I opened my eyes, then shut them quickly against the glare. I felt dizzy and I struggled to sit up.
"Sh, Watson, you fainted. Lie still for a moment."
"No!" I sat up. "What is this? Open season on Watson?" I started to cry, hysterical. "Am I that offensive that everyone wants to kill me? You, Mr. Donnelley, now this freak! And it's my fault, I can't! We've got to stop, no, no they're GOING TO KILL M-"
SMACK! I clasped a hand to my ringing cheek and calmed. I took a deep breath.
"Terribly sorry. I won't do it again," Holmes said, gathering up our things, and putting the black rose in his backpack.
I shuddered. "No," I whimpered. "I needed that."
"Think you can make it home?" He put his arm around me and helped me stand. I nodded and we stumbled down off the stage.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At my door Holmes handed me my backpack and my flute. "Do NOT leave the house without me," he instructed. I scowled but agreed.
"Hun? What's wrong?" Mom called as I stomped up the stairs.
Oh, well, let's see. I'm sick as a dog, just fainted in front of my best friend, was smacked round the head by aforesaid best friend, I am indirectly responsible for the deaths of four girls and I'm probably going to be murdered tomorrow.
"Nothing!" I called back. I went to my room and dumped my stuff. I began to pace - it was five o'clock.
Seven hours later, I was still pacing. My mother and father had already gone to bed, but I kept thinking, thinking. Who was it? Who was killing these girls, and how? And was I going to be the next victim?
"Watson!" The walkie talkie on the dresser cackled. "Come downstairs and let me in."
I sighed relief and crept down the stairs. Lucky my parents are such sound sleepers. I opened the door silently and ushered Holmes in. We tiptoed into the kitchen and flicked a light on.
I sat at the table and pulled out a pad of paper I had been working on. "Here, Holmes, look at this."
SUSPECTS, the paper said.
Miss Basil
Motive - insurance
Mr. Johnson
Motive - insurance
Mr. Hailey
Motive - insurance, twisted mind revenge for the play (?)
George
Motive - hates the theater
Vicky
Motive - first chair
Holmes read it quickly and then busied himself pouring sodas for each of us.
"Now Holmes," I said at his back. "I think we can cross of Vicky."
"Why?"
"She's too nice! She's my friend! I'm certain of it!"
"Fine, cross her off if it makes you feel better."
I did, gleefully. "Next, Miss Basil can't be the one. She's always in the balcony, which is way too far away."
Holmes nodded, and I crossed her off, too. "And finally, George," I said. "I know you heard him muttering, but he's always in the background, vacuuming or dusting or something like that."
"Yes, so who does that leave us with?" Holmes came and set the glass of soda in front of me. I took a grateful swig - my throat was still dry and my head hurt.
"Mr. Hailey and Mr. Johnson."
"And Vicky."
"You have got it in for the girl!" I said, as loudly as I dared.
"Think about it," Holmes leaned forward. "She was in the room below the stage. She has a motive - she wants to be first chair. And wasn't she the one who was messing with your case today?"
"She was - sh-she did!" I moaned. I finished my soda, pushed back the chair from the kitchen table, and started pacing again. "Listen, Holmes, I know I got the rose but we have to go tomorrow. If I don't show the murderer will either come looking for me or kill someone else, right?"
"Right..." Holmes admitted slowly, standing.
"And I know how to take care of myself. I'm much more careful now, I swear. Holmes, you've got to let me go! We have GOT to catch who ever it is!" I shook my head, feeling sluggish all of a sudden.
Holmes caught me by the arm and put a hand to my forehead. "You're feverish again."
"I... I don't care." Why was the room going fuzzy?
"C'mon, you need to get some sleep."
"Sleep! I... can't sleep... I must figure this ... out..." I leaned against the kitchen wall and struggled to stay awake.
Holmes picked me up easily, smiling slightly. "Goodnight, Watson."
"You... good for nothing... stupid..." I muttered, as I fell fast, fast asleep.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sunlight in my room woke me. I jumped up. I was late for school! Why hadn't I set my alarm? I - oh, right, it's Saturday. Today was our last rehearsal before the concert.
Rehearsal! Caldecott Theater! The black rose! Bang - everything that happened yesterday came back and made my head ache.
I tossed the covers aside and sat up. I was still in my clothes from yesterday, but I smiled and wiggled my toes. He had taken off my shoes! How cute... I sighed and then shook my head. Which only made my headache worse.
