No Police Like Holmes , livre ebook
206
pages
English
Ebooks
2016
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206
pages
English
Ebooks
2016
Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne En savoir plus
Publié par
Date de parution
07 décembre 2016
Nombre de lectures
0
EAN13
9781780922089
Langue
English
The Investigating Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock Holmes Colloquium and donation of the third largest private collection of Sherlockiana in the world were supposed to produce a weekend of great publicity for tiny St. Benignus college in Erin, Ohio. But when theft and murder come to campus, college public relations director Jeff Cody finds himself knee-deep in Sherlockian suspects. Besieged by an aggressive reporter he loves but no longer dates, he is also competing with his eccentric brother-in-law, Sebastian McCabe, to solve the crimes first. The mess worsens when Jeff and his ex-girlfriend, Lynda Teal, themselves fall under suspicion of murder and with good reason, for they have something to hide. This satirical romp takes Sherlock Holmes seriously, but not Holmesians. A witty and engaging spoof sure to delight not only the deerstalker set but mystery fans in general.
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Contents
Front Matter................................................. 4 Tîte Page .................................................. 4 Pubîser Inormatîon ................................ 5 Dedîcatîon................................................. 6
No Poîce îke Homes ................................. 7 Murder, Se Saîd ....................................... 7 You Ca hîs a Party? .............................. 10 Nîgt Work.............................................. 19 “We’ve Had a Lîtte Incîdent” ................... 25 “Someone I Know” ................................... 30 “A Most Vauabe Instîtutîon”.................... 35 “We Have to Tak”.................................... 41 Out o Contro ......................................... 47 Smîe or te Camera................................ 53 Seuts on te Case................................... 59 Power Luncîng ....................................... 63 Takîng în te Lîbrary .............................. 68 I Can’t Beîeve hîs .................................. 75 Master o Dîsguîse.................................... 81 “Women Are Never to Be Trusted”............. 83 “We’ Know It Wen We See It”................ 92 Goîng Home Agaîn .................................. 99 Costume Party ....................................... 105 Oscar te Grouc ................................... 110 Wat We Have Here . . . (Part Two) ....... 116 Too Many Suspects ................................. 120 Pubîc Reatîons ..................................... 125 Persona Space........................................ 131 Bacon, Eggs, and Suspîcîon ..................... 137
“I hînk I’m on to Sometîng” ................ 143 I’ve Got Your Number ............................ 150 Here Comes te Judge ............................. 153 he Key to Everytîng............................. 159 Poîce Procedures .................................... 165 Not Tonîgt, I Have a Headace............. 168 he Return o Sebastîan McCabe ............ 173 On te Hook.......................................... 180 he Adventure o te Empty House.......... 188 End o te Game .................................... 194 he Wrap-up.......................................... 202
End Matter............................................... 204 A Few Words O hanks ......................... 204 Aso Avaîabe ........................................ 205
NO POLICE LIKE HOLMES Introducing Sebastian McCabe
by Dan Andriacco
Publiser Information Pubîsed în te UK by MX Pubîsîng 335 Prîncess Park Manor, Roya Drîve, ondon, N11 3GX www.mxpublishing.comDîgîta Edîtîon converted and dîstrîbuted în 2011 by Andrews UK îmîted www.andrewsuk.com © Copyrîgt 2011 Dan Andrîacco he rîgt o Dan Andrîacco to be îdentîIed as te autor o tîs work as been asserted by îm în accordance wît te Copyrîgt, Desîgns and Patents Act 1998. A rîgts reserved. No reproductîon, copy or transmîssîon o tîs pubîcatîon may be made wîtout express prîor wrîtten permîssîon. No paragrap o tîs pubîcatîon may be reproduced, copîed or transmîtted except wît express prîor wrîtten permîssîon or în accordance wît te provîsîons o te Copyrîgt Act 1956 (as amended). Any person wo commîts any unautorîsed act în reatîon to tîs pubîcatîon may be îabe to crîmîna prosecutîon and cîvî caîms or damage. A caracters appearîng în tîs work are Ictîtîous. Any resembance to rea persons, îvîng or dead, îs purey coîncîdenta. he opînîons expressed ereîn are tose o te autors and not o MX Pubîsîng. Cover desîgn bywww.staunch.com
hîs book îs ondy dedîcated to PAUL D. HERBERT, B.S.I. and members o te Tankervîe Cub, past and present – tey are notîng îke te Serockîans în tîs book!
Murder, Se Said ynda Tea, my ormer ady ove, ad îed to me. ookîng back now, ï reaîze tat wasn’t te ony possîbe expanatîon or wy se ad drîven away rom er apartment înstead o toward ît ater teîng me se was goîng ome to cange er cotes. But ît was te ony one tat occurred to me at te tîme. Se was up to sometîng and se was deaîng me out. Was ît a îne on te crîme we’d been învestîgatîng – or some new romantîc entangement? ï ad to know. Her brîgt yeow Mustang was just at te edge o campus, stopped at te traic îgt – a notorîousy ong îgt. ï stî ad a cance, just a cance, o catcîng up. ï pued my Scwînn out o te rack beînd Muckereîde Center, mounted ît, and soved of, pedaîng urîousy. Unseasonaby warm wînd or Marc pused across my ace. ït was sîx-twenty on a Ine near-sprîng aternoon, cear and res. Bîrds soud ave been cîrpîng. ï et îke e. ynda ad never îed to me beore, so ar as ï knew. Se’d yeed at me, sure, and caed me unpeasant names on numerous occasîons. But se’d never îed to me wen we were a coupe. he reaîzatîon tat tîngs were dîferent between us now, and probaby aways woud be, cut înto my gut îke a butcer knîe. ï pedaed arder. ï weaved în ront o an edery woman unced over te wee o a sîver gray Buîck ucerne. Se ad er wîndows up and er aîr condîtîonîng on, rusîng te season by at east a coupe o monts, so ï don’t know wat se ad to say to me, but se was vîgorous about ît. By te tîme te îgt canged ï’d managed to get beînd ynda. Beîng on two wees înstead o our, ï was abe wît efort to weave myse înto wat ï judged to be er bînd spot.
