The Beachfront Inn wasn't true to its name. Located a mile from the nearest shore in a copse of trees, it was set back so far from the main road on a curvy, blink-and-you-miss-it drive, someone unfamiliar with the area would never suspect the two-story hotel was there. The main building had a Victorian charm, but on closer inspection it was in need of repair. The large porch had cracked boards and the pale blue paint and white trim were peeling off in small strips, coloring the surrounding shrubbery like confetti.

The restaurant across the parking lot, The Gables, looked too modern with its sharp angles to fit in with the Old World surroundings, but apparently it was popular. A large group of patrons wearing their best country casual spilled onto the hotel's front lawn following a retirement luncheon. Because of the unusually warm weather, it was nice enough to have the dessert served outdoors as planned. Soon a large cake boasting "Good Luck, Larry" was wheeled out and waiters clad in black trousers and white shirts started serving.

From her vantage point behind the lace curtains of her second floor corner room, Ruby Danley took a long drag on her cigarette and watched the crowd mill about. She had hoped to go for a walk to clear her mind, but now she didn't want to chance it. Everyone looked ordinary enough, but the two men near the gazebo? They didn't fit in. The shorter one had accepted a piece of cake and made small talk with a few of the partygoers, but his yellow shirt and jeans stood out in the sea of polo shirts and khakis.

However, it was the tall man Ruby couldn't look away from. Striking a pose as if he were in a photo shoot, he wore a suit she was sure had been in the previous autumn's Armani collection. His focus wasn't on Larry and friends but on the front of the hotel. Still, the pair didn't look what she would call menacing.

A soft knock at her door caused Ruby to jump.

"Miss Danley?"

She exhaled with a little laugh. It was Peter, the ginger desk clerk who had an obvious crush on her. She hadn't even considered registering under a false name; she had been there often enough that the small staff knew her by name. She had first come to the inn with a boyfriend (John? Paul? It was one of the Beatles' names). Long after said boyfriend had left her life, she returned every so often to the Beachfront to get away from the city.

But this time it was different. She had fled in fear and didn't have a clue how she would ever get back to her life. It wasn't fair.

Another soft knock at the door. She pushed her ample breasts up so the tops were plainly visible in her V-neck T-shirt. The girls had served her well over the years, getting men to do what she wanted. Men were such silly things. With a few bats of her eyes, she had Peter bringing her the morning newspaper and tea, even though she hadn't asked for it. Evan Kincaid had been no different. She couldn't stand him, but he had gotten her out of the barista job.

Not that that has worked out well, she mused.

She swung the door open. Right on cue, the young man gaped openly at her chest. Just like Kincaid had every day in the office. And like Kincaid, Peter would never get the chance to do more than look.

"Hi, Pete." Ruby reached for an ashtray and snuffed out her fag.

"I meant to bring this up to you sooner, but the front desk got busy. Here." Flustered, he thrust a note at her. "The man said to give it to you."

Ruby stared at the hotel stationery in his hand as if it were a coiled snake. "What man? You didn't tell anyone I was here, did you? You promised!"

"No, no, no!" Peter put his hand on her arm to reassure her, but that only made her retreat into her room. "The man asked if you were registered and I said I couldn't give out information on guests. So he said if you were here to give you this note and that he'd be on the front lawn waiting. I would never tell anyone you were here after you told me not to, I swear!"

She slowly took the note from him. "Thanks."

"No problem, Miss Danley. Let me know if I can do anything—"

Closing the door in his face, she walked stiffly back into her room and sat on the bed. A cold pit formed in her stomach as she unfolded the paper. It was all over. She had been discovered. In a bold hand the letters danced across the page before finally forming words.

"I know you broke the code. I'll be waiting by the gazebo with my associate. I am your only hope of getting out of this situation safely."

It was signed Sherlock Holmes.

"I'll be damned," she muttered.

~s~s~s~s~s~

Sherlock watched the hotel's entrance. A steady stream of people (six men, four women, two teens, seven children, and one infant) had come in and out, but none of them matched Ruby Danley's description.

"Are we going to stake out this place day and night?" John put a forkful of cake in his mouth.

The detective pulled out his mobile and read the incoming text. A triumphant smile spread across his face. "The pieces of the puzzle are falling together."

"What did you say? Have you solved it?" John asked eagerly.

"Not yet."

A light breeze stirred the newly leafed out trees. John peered toward the back of the inn to what promised to be a large garden.

"This is a restful place, I'll give her that. And it's out of the way—a good hiding place. But how can she afford to stay here all this time?"

Sherlock turned sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Lestrade checked her credit cards and her bank statement, remember? Nothing had been touched since she disappeared. So, if she's here, she's paying cash."