I put a hand to my forehead and then drew it back, surprised. Holmes had tied a note around my wrist.
"Watson," it said in Holmes' tidy scrawl, "You are not to leave this house until I come to get you, is that clear? Don't scowl at me, it's for your own good." I scowled anyway, ripped the note off, and went to get dressed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I was halfway through a bowl of Cheerios when Holmes arrived. Mom let him in and he sat across the table from me, looking wary.
I gave him my worst double-barreled glare for putting me to bed... and then remembered the shoes. I reduced my glare to mild annoyance and finished my Cheerios in silence.
"The rehearsal's at 10:30," Mom said, bustling through the kitchen. "You'd better get a move on."
"Yeah, okay, bye Mom... I ... I love you!" I said, giving her a hug. I grabbed my flute before she could say anything and headed out the door.
Holmes followed, his violin case in hand. We walked in silence. I knew Holmes was deep in thought but I was still prickly about last night.
"Holmes, you should've let me stay up, I could've helped y-"
"Quiet!" He sounded on the edge. "Can't you see I'm trying to THINK?"
I shut up. We were finally at the steps of the Caldecott, and I was shaking again. We walked in, Holmes' eyes darting everywhere. I found my seat at the back of the stage and edged away from Vicky. She looked surprised, but I stayed where I was.
Halfway through the rehearsal, I heard something. A very, very soft metallic *click!*
Headache or no, my brain began to work in high gear, and suddenly all the pieces fit together. The moving chandelier - the remote controlled gun in the attic - the soft swish of air - the insurance papers - but most importantly, the hair and the wax. In a nano-second, I knew exactly who the murderer was - and exactly how I was going to be killed.
I dropped my flute and made a desperate snatch at the music stand. The top came loose in my hands and I whipped it above my head. And not a second to soon - with a sickening *thawng!* something hit the metal. I gulped and looked up.
The poisoned needle, clear and deadly, had gone all the way through the metal and the point was aimed straight at my head. I whimpered and then tossed the metal aside.
"Holmes!" I screamed, standing. "The attic! Vicky, get out of here! Get out!" Vicky, her eyes wide, stumbled away.
Mr. Johnson made a grab for my arm, but I jumped over the back of the chairs and raced for the stairwell to the attic. Holmes, fighting his way through the astonished orchestra students, was right behind me. As we began to stomp up the stairs, I could have sworn I heard Mr. Hailey say, "Well! Let's take it from measure 38, then, shall we?" At any rate, the orchestra started to play again.
Panting, we thundered up the stairs, Mr. Johnson close at our heels. "Holmes!" he yelled, "Stop!" Mr. Johnson leapt and grabbed Holmes around the ankles. They tumbled downwards, yelling.
"Watson! Go! Go!" Holmes screamed, wrestling with the bigger man.
I turned and clambered up the rest of the stairs. In a fit of heroics I kicked the door open and leapt into the attic, my hands balled into fists. "I know you're here," I snarled, taking a step into the attic. "I know you're here, and I know how you killed them. You put that gun in the chandelier, didn't you? And then you hid up here and killed them with poison. And you're still here. You can come out now," I snarled, panting. "You can come out now, Miss Basil!"
The attic was silent and I took another step in. "You made a wax dummy of yourself and put it in the balcony, so you'd always have an alibi! And you killed four innocent girls so you could collect insurance money, you monster! One thing, though, Miss Basil," I growled. "How DID you get the roses in the flute cases?"
"I guess you'll never know," Mrs. Basil said, stepping from behind the door and shutting it. She cocked the gun in her hand and walked forward slowly. You know, I hadn't counted on her having a gun. Her hair was pulled up again, but a few wisps escaped and curled around her square glasses. Her eyes were wild and she was slightly out of breath.
"Aren't you a clever little girl," Miss Basil purred, smiling. "That's why I chose you instead of Vicky. You were too clever for the dart, hm? But I doubt you'll be to clever for a bullet!"
BAM! The door was flung open again, and Mr. Johnson and Holmes entered, standing side by side. Mr. Johnson had his own gun, but Miss Basil simply smiled again and continued walking forward to me. She put the barrel against my head. "You two gentlemen," she said. "Will leave quietly, or else..."
