The Bookcase of Sherman Holmes: A Holmes and Garden Anthology Read online

  THE BOOKCASE OF SHERMAN

  HOLMES

  A Holmes and Garden Collection

  A Matter of Business

  A Matter of Honour

  The Haunting of Sherman Holmes

  The Adventure of the Dead Wild Bore

  The Bespangled Fur

  ANDREA FRAZER

  After their decision to move into the world of sleuthing, Sherman Holmes and John Garden sometimes have a tricky time coming to grips with their new roles as private investigators. Things would work out just fine if people didn’t keep getting themselves murdered all the time. The local police aren’t very sympathetic – they even have the audacity to consider that Holmes & Garden aren’t much help at all!

  This anthology of five stories covers their early cases, as shadowy undercover investigator Joanne puts in some surprising appearances, and Holmes continues on his campaign to woo the lovely Mrs Shirley Garden …

  In A Matter of Business, as the investigations get underway, Holmes and Garden realise that not all cases are big juicy glamorous ones – missing pussycats and nabbed vegetables being some of the far-from-choice early examples. But that doesn’t mean every escapade won’t lead to something a bit more substantial … In A Matter of Honour, some bizarre deaths in an accountancy firm come under the scrutiny of the police – and the intrepid investigating duo. Curses and witchcraft abound! The Haunting of Sherman Holmes sees a Hallowe’en challenge draw Holmes and Garden in, totally unprepared for the horrors – and farce – of a night in a haunted house … There’s a meeting of the Quaker Street Irregulars, a devoted Sherlock Holmes appreciation society, in The Adventure of the Dead Wild Bore . The members might be die-hard Conan Doyle fans but nobody expected an actual murder … Finally, in The Bespangled Fur , their first Christmas in business together brings a jewel robbery into Holmes and Garden’s office, and there’s an unexpected outing for Joanne as Holmes’ plans for a romantic evening with Shirley Garden once more go sadly astray …

  Contents

  A MATTER OF BUSINESS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  A MATTER OF HONOUR

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE HAUNTING OF SHERMAN HOLMES

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  The Adventure of THE DEAD WILD BORE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  The Curious Incident of … THE BESPANGLED FUR

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  A MATTER OF BUSINESS

  Chapter One

  John Garden pulled himself together and got to his feet, and Sherman Holmes drew himself almost to attention. Standing beside her son, Shirley Garden smiled politely across her own desk and invited the weeping woman to move into the inner office.

  Holmes and Garden were now officially in business as private investigators and the terribly upset woman was their first client.

  Sherman Holmes, having inherited a large fortune, had finally found himself able to indulge his dream of emulating his near-namesake hero Sherlock by setting up a detective agency. His partner, Garden, he had first encountered by chance, when both men had been staying at the Black Swan Hotel and had become caught up in a series of murders. They had found common ground in their love of Conan Doyle’s hero and Garden, looking for an escape from his mundane existence, had readily agreed to join Holmes in his venture.

  Holmes had pictured himself like his fictional hero and imagined an exciting life as a consulting detective, solving all those hitherto unsolvable cases. However, there were two problems with this. One: although he was obviously the daring leading man to Garden’s sidekick, he wasn’t actually the brains of the outfit (that was Garden, although Holmes didn’t see it that way). Two: the good people of Hamsley Black Cross had far more mundane problems than had Conan Doyle’s Victorian Londoners.

  As he was about to find out.

  Holmes gently moved the distressed woman into the inner office and settled her in the chair on the other side of his desk, and Garden mouthed the words ‘cup of tea’ to Shirley before shutting the door between the offices for the sake of confidentiality.

  Holmes had the appearance of one who could be confided in, being on the plump side, middle-aged, respectably dressed, and sporting a fine old-fashioned moustache such as one’s uncle might have worn in one’s childhood. He sat now, behind his desk, smiling a kind smile at their very first live client, absolutely oozing charm and reliability.

  ‘Allow us to introduce ourselves,’ he said in his cultivated, reassuring tones, held out his hand to be shaken and continued, ‘My name is Sherman Holmes, and this is my business partner’ – here, he extended a hand to indicate Garden – ‘John Garden. How may we be of service to you, madam?’

  After hands were shaken, the woman extracted a handkerchief from her handbag, dried her eyes, and informed them, ‘I am Petula Exeter. I live here in Hamsley Black Cross, in a very respectable area, but there have been a lot of pets disappearing recently, and my neighbours and I think that a cat-napper is at work. My own darling little Princess Leia disappeared three days ago.

  ‘At first I thought she’d just wandered off or got shut in someone’s shed or garage, but I’ve gone round the whole neighbourhood and all I can conclude is that someone has made off with her. She’s a pedigree, you know – a prize-winner as a kitten, and worth quite some money.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Ms Exeter.’ Holmes had actually remembered to use the title Ms and not fallen into the trap of addressing a single woman as married, or vice versa. ‘Do you have a snapshot of her that we could look at?’