The detective let out a deep laugh, the first true one John had heard since Sherlock had left jail. "You may not solve the cases, but your insights are invaluable!"

"Pardon?" John wiped his mouth with a napkin and handed his plate to a server. "Sherlock, look! There she is!"

Ruby's dirty blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail that was threaded through the back of a black Nike cap, which was pulled low over her forehead. Large sunglasses covered most of her face. She stopped a few feet from the pair.

"Let's go to The Gables," Sherlock suggested.

She nodded curtly and silently led the way.

~s~s~s~s~s~

"Sherlock . . . Holmes? You were arrested for Mr. Kincaid's murder!" Ruby's voice had a whiney quality John associated with the guests on the crap telly shows he used to watch with Mrs. Hudson.

"A most unjust accusation, as you more than anyone knows," Sherlock snapped as he slid into the floral booth furthest from the door.

Ruby hesitated then sat opposite him. "How did you find me?"

"I'm a detective," Sherlock said condescendingly. "It's what I do."

"And who are you?" Ruby took off her sunglasses to stare at John. She had an average face that looked as if giant fingers had pinched her eyes, nose, and mouth a little too close together.

"My name is Dr. John Watson. I spoke with your aunt Missy. She is very worried about you."

Ruby's bravado wavered. "She can't know where I am. It's too dangerous."

When the waitress came over, Sherlock ordered coffee all around so she would leave quickly.

Ruby folded her hands on the table. "How do you know I broke the code? How did you even know there was a bloody code?"

"I know everything except who and how much. Tell me and I can protect you," Sherlock said.

Ruby took a paper napkin from the dispenser and began to tear it into shreds. "I don't know the name of the head bloke. I do know he's dangerous. The only name I know is Rusk. And his enforcer is ruthless. They will kill me if they find me."

"Then you had better tell me everything from the beginning," said Sherlock. "I know Kincaid owned the auto parts store in Liverpool. I received a text today confirming that and the fact he owned a bakery in Kimpton. That's where you picked up most of your envelopes, right?"

"Yes."

"How long did it take you to figure out you were dealing with cash?"

"It was Jackson who told me."

"Jackson? He would be your contact. The person you picked up from and delivered to, right?"

She nodded.

"You became friends. Confidants." Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. "Lovers?"

"Nothing wrong with that, is there?" Her dark brown eyes were flinty. "We would talk sometimes during the exchanges. It led to other things. Jackie is a lovely lad. It's been killing me not to be in touch with him this whole time. I am so worried about him."

She pulled out another napkin and began to tear it, too.

"Did he tell you he thought there was cash in the envelopes?"

"But Jackie didn't know who the big players were. He only knew his boss' name—Rusk. He said the guy working for Rusk was a mean one. Someone Jackie would never cross."

"And in English we say . . ." blurted out a frustrated John, tired of being left out of the conversation, which ground to a halt while the waitress served their coffee.

After the woman left, Sherlock quickly explained. "Ruby did these 'errands' for Kincaid. As she has said, she and her contact, Jackson, struck up a relationship."

"I was sitting here the whole time, Sherlock. I got that part."

"This organization is typical of most well-run criminal enterprises. No one knows the other people's names—just their immediate contact. That way if they are caught, they can't reveal the whole operation."

"And what type of operation is it?" John furrowed his brow.

Sherlock looked genuinely surprised. "Drugs, of course."

"Everything is drugs these days," John said quietly.

Ignoring him, Sherlock continued. "Kincaid laundered money through his front businesses. His downfall was his code."

"That bloody code." Ruby angrily balled up what was left of the napkin and tossed it to the side.

"You didn't like doing those 'errands' until one one day sitting at work you figured out the code," Sherlock said.

"The flags on the wall in the office," she agreed.

Sherlock's silence encouraged Ruby to keep talking. "Jackie and I worked it all out. I bought the same kind of envelopes at the business supply store. When we got an envelope, I would read the info in the code. The amount was always there. Then we'd take a little out—never too much. Never enough to be missed. Then I'd redo the colored boxes on a new envelope. We would split the money we took 50-50. It was going great. We even were planning a vacation for the summer. I guess that's out of the question now." She looked off into the distance.

"You were playing a very dangerous game," John said.

Ruby shrugged. "It would have been fine. Then I made a mistake a couple of weeks ago."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your dyslexia."

"I transposed two numbers." She winced.

"You got the numbers mixed up and the code you wrote said the amount in the envelope should have been much higher than what was actually there. How much were you off, Ruby?"

"200,000," she whispered.

John whistled low and long. "That caught someone's attention."

"They thought it was Mr. Kincaid that pocketed the money. He had no idea what was going on. Poor sod." She casually took a sip of coffee.

