Fourth chapter! Joy to the world! My stupid computer isn't working right now, so it might be a while before you get a chapter after this. Thanks for the nice reviews, I really appreciate them. Please keep reading, and if you don't then read something by another good author, such as Someday Sara, or Hannah Holmes. Queen Hotaru, Cyber Dustbunny, and Meryl Lynn are also good reads. Have fun reading these (or mine)!

Chapter Four: Lieutenant Williams

Holmes's POV:

She was enraged, to say the least.

"You are enlisting help from my friends!" Watson screamed. I backed away with my arms raised.

"Watson, I can hardly say that I'm 'enlisting' them, as you so eloquently put it. Kline and Christine can hardly be denied this case. They make a formidable pair, the two of them. Very smart. Tell me about them," I pressed. Watson's anger melted away with the thought of her friends.

"We can get back to this argument later. You want to know about Kline and Christine, fine. Let's start with Kline, shall we?

"Amanda Evie Kline. Age sixteen, as of April 3rd. Brilliant in math and science, well versed in world history and geography. Superb musician," she began. I raised a hand to protest.

"To quote Americans, 'duh'. I knew this. Tell me about her... in another way," I told her. Watson sat down in the couch that had been moved into my room.

"Let me see, let me see. Um, she moved to Ashling when she was ten years old. She was pretty odd, to tell you the truth. Nice, funny, but strange. She would of fit in with the ditzes at my school really well, were she not so smart. Genius, I'm telling you. She was doing complex calculus at the age of fourteen. She lives in this pretty darn large house, and acts as 'the first born son', as she put it. She bales hay, or junk like that." Watson paused, giving me the perfect place to intervene.

"That's nice. Might I ask about her personality?" I inquired. She nodded and thought again.

"She's bold, and not afraid of doing weird things. I remember that once when I went to her sleepover, she made out with a stuffed pheasant we later named George! Anyway, she kind of keeps to herself. If I had to describe her with one word, it would be vibrant. She's amazing. Her energy is boundless! She's really nice, but can be nasty to people she doesn't like. She was always teasing us, I remember. Especially Rachel and Christine," Watson finished. I sighed.

"Thank you. Now Christine. Tell me her full name, age, and where her areas of intelligence are," I told Watson. Watson grinned and pursed her lips.

"Very well. Christine Elisa Penninger. Age fifteen, as of September tenth. Especially smart in English, immense vocabulary. She is good in chemistry, and good in fencing. She was really good at music, if I remember correctly. She was really bad at math, though. She didn't have a mind for numbers. She was good at history. Ask about stuff from the past, and she can tell you about it," Watson said. I nodded.

"All right. Tell me about her history here," I demanded. Watson smiled.

"You sure are interested in these two, aren't you? Well, she moved here when she was three from Pennsylvania. Now she is the oddest of the group. Odd sense of fashion too. Only likes dark colors. She loves black turtlenecks, and black slacks. She loves her high heeled black boots. She took pride in being a dork, as she called it. She never paid attention to what she looked like, as long as she was happy. She has a quick temper. She is quick to get angry, quick to forgive, and she never forgets. She has a half-way photographic memory. She lives in a rather large house, for our small town, but not huge, and is an only child," Watson commended.

"Interesting. Now her personality."

"Urg. She is the hardest person to put into personality. Christine is... different. She is very nice, annoyingly nice at times. She can be nasty, but doesn't like to be. She reserves that for people who tease other people. She is kind of depressing at times, and really quiet, but loud, if you know what I mean. She acts like a shy little girl, but is very colorful. She is the perfect spy, if what you told me is true. When I went to school with her, no one would ever notice her. Everyone knew who she was, but she blended in so perfectly. To put her into a word.... clashing. Her personality is constantly changing," Watson concluded. I flopped down next to her on the couch.

"They are both interesting girls. Kline is bright and bold, whereas Christine is drab and quiet. But when I met her she seemed bold enough," I commented. Watson nodded.

"That's what I meant by clashing. She doesn't have a set personality. Kline is very set in her ways. However, their is one thing that Christine is set on," Watson explained. I cocked an eyebrow.

"And what is that?" I asked. Watson grinned.

"You're going to hate this... religion. She is a Christian, and very set on virtues. She refuses to swear, unless under extreme stress, or she has to for a role she is playing. She doesn't believe in premarital sex, hates evil, embraces good, and reads the Bible like a good little girl should," Watson mocked. I frowned slightly.

"I have no qualms against religion. I think she is right to have virtues. What about Kline, what are her virtues?" I questioned. Watson shrugged.

"Only she knows. She keeps to herself," replied Watson. I nodded grimly.

"Well, they will be joining us on our investigation. Come along, we're going to meet Lieutenant Williams," I said. I rose from the couch and grabbed a jacket, walking out the door.

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"Why is it we always have to go to the creepy houses?" Watson grumbled.

We stood in front of an old house, that was large and run down. Kline and Christine both grinned at Watson.

"Shall I knock then?" Kline asked, stepping forward. I gestured toward the knocker, permitting her to hit it. Kline approached it, smoothed her skirt, and rapped soundly on the brass knocker.

A sort of grumbling came from inside, then the sound of light footsteps. Kline took a step backwards and the door swung open, revealing a rather small woman, clothed in black and wearing a veil.

"What do you want? I've answered all your questions!" barked the woman, whom I assumed to be Lieutenant Williams.

Kline vigilantly stepped near the woman.

"I'm sorry Madam, but my friend here, Stanley Young from England wishes to interview you. He's a transfer, you see, and he is now involved in the case," she said kindly. Miss Williams snorted.