I glanced down at the floor and realized where I was standing. On sudden inspiration, I kicked the latch on the trapdoor and plunged downwards. I grabbed the edge of the attic and screamed as I heard a gun shot above me, a gun shot that narrowly missed my head.
The orchestra students slowly stopped playing, staring at me. A trombone held one last note, going slowly flatter and flatter.
Three more gunshots rang out, and then a yell. I heaved myself back into the attic and lunged at Miss Basil. We fell, and I knocked the gun out of her hand. She slammed me backwards and put her hands around my throat, choking me...
Crack! Mr. Johnson hit Miss Basil with the but of his gun and she collapsed against me. He hauled her off and pulled handcuffs from his jacket. "Miss Basil," he said solemnly, "You are being arrested for murder. Anything you say can and will be used against you in..."
Someone slammed into me and I thought I was being attacked again. I stiffened, but it was only Holmes. "You're... you're bleeding," I said, running a finger across his cheek where he was cut. Holmes wiped the blood away.
"It's nothing," he said, sounding angry. "Don't you ever do that to me again!" Holmes shook my shoulders, and then kissed me firmly. "When I saw you go through the floor, I thought I - I thought..." he kissed me again, and again. I put my arms around his neck.
Mr. Johnson coughed, and we pulled back, embarrassed. Holmes grinned. "Watson, may I introduce..."
Mr. Johnson swept off his hat, smiling, "Mr. Peterson, of Scotland Yard."
"I remember you!" I gasped, standing with Holmes. "You were one of the detectives that we - "
"Led on a wild goose chase, yes, I remember, too." Mr. Peterson pulled Miss Basil to her feet.
"It wasn't a wild goose cha-" I started to say, but Holmes stamped on my foot. "Whatever." I muttered.
"That's why I was always trying to keep you two away," Mr. Peterson said. "I knew you'd want to investigate what was going on here, but it was much too dangerous. I kept trying to scare you away, but then..." Mr. Peterson grinned at me. "You don't scare easy, do you?"
I shook my head, chuckling.
"Good day then," Mr. Peterson tipped his hat and dragged a growling Miss Basil down the stairs.
I looked at Holmes, who smiled and took my hand. "You figured it out," he said, impressed.
I grinned. "It was elementary, my dear Holmes."
"Sh, Watson, you fainted. Lie still for a moment."
"No!" I sat up. "What is this? Open season on Watson?" I started to cry, hysterical. "Am I that offensive that everyone wants to kill me? You, Mr. Donnelley, now this freak! And it's my fault, I can't! We've got to stop, no, no they're GOING TO KILL M-"
SMACK! I clasped a hand to my ringing cheek and calmed. I took a deep breath.
"Terribly sorry. I won't do it again," Holmes said, gathering up our things, and putting the black rose in his backpack.
I shuddered. "No," I whimpered. "I needed that."
"Think you can make it home?" He put his arm around me and helped me stand. I nodded and we stumbled down off the stage.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At my door Holmes handed me my backpack and my flute. "Do NOT leave the house without me," he instructed. I scowled but agreed.
"Hun? What's wrong?" Mom called as I stomped up the stairs.
Oh, well, let's see. I'm sick as a dog, just fainted in front of my best friend, was smacked round the head by aforesaid best friend, I am indirectly responsible for the deaths of four girls and I'm probably going to be murdered tomorrow.
"Nothing!" I called back. I went to my room and dumped my stuff. I began to pace - it was five o'clock.
Seven hours later, I was still pacing. My mother and father had already gone to bed, but I kept thinking, thinking. Who was it? Who was killing these girls, and how? And was I going to be the next victim?
"Watson!" The walkie talkie on the dresser cackled. "Come downstairs and let me in."
I sighed relief and crept down the stairs. Lucky my parents are such sound sleepers. I opened the door silently and ushered Holmes in. We tiptoed into the kitchen and flicked a light on.
I sat at the table and pulled out a pad of paper I had been working on. "Here, Holmes, look at this."
SUSPECTS, the paper said.
Miss Basil
Motive - insurance
Mr. Johnson
Motive - insurance
Mr. Hailey
Motive - insurance, twisted mind revenge for the play (?)
George
Motive - hates the theater
Vicky
Motive - first chair
Holmes read it quickly and then busied himself pouring sodas for each of us.
"Now Holmes," I said at his back. "I think we can cross of Vicky."
"Why?"
