Seiga glances at the sign above the tea room door and shakes her head.
"I need your idiom or some such, Sherlock; I do not understand the title - `Woodyard Kipling`s`? A strange name for a tea room."
"Woodyard - a play on Rudyard Kipling – British author of the nineteenth century; indicative of the bookshop. Woodyard also alludes, of course to the saw mill, and I think that the `Kipling` is also a cake reference – you need to watch more of our TV adverts now you live here, Seiga. Hmm – " he pauses, " – although I recall Lestrade does have a subscription to Sky Sports which he is rather obsessed by … you have my pity."
X
"My husband has been missing for two weeks, Mr Holmes."
Anna Gable is blonde, well-sculpted and as glacial as an Icelandic stream. She serves Sherlock and Seiga with some very excellent coffee and sits alongside her two sisters in the charmingly and impeccably decored tea room of Woodyard Kipling`s.
"I believe," begins Seiga, hair back to being as black and glossy as a raven`s wing, "your husband has disappeared, and the police have been unable to help."
"He can sometimes take off for a day or two, but this time, no-one has heard from him."
"And yet you expect to?" Sherlock has been watching Rose, the smaller, darker and more voluptuous sister, for a good few minutes. She starts up guiltily from her phone.
"You have been checking your messages since we began this conversation. You either care little for your brother in law, or are wondering if he will contact you. From your red rimmed eyes and recent weight loss, I suspect the latter.
"I – I am worried. For Anna, mostly. Jim wouldn't normally be gone this long – he takes the mill very seriously; works very hard, you see – "
Diana Gable then interjects, cutting off her sister. She is small, like Seiga, and sharp eyed. She is watching Sherlock very carefully, like a mongoose watches a snake.
"Yes, we`re all worried aren't we, Rose? But, Mr Holmes, Miss Harbargera, the police are investigating. Helen Stoner plays here in our own string quartet a couple of days a week, but she didn't really need to involve you at all. Unnecessary fuss."
Sherlock`s eyes snap with a blue fire as he stands and gives her his tight-lipped smile.
"All the same, we are so very keen to take a look around. Miss Harbargera, would you go out to the saw mill with – may I call you Diana? I will see the room and book shop."
He is already walking towards the kitchen as the three sisters sit and watch. Sherlock stops and turns at the door, whilst Seiga waits at the other door.
"Come on now, do keep up," he says.
X
Lying across her floral bedspread in the Burberry B & B (`too many `B`s`, complained Sherlock, petulantly) Seiga taps her pen against her teeth. "Diana had been fixing the circuitry of the main blade in the mill. She seems very competent, Sherlock."
"Photos," Sherlock doesn't look at her as he stretches out a hand for her phone, nor does she look at him as she passes it – they are quite the well-oiled machine.
"Hmm." Sherlock scrolls through, then enlarges a shot of another set of controls.
"That is the log roller – it moves the logs from the truck to the mill – heavy laden usually, but empty since James disappeared."
"See this – " the button to stop the belt and release the logs has a smear of red across it.
"Not blood," decides Seiga.
"Indeed, but then what?" asks Sherlock, but his sister is already Googling.
"I was being rhetorical, Seiga. I already know."
She looks up – "rhetorical? Oh … " she smiles. "You are used to giving John a chance to see it too, aren't you? To catch up."
And there`s that little crinkle across the brow again and he looks down at the phone.
"I saw this on Diana`s hands, and in the kitchen. It`s cochineal – made from the crushed carapace of a beetle and used for colouring foodstuffs red or pink. Tricky to wash off."
"Diana may have been trying to fix something. She is the mechanical one, yes?"
"Perhaps, but why release a bunch of logs onto the ground instead of the belt into the mill?"
"Error?"
Always, thinks Sherlock Holmes.
"I spoke to Joan the cleaner, and Brian, the delivery man," continues Sherlock, looking up at the low, swirly-plastered ceiling and peach satin frilly lampshade.
Chintzy?
"Anna is more generous than she appears, giving away unsold cakes to the local care home at the end of each day."
"Clearly, her husband didn't like cake."
"Wrong, he loved cake, especially on his birthday – she just chose not to bring any home."
"You knew it was his birthday?"
"Quite recently. A few cards were still in evidence, but not one from his wife. John would be proud to know how much I realise, these days, the importance of marking of special anniversaries and giving of cards…"
"You send cards?"
"I didn't say that, but other people do. Odd."
"Maybe she is a little like you, Sherlock."
"No. Also, many photographs in her rooms, but none of her and James – not even a wedding picture. Everyone, it seems has a wedding picture of the happy couple."
"John Watson has a wedding picture of the happy couple and their best man." Seiga is, perhaps, enjoying herself a little too much. Focus.
Sherlock affects to ignore her. Truthfully, he is feeling a little strange. When did he last eat something?
"What day is it?"
"Thursday."
Oh dear- a little bit not good.
"Do you have any biscuits?"
"Why?"
"I haven't eaten anything for three days."
Identical blue eyes lock his own with a tiny smudge of recognition.
"I forgot all about eating," says Seiga.
X
She wakes as the first shafts of light are coming in through (what else) peach floral curtains that appear quite inadequate for their only task. Sherlock is sitting at the desk, and judging by his apparel and hair, he has almost certainly not been to bed. She looks down at her own clothes and notices neither of them thought to change and utilise nightwear.
Hopeless. She wouldn't mention this to Greg.
Probably.
"Rose started going to the gym six months ago. She has lost approximately twelve pounds and taken to visiting the hairdresser in Bambury twice a month for beauty treatments. Joan also mentioned she is very attached to that phone. To the extent that she burnt an entire batch of cakes once when her sister picked up the wrong one – almost hysterical, it would seem. What do you deduce from that, John?"
