I stayed up late that night. I had finished my drink and strolled into the guest bedroom about ten past midnight. The soft light green covers had been pulled back and the white pillows fluffed nicely. The room was bare except for the small desk in front of a window and a huge stack of cardboard boxes in the corner.
My head spun and my lips still tingled from Scarlett's sweet kiss. What had she meant by 'you get burned?' Did she really like me that way? Did she really want me to keep my distance from her? I admit to you, I really, really like Scarlett but my mind will never say that I loved her. I do not love Scarlett Holmes. Maybe if I did see other women then I could get over her and we could continue to be partners. That's what I really longed for: her partnership.
After a while of pacing the room, I got nosey. I took the box on the top of the pile and placed it on the bed. The box was sealed, so let's just say that the wind blew it open. Inside was a single photo album and a brass key. Strange for such a large box. I picked up the small key and twirled it through my fingers. It was smooth and surprisingly, warm, as if it had been used not too long ago. I put the key back in the box and grabbed the photo book.
The very first page had a large picture, that nearly took up the entire page. There stood a tall man with short curly hair and an angled face. In his arms a little girl, no older than two years old. The girl wore a white dress that made her own black hair stand out. They both smiled at each other with a kind of love that only a father and daughter could share. I knew the faces immediately, it was Scarlett and Sherlock. They next few pages were filled with the two, hugging, smiling, laughing. It was beautiful. But suddenly, Sherlock Holmes seemed to grow scarcer and scarcer as the pages turned. One picture made me stop.
Scarlett, at about three or four years old, stood alone on the front stoop of 221B Baker Street. She wore yet another white dress but her hair, tied back in a pony-tail, was longer, and thicker. It was raining in the picture. She looked sad just staring out into the fog. Scarlett wasn't even looking at the camera.
I turned the page and watched Scarlett grow up. There was a photo of her off on her first day of school, and another of her pulling back an arrow on a bow at age seven. But, knowing me, I found another picture that made me stare. Scarlett stood in the middle of a park with a floor-length dark blue gown. Her hair was pulled back and her flawless face smiled. There was another boy in a suit and bow-tie standing with his hands on her hips. I assumed this was before a high school dance.
The pictures stopped there. But a lingering question loomed in my mind. Who took these pictures? Your mind may jump to Mrs. Hudson, mine did to at first. There was something, something about how the pictures were taken that made me doubtful. As far as I knew she didn't have a mother around but hell what did I know?
I put the book back in the box and sat on the bed alone. Finally, I turned off the light and nested myself in the covers. I had only been asleep about ten minutes before Scarlett burst through my door and turned on the light.
"James!" she shouted. "Are you awake? Of course you're awake! James!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I grumbled.
"I know where the killers are going to strike next!" she continued to yell.
"What? How could you possibly know that?" I questioned.
She ran back out the door and return within a few seconds. Scarlett tossed a book at my face, which, thank God, I caught. I read the title; 666 GRIMM FAIRY TALES, in bloody red letters. I didn't even want to know where Scarlett got this book. "They are no going by every down the list of stories in order! It's a different pattern!" She sat down next to me and took the book from my hands. she turned to the table of contents. She had highlighted a number of titles in yellow. "What was the first murder?"
"Cinderella," I answered.
"Correct, and see here. Cinderella is the first story in the book. Now what was the second murder?
"Rapunzel."
"And that's the second story listed. That's why I thought it was going in order. But look a this," she ordered and I obeyed. "The thrid killing was Snow White, which is the fourth story."
"It skipped three?" I observed.
"Its doubling, James." I gave her a strange look. She rolled her eyes. "What's one plus one?"
"Two."
"What's two plus two?"
"Four. Oh, I see now."
"Very clever, since there are two of them they are doubling." I took the book back and skipped to the eighth story.
"So you think the next you will involve the "Twelve Dancing Princesses?'"
"Yes."
"Where are the killers going to find and kill twelve dancers and not get noticed?"
"Here," said Scarlett as she handed me a printed out piece of paper. I read it out loud; "'The London Institution of Art presents: The Players' Masquerade Ball.' What does this have to do with anything?"
"Keep reading," said Scarlett.
"'Featuring the Ruby Family Dancers,'" I read.
"Abigail, Bella, Crystal, Dani, Ellie, Flora, Ginny, Hazel, Iris, Jewel, Kelly, and Lacey Ruby are twelve dancers that just so happen to be sisters, from Sweden. They are making their first performance in the United Kingdom and week from tonight, and unless we are at that ball it might as well be their last."
"Did you memorize all those names?" I asked.
"James, that's no the point."
"How are two people going to kill twelve women when they are performing in front of the most artistic geniuses of our generation?" I snapped.
"I have a few guesses," Scarlett shrugged. "But we have to do something."
"How are we supposed to get in?"
"I have, you could say, inherited a lot of eyes and ears all over the city. Trust me, James, we can get in. Why are you being so reluctant? I thought you wanted to put an end to this."
"I do!" I said. "But I can't-"
"You can't what?" I looked down as the blood rushed to my cheeks. Scarlett stared at me. "You can't dance," she concluded. This was a statement not a question.
I wanted to get away from the subject. "Well, I think I've deduced something of my own."
"Enlighten me," she drawled.
"The killers are siblings."
"I know."
"What?" I was shocked. "How did you know that?"
"Two famous figures that would be involved in fairy tales. Hansel and Gretel; they are most likely brother and sister."
"Wow, and for once I was starting to feel smart."
"You are smart," said Scarlett but I detected a bit of sarcasm in her tone. She picked put the dance flyer. "What do you say James? Will you go out with me to catch a killer?"