"She's too nice! She's my friend! I'm certain of it!"
"Fine, cross her off if it makes you feel better."
I did, gleefully. "Next, Miss Basil can't be the one. She's always in the balcony, which is way too far away."
Holmes nodded, and I crossed her off, too. "And finally, George," I said. "I know you heard him muttering, but he's always in the background, vacuuming or dusting or something like that."
"Yes, so who does that leave us with?" Holmes came and set the glass of soda in front of me. I took a grateful swig - my throat was still dry and my head hurt.
"Mr. Hailey and Mr. Johnson."
"And Vicky."
"You have got it in for the girl!" I said, as loudly as I dared.
"Think about it," Holmes leaned forward. "She was in the room below the stage. She has a motive - she wants to be first chair. And wasn't she the one who was messing with your case today?"
"She was - sh-she did!" I moaned. I finished my soda, pushed back the chair from the kitchen table, and started pacing again. "Listen, Holmes, I know I got the rose but we have to go tomorrow. If I don't show the murderer will either come looking for me or kill someone else, right?"
"Right..." Holmes admitted slowly, standing.
"And I know how to take care of myself. I'm much more careful now, I swear. Holmes, you've got to let me go! We have GOT to catch who ever it is!" I shook my head, feeling sluggish all of a sudden.
Holmes caught me by the arm and put a hand to my forehead. "You're feverish again."
"I... I don't care." Why was the room going fuzzy?
"C'mon, you need to get some sleep."
"Sleep! I... can't sleep... I must figure this ... out..." I leaned against the kitchen wall and struggled to stay awake.
Holmes picked me up easily, smiling slightly. "Goodnight, Watson."
"You... good for nothing... stupid..." I muttered, as I fell fast, fast asleep.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sunlight in my room woke me. I jumped up. I was late for school! Why hadn't I set my alarm? I - oh, right, it's Saturday. Today was our last rehearsal before the concert.
Rehearsal! Caldecott Theater! The black rose! Bang - everything that happened yesterday came back and made my head ache.
I tossed the covers aside and sat up. I was still in my clothes from yesterday, but I smiled and wiggled my toes. He had taken off my shoes! How cute... I sighed and then shook my head. Which only made my headache worse.
I put a hand to my forehead and then drew it back, surprised. Holmes had tied a note around my wrist.
"Watson," it said in Holmes' tidy scrawl, "You are not to leave this house until I come to get you, is that clear? Don't scowl at me, it's for your own good." I scowled anyway, ripped the note off, and went to get dressed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I was halfway through a bowl of Cheerios when Holmes arrived. Mom let him in and he sat across the table from me, looking wary.
I gave him my worst double-barreled glare for putting me to bed... and then remembered the shoes. I reduced my glare to mild annoyance and finished my Cheerios in silence.
"The rehearsal's at 10:30," Mom said, bustling through the kitchen. "You'd better get a move on."
"Yeah, okay, bye Mom... I ... I love you!" I said, giving her a hug. I grabbed my flute before she could say anything and headed out the door.
Holmes followed, his violin case in hand. We walked in silence. I knew Holmes was deep in thought but I was still prickly about last night.
"Holmes, you should've let me stay up, I could've helped y-"
"Quiet!" He sounded on the edge. "Can't you see I'm trying to THINK?"
I shut up. We were finally at the steps of the Caldecott, and I was shaking again. We walked in, Holmes' eyes darting everywhere. I found my seat at the back of the stage and edged away from Vicky. She looked surprised, but I stayed where I was.
Halfway through the rehearsal, I heard something. A very, very soft metallic *click!*
Headache or no, my brain began to work in high gear, and suddenly all the pieces fit together. The moving chandelier - the remote controlled gun in the attic - the soft swish of air - the insurance papers - but most importantly, the hair and the wax. In a nano-second, I knew exactly who the murderer was - and exactly how I was going to be killed.
I dropped my flute and made a desperate snatch at the music stand. The top came loose in my hands and I whipped it above my head. And not a second to soon - with a sickening *thawng!* something hit the metal. I gulped and looked up.
The poisoned needle, clear and deadly, had gone all the way through the metal and the point was aimed straight at my head. I whimpered and then tossed the metal aside.
"Holmes!" I screamed, standing. "The attic! Vicky, get out of here! Get out!" Vicky, her eyes wide, stumbled away.
