder if he calls that one Jimmy Durante?"
Sherlock simply looked over at his friend with a raised eyebrow.
"You know, big nose … Jimmy Durante. Forget it," said John with a small smile. "You've probably deleted it from your mind palace as 'irrelevant'. Anyway, did you find anything?"
"Oh, nothing much," said the Consulting Detective smugly. "But, when put together, the fact that the female chameleon looks ready to lay her eggs, the notation of "SL, St-K" on yesterday's date in Mr. Marsdonne's desk agenda, and the photographs hanging on the wall lead to the only logical conclusion. The missing Mr. Marsdonne is on the island of Hirta in the St. Kilda archipelago. No doubt he'll be back tomorrow or the day after."
As Sherlock rattled off his deductions, John's mouth gaped and his eyes grew wide. "Wha … how … um … Okay. How in the world did you figure that out from … this?" asked the doctor as he waved his hands around to indicate the office and its contents.
"Really, my dear Doctor, it's so simple a child could figure it out!"
"Not this child," muttered John under his breath. Louder, he added, "Explain, please."
"If I must," said Sherlock with a deep sigh. Despite his seeming annoyance, his eyes flashed with joy and the corners of his lips were turned up in a small smile. Sherlock rolled his shoulders and, with hands moving in elegant manoeuvres, he began to expound on the facts of the case.
"Female Labord's Chameleons lay their eggs approximately two months after fertilization and then they die. Based on the appearance of the female in the tank, she is going to lay her eggs within the next week or so. Considering Mr. Marsdonne has two such rare creatures, it is highly unlikely that he will miss the 'big event'."
"Now, look at the photographs - all excellent examples of pareidolia. Our missing businessman has travelled extensively to photograph such locations as the Romanian Sphinx in the Bucegi Mountains, Elephant Rock in Iceland and The Old Man of Hoburgen in Sweden. He's even got a photo of the Old Man of the Mountain in New Hampshire, America, taken before it collapsed in 2003. These photographs, when considered with the note in the agenda, can only lead to one conclusion."
Sherlock turned to his companion with a wide smile on his face, ready to accept the accolades due him. What he got instead was silence and a blank look.
"Oh, come on," lamented Sherlock, "surely you can follow my deductions."
"Ah … nope. Sorry. I haven't a clue as to what you're on about. Try it again, and this time, don't leave out the important middle part."
"Okay, I'll take it slow and will try not to tax your little mind," responded the now-frustrated detective, in a tone of voice that could have melted ice in January.
"What it all comes down to is this: Stac Levenish, near the island of Hirta in Scotland, is a rock formation that, when viewed at a particular angle, shows a man's face in profile. Based on the pictorial evidence, Mr. Marsdonne has a penchant for photographing rock formations that seem to demonstrate human features. Still following my explanation?"
"Stop being such a prat and let's see if you can finish without bringing my intelligence into question, hmm?"
Sherlock grinned at his friend. He could easily tell that John wasn't really upset with him, so he carried on.
"Yesterday was the Summer Solstice and according to the weather maps, the sky around Hirta would have been clear. In other words, yesterday was the ideal day to take photographs of the formation."
The World's Only Consulting Detective picked up the agenda from the desk and handed it to John, pointing to the handwritten note. "Now, I'm sure you can figure this one out yourself."
Taking the book, John looked at the red scribble and murmured, "S.L., S.T. hyphen K. Ah, I get it now. Stac Levenish, St-Kilda."
"Bravo, John. I knew you'd get there eventually."
"That's bloody brilliant, Sherlock. Seriously."
Sherlock's eyes lit and his cheeks grew faintly pink at the praise. Flicking his coat collar up, he returned the agenda to its place on the desk and strode towards the door.
"We're done here. Let's go."
"Wait a minute! How do you know that Marsdonne will be back tomorrow or the next day? I can certainly see how you deduced his whereabouts, but his return? You're just guessing!"
Sherlock laughed aloud and said, "I never guess, John; I observe. I observed a note tucked under Marsdonne's phone addressed to Janice that reads: 'Am off to Scotland to take some photos. Too remote for cell service. Will be staying at Island B&B. Back Thursday.' Obviously our scatter-brained used-car-dealer-cum-photographer forgot to leave the message in a visible location."
John laughed aloud at the explanation. Only Sherlock, he thought.
"C'mon, you slyboots," said John. "Let's go relieve some people's minds and then go home. I'm starving. Do you think Angelo will stay open late for us?"
"Of course he will, John. I may even eat something tonight!"