"Seiga, remember, little brother." She smiles at the fraction of surprise registering across his face as he turns. "You maybe need some sleep."
"I really need you to find out who owns that bicycle propped up in the garage. James has one too, but the other is smaller."
Seiga is at the door as Sherlock adds:
"Check the inside sole of their shoes."
"Pedal wear and tear?"
"Well done, John."
And she closes the door, making a note to find him a biscuit – and one for herself too.
X
Sherlock checks his watch, then his phone, then registers his irritation.
Seiga has been gone for over an hour, with no communication and he has little idea of where she may be; the woods are deep and dark and at least seven bicycle paths leave from the car park of Woodyard Kipling`s. It is getting dark and his nerves are jangling and sparking, making his heart race and skitter unnecessarily.
He glances around again for the cigarette packet and is, once again, disappointed and entirely convinced that his sister has taken them. He just can`t resist another sweep of the room – just in case.
Damn.
Where WAS she? It was so vexatious to have his synapses taking up their valuable brain storming time to have to consider the whereabouts of others. He had the case more or less sorted, but he was becoming increasingly distracted by his missing sister. Irresponsible, that was what it was – why should he have to babysit a trained MI6 agent? She shouldn't be out there, taking unnecessary and possibly hazardous risks, and – well – distracting him!
John wouldn't have done that.
John would also have made sure he`d gone to bed for a bit, or eaten something, or told him when his line of questioning was inappropriate (Joan`s tears had also been irritating, but she was wasting time)… he would have been such a superb sounding board for Sherlock`s ideas – Seiga had too many offshoots of her own, which she insisted on chasing up … time was ticking and Sherlock needed a conductor of light, rather than an eclipser.
He was impressed with his sister`s talents, but she was clearly more of a lone wolf – an operative who was used to her own methods – nobody`s side-kick, it seemed.
He took out his phone again and scrolled down to the most recent message from John. Over a week ago? That couldn't be right.
`Busy at moment, maybe catch up soon. Got meeting with Cadogan West tomorrow – hope it`s nothing bad! JHW`
He also noted a new message, from Molly:
`Man at dry-cleaners is lying about your suit – he puffs his cheeks out before answering, playing for time! Am consulting detective in training, so you may as well get used to it! (May have lost your suit forever, though). Also, something has come up on John`s Blog which I need to warn you about – I think we all need to talk about it. Hope the case is going well, but we all pine for you, minute by minute – hurry back. Molly x`
And Sherlock is so diverted by her loveliness, he feels his heart calm and brain fizz less.
Just as he is about to open John`s Blog, the door slams open –
"It seems," pants a dirty, bedraggled and red-cheeked Seiga, "my GPS isn't working so well here amongst the trees – I got a little lost." She absently pulls a twig from her hair. "Many potholes, Sherlock."
"Was an exploration of the local flora particularly necessary, little sister? I merely asked you to ascertain which Gable sister rode it."
Seiga scowls, coming in and finding no warmth from her nicotine-withdrawn, sleep deprived and seriously under-fed brother, is lite förbannad, herself...
"I needed to check potential routes – escaping by track is an option, Sherlock, since no vehicle was filmed leaving the car park on the night of the disappearance." She sulkily throws her rucsac onto the terrifically floral counterpane and strides towards the bathroom.
"I`ve solved the case," rejoins Sherlock, suddenly eager to disport his prowess towards her. He wasn't used to lone wolves.
Seiga stops and turns, and a replicated resentful glare is thrown, mirror-like, right back at him.
"I think you will find that is a `we`, Sherlock," she comments, quietly, before closing the bathroom door behind her.
X
"The gun – give it to me, Diana."
"I know how to use it." Little beads of sweat glisten on her upper lip and her knuckles are white and –
"You are shaking," announces Sherlock, as the youngest Gable sister holds the cold muzzle of a converted 9mm Glock hand gun to the head of his own flesh and blood.
He is as calm as death and she sees no fear in his cold, glacial eyes.
"I used it on James – " adds Diana, and a shuddering sob erupts from Rose, being held by the emotionless Anna, who stares at the scene like she is watching a relatively mundane TV show.
"No you didn't. Give that to me," he locks eyes with Seiga, who`s hand creeps slowly around the back of her captor. In a second, she will be disarmed and she won`t even know how it happened, but Sherlock wants a moment longer, and his eyes flash, telling her to hesitate.
"You killed your brother in law, but it was an accident. The logger had jammed, you were fixing the controls as he came out to speak to you. He was going to leave and take Rose with him. They had begun an affair and he was to leave the cold-hearted wife who didn't celebrate his birthday, didn't have a single picture of him in the house and never took him cake home in the evening…"
"We loved each other, we were going to move far away!" Rose tried to struggle away from her sister, but there was a vice like grip holding her down.
"We couldn't break up our family," came Anna`s calm, cool voice, like a mist rolling over ice.
"He could go, but he couldn't take my sister with him," rejoins Diana Gable (so calm) just as Sherlock`s eyes look up at Seiga, who instantly and effectively twists around, taking the gun and flattening Diana to the floor of the tea room kitchen.
"And you can`t take mine," murmurs Sherlock Holmes, as he kicks away the gun and starts texting rapidly.
"Especially with the safety catch still on," adds Seiga.
A/N:
Arcoiris - yes, he is rather cocksure of her affections isn't he? Let us wait and see! Thank you for the words of encouragement :)
lite förbannad - a little bit pissed off
Well done Sherlock - but are you not missing something (or someone?)
`Mr Kipling`s` are a brand of cakes in the UK