  As she fumbled, once more, in her capacious handbag, Garden put a cup and saucer in front of her, his face a picture of dismay. Was this what their future held? Misplaced pussycats? With his other hand he put a sugar bowl and spoon beside her cup and saucer and declared, ‘I took the liberty of assuming that you took milk, but I’ve brought the sugar in for you to help yourself. If you should want anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.’ He suddenly felt like a fool. What was she going to request, a burger and fries? Pulling himself together for the second time in a few minutes, he approached his own desk, deciding that he would have to achieve the right mind-set before he could pretend to be a proper private investigator. It would be just like being Joanne, sort of.

  Although it was not public knowledge, in his free time Garden was a cross-dresser of some considerable skill, his alter ego being called Joanne. Just as he had to concentrate on walking, talking, and s
itting like a female when he was in this guise, so would he have to do when he was John H. Garden, PI. He had had a vision, as Holmes had ushered this first client into the inner office, that most of their clients would be female, and most of them would be in some degree of distress. Men sorted out their problems with their fists on the most basic level, or with their power, as they moved up the business or family hierarchies. Women didn’t.

  ‘Have any of your neighbours told you that they have, er, mislaid a pet?’ asked Holmes as he stared at the photograph of a cat with a most supercilious expression. Garden, now achieving his goal of adopting the necessary sympathetic attitude, stuffed his knuckles into his mouth for fear of bursting into unforgiveable laughter at the sight of Holmes’ serious face.

  ‘A lady in the next street said that her Siamese has been gone for four days now, but that she expected he’d be back when he’d got whatever it was that was bugging him out of his system. She didn’t seem at all worried. How she could have been so hard-faced about the disappearance of a beloved pet I have no idea.’

  Mrs Exeter held her handkerchief up to her eyes again as they filled with fresh tears. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’ enquired Holmes, slipping the photograph into the top drawer of his desk. ‘Has anyone been seen lurking around the area, either on foot or in a vehicle? Have other pets gone missing, apart from your Princess …’ – Garden shot off into the tiny cloakroom downstairs to give vent to his mirth, flushing the lavatory and turning on both basin taps to cover the noise of his sniggers – ‘Leia and this Siamese?’

  ‘An elderly lady across the road said she had seen a van a couple of times, but I’ve noticed no one myself. And a lady on the corner said her little Shih Tzu had run away, but may have been taken.’

  ‘Did your neighbour give any description of the van – make, model, colour, description of its driver?’ Inside the cloakroom, Garden had to sit down. There were tears pouring down his cheeks, and he was in danger of wetting himself. This was obviously a bad case of first-day nerves that was getting the better of him.

  ‘She has very limited eyesight, and could only say that it was a van, and that the colour was very pale – perhaps cream, grey, or white. She’s actually registered blind, so I couldn’t realistically expect any more of her.’ Garden was glad he had automatically taken down his lower garments, as a fresh wave of mirth rolled over him. Of all the vehicles in all the world, they were going to be looking for a van – possibly white, make unknown.

  Still behind his desk, Holmes opened a new notepad and asked for Mrs Exeter’s address and telephone number, noting them carefully in his most immaculate writing. He then asked for the names and addresses of both the lady who had seen the van and the ladies whose dog and cat had disappeared.

  ‘Is there any other information, no matter how inconsequential’ – in the cloakroom, Garden thought that he would suffocate from lack of air, so much was he laughing and trying to keep quiet – ‘that you might be able to add to what you have already told me?’

  ‘She had a little blue collar round her neck; for f-l-e-a-s you know, with a little bell on it, to stop her killing any dear birdies.’

  ‘Thank you very much for your business, dear lady. May I give you one of our business cards and assure you that we will do our very best to help you in any way we can in this time of distress.’ Holmes could be very pompous when the situation required it. ‘My partner and I will get straight on to this, and hope to restore your dear kitty to you in next to no time.’

  Holmes rose, and Mrs Exeter followed suit. ‘I’m so grateful. My little darling’s only six months old; still a baby. I got her after my husband died, and she’s such good company for me that I don’t feel at all lonely when she’s around.

  ‘Did I mention that she’s a silver-spotted Bengal? As a breed they’re quite close to the Asian leopard cat, and so inquisitive and mischievous. I really don’t know what I shall do without her. Please do your best to locate her, gentlemen.’

  ‘We shall do everything within our power to return her to your no doubt excellent care in next to no time. A very good day to you, madam,’ Holmes positively chirped, hoping that his voice would drown out the sounds coming from the cloakroom.

  ‘Oh, I told the lady whose doggy’s gone missing about you, so she might pay you a visit too.’

  ‘Thank you so much. So kind of you,’ said Holmes, ushering his client out of the door and into the outer office. ‘Please call in or telephone at any time.’