We snaked troug downtown Erîn, past te Gambe Bank & Trust Co., te Masonîc Ha, te Beans & Books cofee ouse and bookstore (rîgt across te street rom Starbucks), te Sussex County Court House, Garrîson’s Antîques, Danîe’s Apotecary, and te oices ohe Erîn Observer & News-Ledger, were ynda works as news edîtor. Just as ï was begînnîng to wonder ow muc onger ï coud keep up te pace, ynda turned înto te garage o te WînIed Hote severa bocks aead o me. Erîn aso as anoter quaîty ote, te Harrîdan, and a ew caîn motes, but te WînIed îs te odest ostery în tîs coege town, te most eegant, and te cosest to campus. Most o te out-o-town partîcîpants în te “ïnvestîgatîng Artur Conan Doye and Serock Homes” cooquîum were stayîng tere. he obby ad Locked wapaper, red carpetîng, and two banks o tree eevators eac, wît wanut doors. he tan o ynda’s skîrt was just dîsappearîng înto te artest eevator wen ï entered te obby. he od-asîoned neede above te eevator door sowy swung în a a-moon arc to te number nîne as ï watced. Wen te mîdde eevator opened în ront o me and a amîy wît tree kîds spewed out, ï got în and pused te same number. My stomac was în Ucer Cîty on te way up. Here my ex-gîrrîend was meetîng somebody în a ote room and ît dîdn’t take a seut în a deerstaker cap to Igure out wo and wy. hat urt me îke ï adn’t been urt sînce Wendy Kotzwînke trew me over or a ootba payer în te eevent grade. (he ootba payer ater became a used car saesman, and not a very good one.) ï guess ï wasn’t over ynda ater a. Wo ad ï been tryîng to kîd? Wen te eevator doors opened on te nînt Loor, ï ound myse în an acove. Feeîng îke some seazy prîvate eye – muc seazîer tan Max Cutter, te ero o te detectîve noves ï wrîte în my a-too-abundant spare tîme – ï peaked around te corner înto te maîn corrîdor. Notîng to te rîgt.
ï turned my ead te oter way or a second, ten quîcky jerked ît back beore ynda coud see me. Se was în te away, standîng în ront o a door, Ingerîng one o te tose rectanguar pîeces o pastîc tat passes or a ote key tese days. ï rîsked anoter ook and se was gone, avîng no doubt dîsappeared înto te room. Now wat te e soud ï do? For some tîme ï essentîay dîd notîng, just stood tere waîtîng or a braînstorm. ï dîdn’t get one. Just as ï Inay started wakîng tentatîvey down te away toward were ï ad ast seen ynda, se re-emerged, comîng out o te room back Irst. Wen se turned around ï was rîgt în ront o er. Her ace was pae, er eyes wîd. “Jef!” Se trew er arms around me. Her body was trembîng. ïnstînctîvey, ï ed er tîgty. he proxîmîty was not unpeasant. “Wat’s wrong?” ï saîd Inay. “Wat îs ît, ynda?” “ït’s murder,” se saîd. “hat’s wat.”
You Call his a Party? Beore te mayem was a over ï was accused o murder and ynda got conked on te ead. But te woe busîness started înnocenty enoug at a party ess tan twenty-our ours beore se ound te body. Everywere ï ooked tat nîgt, peope were wearîng deerstaker caps. Not everybody, mînd you, but enoug to gîve te îdea tat tîs was no ordînary cocktaî party. Wîc ît sure wasn’t. From were ï stood în my sîster’s away, nursîng a cafeîne-ree Dîet Coke, ï was bombarded wît snatces o strange conversatîon rom te îvîng room on one sîde and te dînîng room on te oter. “O course Serock Homes was îîterate. Wy ese woud e ave Watson read everytîng to îm?” “ï’m so tîred o Homes vs. Jack te Rîpper storîes.” “ïn act, Homes îsstîaîve.” hîs ast was procaîmed by one o te deerstakered gents, a ta, ean specîmen în îs eary ortîes wît a sarp nose. He was odîng ort to te îvîng room contîngent, a group o a a dozen or so, a ew o wom seemed to be actuay îstenîng. ï stepped înto te room or a better ook and saw tat, sure enoug, e was wearîng a button tat saîd SHEROCK HOMES ïVES! ï dîdn’t ang around or te rest o te ecture. ï turned, întendîng to ceck out te actîon în te dînîng room. At east tere was ood tere. he movement brougt me practîcay nose to nose wît te kînd o woman you don’t oten see outsîde o Greek and Roman statuary: ova ace, creamy compexîon, wîde brown eyes, raven aîr spîîng over bare souders. he sîmpîcîty o er back dress was counterbaanced by enoug sîver at er troat, wrîsts and ears to keep a crew o Navajo sîversmîts în busîness or a good wîe. “But no unny at,” ï saîd. “Pardon?” he ook se gave me was puzzed, but by no means unrîendy.