Mr. Johnson made a grab for my arm, but I jumped over the back of the chairs and raced for the stairwell to the attic. Holmes, fighting his way through the astonished orchestra students, was right behind me. As we began to stomp up the stairs, I could have sworn I heard Mr. Hailey say, "Well! Let's take it from measure 38, then, shall we?" At any rate, the orchestra started to play again.
Panting, we thundered up the stairs, Mr. Johnson close at our heels. "Holmes!" he yelled, "Stop!" Mr. Johnson leapt and grabbed Holmes around the ankles. They tumbled downwards, yelling.
"Watson! Go! Go!" Holmes screamed, wrestling with the bigger man.
I turned and clambered up the rest of the stairs. In a fit of heroics I kicked the door open and leapt into the attic, my hands balled into fists. "I know you're here," I snarled, taking a step into the attic. "I know you're here, and I know how you killed them. You put that gun in the chandelier, didn't you? And then you hid up here and killed them with poison. And you're still here. You can come out now," I snarled, panting. "You can come out now, Miss Basil!"
The attic was silent and I took another step in. "You made a wax dummy of yourself and put it in the balcony, so you'd always have an alibi! And you killed four innocent girls so you could collect insurance money, you monster! One thing, though, Miss Basil," I growled. "How DID you get the roses in the flute cases?"
"I guess you'll never know," Mrs. Basil said, stepping from behind the door and shutting it. She cocked the gun in her hand and walked forward slowly. You know, I hadn't counted on her having a gun. Her hair was pulled up again, but a few wisps escaped and curled around her square glasses. Her eyes were wild and she was slightly out of breath.
"Aren't you a clever little girl," Miss Basil purred, smiling. "That's why I chose you instead of Vicky. You were too clever for the dart, hm? But I doubt you'll be to clever for a bullet!"
BAM! The door was flung open again, and Mr. Johnson and Holmes entered, standing side by side. Mr. Johnson had his own gun, but Miss Basil simply smiled again and continued walking forward to me. She put the barrel against my head. "You two gentlemen," she said. "Will leave quietly, or else..."
I glanced down at the floor and realized where I was standing. On sudden inspiration, I kicked the latch on the trapdoor and plunged downwards. I grabbed the edge of the attic and screamed as I heard a gun shot above me, a gun shot that narrowly missed my head.
The orchestra students slowly stopped playing, staring at me. A trombone held one last note, going slowly flatter and flatter.
Three more gunshots rang out, and then a yell. I heaved myself back into the attic and lunged at Miss Basil. We fell, and I knocked the gun out of her hand. She slammed me backwards and put her hands around my throat, choking me...
Crack! Mr. Johnson hit Miss Basil with the but of his gun and she collapsed against me. He hauled her off and pulled handcuffs from his jacket. "Miss Basil," he said solemnly, "You are being arrested for murder. Anything you say can and will be used against you in..."
Someone slammed into me and I thought I was being attacked again. I stiffened, but it was only Holmes. "You're... you're bleeding," I said, running a finger across his cheek where he was cut. Holmes wiped the blood away.
"It's nothing," he said, sounding angry. "Don't you ever do that to me again!" Holmes shook my shoulders, and then kissed me firmly. "When I saw you go through the floor, I thought I - I thought..." he kissed me again, and again. I put my arms around his neck.
Mr. Johnson coughed, and we pulled back, embarrassed. Holmes grinned. "Watson, may I introduce..."
Mr. Johnson swept off his hat, smiling, "Mr. Peterson, of Scotland Yard."
"I remember you!" I gasped, standing with Holmes. "You were one of the detectives that we - "
"Led on a wild goose chase, yes, I remember, too." Mr. Peterson pulled Miss Basil to her feet.
"It wasn't a wild goose cha-" I started to say, but Holmes stamped on my foot. "Whatever." I muttered.
"That's why I was always trying to keep you two away," Mr. Peterson said. "I knew you'd want to investigate what was going on here, but it was much too dangerous. I kept trying to scare you away, but then..." Mr. Peterson grinned at me. "You don't scare easy, do you?"
I shook my head, chuckling.
"Good day then," Mr. Peterson tipped his hat and dragged a growling Miss Basil down the stairs.
I looked at Holmes, who smiled and took my hand. "You figured it out," he said, impressed.
I grinned. "It was elementary, my dear Holmes."