  As she vacated the premises, Holmes shot back through the door to the inner office, pulled open the cloakroom door viciously, and yelled, ‘Garden, what the hell do you think you’re playing at? That was a paying customer and our very first case.’

  As Holmes was upbraiding the disgraceful behaviour of his partner, the street door opened again, letting in what seemed like a tuneless wail from the bagpiper booked by Garden to attract customers to the opening day of their joint business venture, and their very second customer shuffled up to Shirley Garden at her reception desk.

  Holmes immediately fell silent, put on a serious face, and returned behind his desk, where he tried to look busy and business-like at the same time. A much-chastened Garden did likewise, now thoroughly sobered up from his bout of the nervous giggles – a form of stage fright, he understood.

  After a couple of minutes, there was a discreet knock at the door, and Shirley Garden, in her most formal manner, introduced Miss Jemima Jerome, who wished to consult with them over a little problem. Holmes invited their new client to take a seat, this time at Garden’s desk, and sat in his swivelling captain’s chair watching with interest to see how Garden handled what would probably turn out to be a similar experience to the last case. Let’s see how funny he finds this one, he thought.

  Garden smiled across at the elderly woman, and introduced himself and his partner, opening an identical brand new notebook and asking her to explain how they could be of assistance to her.

  ‘It’s my little doggy, Prince Rupert,’ she started. ‘He’s gone missing and I presume he has been doggy-napped. I was given your name by Mrs Exeter whose pussy’s gone astray. She called on me and we had a little chat, which ended with her telling me she was going to consult with you, and I decided that that was the best course of action for me, too, so here I am.’

  ‘Do you have a photograph of, um, Prince Rupert?’ asked Garden with a straight face, noticing that Holmes was the one now looking fit to burst.

  ‘He’s a pedigree, you know. He was awfully expensive, but I felt it was worth it when my old pussy passed over. A dog gives you so much more loyalty and keeps you fit, too. You also get to know new people when you bump into other dog-walkers.’

  Taking the proffered photograph, Garden wondered just how much exercise one got from taking a toy poodle for a walk, but he held his peace. It was his job to find this missing gem, not question its owner’s motives in purchasing it. ‘How long has his Highness been gone for?’ Garden asked, with a sly wink at the animal’s owner that made her crack a small smile.

  ‘His Highness wandered off about four days ago. I’ve searched all the streets where we usually go walkies, showing everyone I meet his photograph, but no one seems to have seen him.’

  ‘Let me note down your name and address, and may I keep this photograph for now, just until we locate Prince Rupert?’

  ‘Of course you may,’ replied Jemima Jerome while Garden slipped the photograph out of sight and glanced over at his partner’s desk, behind which had issued a sort of smothered snorting noise. Holmes’ chair made no sound as he pushed himself back from his desk and disappeared into the tiny cloakroom.

  ‘We’ll pull out all the stops,’ Garden promised in all seriousness, only to hear what sounded like a fit of coughing coming from behind the flimsy door of the cramped toilette facilities. ‘Here is my card. Don’t hesitate to call or telephone at any time. Good day to you, madam.’ Garden rang a bell on his desk, promptly producing his mother, who ushered the
ir second client off the premises.

  ‘Holmes!’ he hissed, dragging the door to the lavatory open and glaring at his mirthful partner, trying desperately to suppress his laughter.

  ‘Sorry, old chap. I didn’t realise it sounded so funny to a third party,’ he managed, through a gale of inadequately suppressed laughter. ‘I promise it won’t happen again.’

  ‘I should hope not; and after telling me off so thoroughly.’

  ‘I’m going to nip off and call on the lady whose Siamese has gone walkabout, and the old dear who saw the van,’ said the senior partner, pulling himself together.

  ‘That suits me fine. I’ve got some telephone calls to make,’ responded Garden, a determined glint in his eyes.

  As Holmes left the office, he found the bagpiper sitting in the clients’ chair sharing a cup of tea and biscuits with Shirley Garden. ‘And don’t be too long about it,’ he warned the man, who was wearing enough tartan to model for a shortbread tin. The poor man had been piping for some time now, and was red in the face and puffed, for the weather had turned warm, and his tartan was of a heavy weave. Evidently he was sorely in need of a break.

  As soon as Holmes had departed, excited at having something to do, Garden got out the telephone directory and began his very first mission as a bona fide private investigator, as excited as Holmes had been at the thought of visiting a possible witness.

  Holmes’ enthusiasm was somewhat dampened when he tried to get an answer at the door of Mrs Mary Wilton, the woman who had noticed the van. He had rung the doorbell long and hard several times, and had actually resorted to banging the knocker as hard as he could, when a quavering voice called from inside instructing him to wait a minute, and not be so impatient.

  When the door finally cracked open on a security chain, all he could see was a beady eye, magnified enormously through one lens of a pair of strong spectacles, and a glimpse of a white head. Before she had the chance to challenge him, he had his business card through the slit and into her conveniently positioned claw.