"First, it's mademoiselle. Second, who are all of you?" she growled. Christine stepped forward at the cue.

"The woman with black hair is Miss Samantha Johnson. The lady who introduced Stanley is Miss Evie White. And I am Celia Sousburg. May we come in?" asked Christine, all manners and charm. The lady grunted.

"Very well. Make it quick though. The lose of my husband has taken me hard, and I'm going to church later today," she replied. She opened the door wide, permitting us entrance.

The hall was grand, about as grand as Watson's home. Paintings covered the walls, plants were against each corner, and an oriental rug greeted us as we stepped in.

"You have a very nice home Miss..." I trailed off, allowing her to tell me what she preferred to be called.

"Williams. Lynn Williams. Come along, Mr. Young. The living room is this way," she said. She dragged us off down the corridor.

I must say that I was surprised she didn't recognize Christine or Kline. As they had explained, everyone in this town knew each other. But Christine was handy with the makeup. She had dressed Kline and herself up quite well. Kline's long hair had been pulled back, and Christine's reading glasses had been added onto her nose. She wore a knee-length skirt that was black, and a white button down top. Christine was exactly the opposite. She had tamed her red frizz hair into a sleek, straight mane, and wore no glasses. Her skirt was a crisp white, and her top was a black sweater. They looked like very convincing assistants, even secretaries.

Miss Williams sat us down in hard, American chairs, and then sat in one directly across from me, easing herself down gently.

"Now what is it you wish to ask me, Mr. Young?" she asked. I cleared my throat, and gestured to Christine.

"Miss Williams, what can you tell us about your husband?" I asked. Christine began to slink away from the group, taking care in not being noticed. It was part of our plan. While Kline, Watson and I distracted Lieutenant Williams, Christine would have a nice peak around.

"He was a drunk. An unethical, non-Christian drunk. Only the Lord knows why I married him," Miss Williams said. I raised an eyebrow.

"I am to assume you are a regular, God fearing Christian then, Miss Williams?" I questioned. She snorted with laughter.

"I haven't been to a church in ten years. Tonight will be my first time. When I say non-Christian, I mean that he was a devil worshipper," Williams laughed. I frowned.

"I'm afraid you lost me. He practiced the occult?"

"Hah! No, my dear boy. He was a woman beater, is what I mean," grunted Williams. I shook my head.

"Did he beat you?"

"All the time, he did. Every night. Hurt my feelings a great deal. My own father never once hit me," responded Williams. I nodded and Watson quickly scribbled down everything that was said.

"Do you know why?"

"He was drunk."

"Where did he go to drink?"

"A place called Wolves Tavern. It's the only bar in town, after all. We get about a drunk every two weeks."

"Do you know anything about the murders that have been happening recently?"

"Nope. Just that they're really bloody, and the local police officers are really confused."

"Why do you know that?"

"Because they said so themselves. May I ask you a question Mr. Young?"

This surprised me, but I regained my composure quickly.

"Yes, you may," I told her. Miss Williams raised her head defiantly.

"Why do you so desperately want to track down the man who is doing this town a justice? Killing drunks that probably beat their wives is never a bad thing," she said. I sat back in my seat, shocked at how cold-blooded she was.

"Kevin O'Leary was the only man of the group that was married. The rest were either engaged or single. The one man who was engaged was described as 'a kind gentle man, who never touched alcohol'," I informed her.

"Until the night he died, anyway," she snorted. Suddenly, some sort of a ruckus came from down the hall. After a minute or two, the butler entered, holding Christine by the collar.

"Mademoiselle, this lady was caught sneaking around the upstairs. What shall I have done with her?" he asked in a snooty voice. Miss Williams bolted to her feet and pointed an accusing finger at us.

"You sent her in here to spy on me! My husband and I may not have been on the best of terms, but I loved him dearly! Kevin may not have been the best man alive, but I would never kill my love!" she shrieked. Christine was dropped ineloquently to the ground, and I took a step back from the raving Miss Williams.

"God forgive me, I did get angry at him! I was hurt by his hurting me! But when he was sober, he was the kindest, sweetest man I have ever known! Get out of my house! Get-" Miss Williams broke off with a sob, and collapsed to the ground crying. The butler took a step forward and grabbed my arm.

"Leave now, sir, and don't think about coming back. The missus was indeed must upset by her husbands death. You are barking up the wrong tree," the butler cried. I grabbed Watson, and Kline snatched up Christine, and we ran out the door, leaving behind the wails of Miss Williams.

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"YOU GOT CAUGHT!" screamed Kline. Christine winced at her.

"Wasn't exactly my fault. The maid dropped her vacuum cleaner on top of my head! I was in a closet for heaven sakes!" Christine discerned. I nodded toward her.

"Did you find anything?" I asked.

"Nothing! I don't know if this woman did it or not. There was nothing I could find, or even pretend to apply," she supplied.

"Well, I for one don't think she did it. She was much to distraught about it," I informed them. Christine and Kline nodded, and Watson sighed.

"So who did it then? Who could of done it? Who hates drunks enough to rip out their hearts?" Watson asked. I looked toward Kline, who looked toward Christine. She pulled out a small black notebook and tossed it to Kline. Kline opened it and read out loud.

"Let's see. Their is Mr. Davidson, who runs a church. And Miss Sarah Winston, who runs a bookshop. And a Mrs. and Mr. Lellway, who own an insurance company," Kline announced. I groaned.

"Lets not worry about it tonight. Tomorrow we can visit the bar," I moaned. Christine and Kline broke off away from Watson and I, and we went home, disturbed greatly by the crimes that had been committed, the images of dead bodies in our minds.