John made a disgusted noise. "You don't even care that he was murdered? And that the police arrested Sherlock?"

"It was his fault for getting me involved in the first place, isn't it?" she said angrily. "They figured out it was me right after they killed him. They got my number somehow and sent a text telling me to return the money. I ran."

"How do you think they got your number?" Sherlock watched her reaction carefully.

"I just said I have no idea, didn't I?" she retorted, ugly red blotches coloring her décolletage and neck.

Sherlock filed that fact away. "Has Rusk been in touch recently?"

"He texts constantly. I never reply, never. He says he has to get his money back or I am dead."

"Rusk must not suspect Jackson was involved at all," Sherlock surmised.

"Why did you keep your mobile?" John suddenly asked. "It seems to me that if you wanted to disappear, you'd chuck it and pick up a burner phone."

When Ruby remained silent, Sherlock spoke up. "Because Jackson would have no way to reach her. Does he know where you are?"

"He's left messages, but I'm not chancing putting him in any more danger." She averted her eyes. "I don't know what to do, Mr. Holmes. The money Jackie and I took—it weren't nowhere near 200,000. They are going to kill me."

Sherlock sounded almost as commanding as his old self. "Come back to London, Ms. Danley. As long as you do exactly what I say, you will be safe."

~s~s~s~s~s~

"And now they are on their way back with Ruby Danley." Mary excitedly scrolled through her texts. "John said the train is just departing."

"Ruby is the missing secretary who knows something about Mr. Kincaid's murder." Molly looked to her friend for confirmation. Mary had just explained all the details about the case as she knew them to Molly and Mrs. Hudson over tea, and Molly wasn't sure she had the facts correct.

Mary nodded. "She will lead them to the killer and Sherlock will be cleared."

Molly topped off everyone's cup as the three women sat in Sherlock's kitchen like it was their regular haunt.

"And where will this Ruby be sleeping?" Mrs. Hudson asked, surveying Sherlock's sitting room.

"I'm sure John will give up his room for her. He'll probably sleep on the couch," Mary replied.

Molly took a sip of tea and fiddled with the cup. She had told Mary that she didn't feel right coming back to Baker Street after running into Sherlock the evening before, but Mary had assured her that John and Sherlock were out of town.

"Honestly, I feel as if I am over here as much as I am at home," Mary complained. "The sooner we get the charges dropped, the sooner Sherlock can go to a proper rehab and I can have my husband back."

"I don't think he'll go," Mrs. Hudson piped up. "I know that boy, and he has a stubborn streak a mile long. When my former husband ran his 'business,' he often had clients that would never give the stuff up."

"I hate drugs," Molly declared vehemently. "They are at the root cause of almost every evil in this city."

Surprised at her outburst, Mrs. Hudson's hands fluttered at her neckline like two anxious birds. "I agree, my dear. I only did the typing, but I knew what Mr. Hudson was up to. It was very bad indeed. That is why I divorced him."

"Is someone coming?" Molly gasped, hearing the stairs creak. "It can't be Sherlock!"

"It's just me, Dr. Molly." Billy Wiggins slowly walked up the last few steps, his face still bruised and battered from his beating.

"Young man, I told you not to come here ever again!" Mrs. Hudson was on her feet.

"I don't mean to cause no trouble, ma'am." He shied away from the older woman. "I just wanted to let Shezza know that I am done with the life. It's over. I ain't doing drugs or selling drugs no more."

The tension in the room dissipated slightly, and Molly helped Wiggins lower himself onto the couch.

"How are you?" Molly surveyed his injuries.

"A bit better. My ribs are still sore."

"They will be for some time still," Molly said.

Mary handed Wiggins a cup of tea. "Sherlock and John aren't here right now, but we can let them know you came by."

"That's good, Mrs. Watson. Thank you." He slurped his tea loudly. "John told me to ask you, Dr. Molly, if there might be some work down at St. Barts? I could wheel the dead bodies around for you. I'm not afraid of dead bodies."

Molly suppressed a grin. "Why don't you come around tomorrow? My shift ends at 1 o'clock, I can go with you to the human resources department and put in a good word."

Wiggins' whole face brightened. "You'd do that for me? Thank you, Dr. Molly!"

"It's a good thing you're straightening up your life, Billy," Mary said with a smile. "It's too dangerous to keep doing what you were doing."

"Don't I know it! This new dealer moving in, he's a bad one. He didn't beat me up, but his enforcer did. That bloke seemed to enjoy hurting me."

"Why don't you go to Inspector Lestrade and fill him in?" Molly urged.

Wiggins shook his head violently. "No way. That crew would kill me by the end of the week if I did that. No, Dr. Molly, I learned my lesson. Stay out of Rusk's way."