A note from Janine-
Dear readers, let me first sincerely apologize for the small "faux-pas" when the wrong installment was temporarily posted. Fortunately, one "sharpie" among you alerted us to the error, and it was rectified immediately, thank you. Anne_Louise, who had been reinstated, is again sacked.
In the meantime, it has been brought to my attention that in your reviews, some of you have expressed- how do I put it? -skepticism that I am entirely accurate with the facts of these tales. One "joker" even wrote, "I think things are not the way they seem." For heaven's sake, people, it's on the internet! Of course it's true. In a few short weeks, these Chronicles will run in newspapers, and they don't print lies, my friends.
On the other hand, I was heartened by others' deeply held belief that I have a "good heart." This is true, absolutely. I have nothing but love and appreciation for my fellow human beings, those blessed with beauty, wealth and fame, and, well, everyone- we all have a place in the "great scheme" of things. Do read on! In the next four installments, you will see many, many examples of my kindness and generosity to all people, regardless of how deserving. It's just who I am. -Janine
EXTRA! EXTRA!
READ ALL ABOUT IT!
Poisoned!
The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: The Princess Cut, Installment I
"Sherl will come to my baby shower! In Sussex Downs!"
Oh, dear readers, we now come to the most difficult adventure I shared with my dear Sherl. It was also the most wonderful, for it was in this adventure that a princess cut emerald ring of at least five carats (mine has six point two), surrounded by no fewer than eight half carat diamonds (ten!), and a sincere proposal regarding marriage from Mr. Sherlock Holmes became mine.
The whole thing began on Thursday afternoon, two days before I was to host a terrific party, Mary Watson's baby shower, in my new cottage, You Know Where. Mary is a receptionist for her husband, Dr. John Watson, so, wearing a St. John floral silk charmeuse dress with teal Ferragamo pumps, I went to their office to review some last minute details and to deliver a charming antique silver rattle I had "snapped up" "on a whim." When I arrived, Mary (large- glowing, but large) was chatting with Lily, one of the other bridesmaids (although not the Maid of Honor), there to deliver a plate of muffins (a rather common brand) and looking "loose" in a mid-thigh minidress. There were hugs and kisses all around, and I gave Mary the rattle. She loved it.
"Wouldn't meet today's safety code," sniped Lily, envious, of course. She left directly afterwards.
Mary needed the loo, so she asked me to mind the phone (such was our a beautiful, trusting friendship). On her desk was a basket of apples sporting a card that read: To the apple of my eye! Claudette- yet another bridesmaid. How nice. -and I hid the nasty muffins behind them. Must prevent indigestion!
Mary had just returned when an old woman, John Watson and Trish came out of the examining room. If you'll recall, Trish was the bridesmaid who had missed our luncheon earlier that week. Today, she was wearing the cutest low cut leopard print number with sheer paneling and Charlotte Olympia pumps— Quite daring! Of course, she was thrilled to see me and we absolutely hugged and kissed! She introduced me to the old woman, her mum, and I showed off my antique, the silver rattle.
"Baby'll choke on them things," grunted Trish's mum, pointing to the delightful little bangles on the rattly end.
Stamping her Charlotte Olympia, Trish snapped, "Mum!" and, smiling, John stepped between them.
"All set then," he assured them. "No changes with the diet or medications. Nothing to worry about."
Trish smiled back. "Thanks for seeing us on such short notice, John. Such a relief."
"Big waste of time, if you ask me," muttered her mum. "Which you didn't."
"Sorry you had to wait so long," said Mary. "Thanks for watching the desk, Janine, and thanks, Trish for watching it before. John, dear?" She patted John's hand. "You've got just ten minutes for lunch."
"This will have to do then." John took an apple- not a muffin -and retreated into his office.
The old woman snorted. "Made the poor man miss his lunch," she groused.
"Out," Trish ordered and started scooting her to the door.
"Can't you visit?" I called. I liked Trish.
"Sorry. Got to go."
After they had swept away, I gave the rattle to Mary and suggested she display it one of those charming box-frames. A rich mahogany would set off the silver quite nicely. "That sounds beautiful," she agreed, opened her desk drawer- and froze.
"What is it?" I asked. Mary didn't answer. Instead, she pulled the drawer to its full extent, reached in the back and drew out a wicked looking syringe. She stared at the apples, and, with a cry, raced into the office. I followed, of course. John was hunched in a corner, pale, trembling and unable to talk. The apple, less two bites, was rolling on the floor!
It was strychnine poisoning. Someone had injected the apples with rat poison. Mary, bless her "eagle eye," had noticed her drawer organizer was slightly off center, found the syringe, noticed needle pricks in the apples and put it together in the nick of time. Because John hadn't ingested much poison, the doctors said he would make a full recovery. I was in the hospital, being a "brick" for Mary and "handling" the police in the person of Detective Inspector Lestrade, when my darling Sherl came tearing in.
"Where's John!" he cried. Mary nodded to the hospital room, and Sherl flew inside. He emerged a few minutes later, shaken. "What happened?"
Lestrade, Mary and I "filled him in" on the details. The poisoner had purchased and doctored the apples, and then had them delivered by a service. Claudette, of course, denied any involvement in it, and as there were no fingerprints on either the basket or the fruit, no evidence to suggest she had been. The syringe did have traces of strychnine and apple juice, but no fingerprints, save Mary's.
"I'll tell you one thing," Mary declared. "That syringe wasn't there when I came in this morning. My drawer organizer was exactly where I had left it the night before."
"So it was planted by someone during the course of the day," mused Sherl. "A patient. A female patient. Poisoning is a woman's crime. But how would she get into your drawer?"
"Oh, that wouldn't be hard," Mary answered. "I go to the loo about six times an hour now, don't I?"
Suddenly, an idea struck me. "I'll bet it was Lily. Did you ask her to mind the desk?"
Mary nodded and looked troubled, but Sherl said, "Let's not jump to conclusions. It could have been anyone from John's past, or yours." He gazed at Mary, who glanced away.
"We'll do a thorough investigation," announced Lestrade, closing his notebook. "I'll ask you ladies to remain in town-"
"No!" I cried. "The baby shower! In Sussex Downs! It's on Saturday!"
"Ooh, I don't know," said Mary, shaking her head.
Lestrade shrugged. "Sussex Downs would be all right. It might be good to get out of town. Just don't leave England." He stepped aside to speak with an officer.
"It was probably one of the bridesmaids, actually," Mary remarked in a low voice. "They all visited that morning, except Claudette, and they're a bloodthirsty bunch." She was about to say, "Present company excepted, of course," but we were interrupted by that terribly plain Molly Hooper, pushing her way into our waiting room.
"I heard! Is he all right?"
"Molly!" exclaimed Sherlock, his eyes lighting. "You are a highly trained physician, able to recognize and treat poisonings and to deliver a child, in a pinch."
"She's a doctor?" Lestrade glanced at us from his conversation. "A medical doctor? I thought she was a lab tech."
"A common error," replied Sher, gazing at the blushing girl. "Molly, you must accompany me to a party in Sussex Downs. You are precisely who we need. Who I need."
"Sherl?" I gasped. "You're coming?" My darling!
"Yes. Molly and I. We'll all leave tomorrow morning."
"Wait- What? I will?" Molly stared. "Where?"
Party crasher.
Next time: My beautiful cottage!
