Sherlock stepped closer. “How about we make this a bit of a game?”
I tried to roll my eyes and act like I wasn’t completely intrigued, but I was a piss-poor actor on a good day, despite my years in drama. “Go on.”
“First one to solve the crime, wins.”
“Wins what?”
“Wins the game.”
“And what will be the rules?”
“No rules,” he said.
“All games have rules.”
“Fine. The only rule is total transparency. We must both know what the other knows.” I started to respond to that, but as usual, Sherlock interrupted. “But not tonight. I need some time to think.” He lit a cigarette and stared past me. I got the feeling he was already walking away from me in his mind. “Tomorrow after your play practice. My lab.”
He started to walk, and it was all I could do to keep a growl out of my voice when I answered his summons. “No.”
Sherlock turned, surprised. “No?”
I shook my head. “No, I haven’t decided whether I want to play or not. And besides, if I do decide to be part of this insanity, no one can know I’m part of this. I’m serious. If my dad finds out, I’m screwed.” I looked around and saw the lake off in the distance. “If I decide to play, we’ll meet here. At the dock. We’ll take a boat out and that way no one can overhear, and it won’t smell of burning dust and spilled fake blood.”
Sherlock’s lips tightened and then stretched in a grin. “How do you know it’s fake?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He was already striding off when I thought of one.
Chapter 5
I was halfway through the next morning before I came out of my Sherlock fog and decided that I was definitely NOT going to play his little game. Unfortunately, Sherlock most likely wouldn’t be anywhere I could find him until after school. Not that it mattered. I was resolved. Mostly.
My family ate breakfast in silence, the five of us, Dad crunching his bran while the rest of us slurped oatmeal. None of us made eye contact or even shifted in our seats until Dad was off to work, without a word about his day or ours. I grabbed Sean’s chin and tilted his face up toward the light.
“Is it covered?” he asked.
I’d practically plastered his face with concealer to cover the bruise from the night before. It was hard to blend it all in with his baby skin, though. “As best I could.”
“Enough to fool the Benz?” Michael asked.
Sean’s teacher was Miss Benson. She’d been at the grammar school long enough to have taught each of us in her class. Nothing fooled the Benz.
“If she asks, you say . . .” I let go of Sean’s chin and took my dishes to the sink, where Freddie was washing up.
“My brothers and I were arsing—”
“Mucking,” I corrected.
“Yeah. Mucking about.”
Freddie laughed. “Say ‘arsing’ to the Benz. I dare ya.”
Sean chucked the crust of his toast at Freddie, which would have devolved into a free-for-all dishwater/food fight had I not fired off a glare for each of them. “Quit it and make your lunches or you’ll starve and deserve it.”
I threw a final glare over my shoulder before I left for school, just for good measure, but I was pretty sure the squeal I heard when I was halfway down the street came from my house.
Much of my school day was spent rehearsing what I would say to Sherlock when he asked me to be a part of his “investigation.” But nothing I came up with adequately made the point that I wasn’t afraid to play the game, I was merely uninterested. That I had even entertained the idea for a second showed just how that ridiculous Holmes boy had managed to mess with my mind in ways he shouldn’t have been able. Sherlock was trouble. Unexpected. And by the time I got to drama, I’d decided that I didn’t have to come up with any kind of explanation. I hardly knew the boy.
I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him suddenly appear backstage halfway through my class, but there he was, waiting in the wings, waving at me as I fumbled through my lines. When I didn’t immediately heed his unspoken call, he started pacing the boards, glancing up impatiently at me every thirty seconds or so. At one point, I thought he might actually come out onto the stage to fetch me. Luckily, my scene ended before he could.
He opened his mouth to speak as I approached, and I held up my hand to stop him. Surprisingly, it worked. “What are you doing here?” I whispered.
“I need to tell you something. It couldn’t wait.”
“It can wait.” I grabbed his arm and tugged toward the back exit. “It will wait.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock straightened the sleeve of his uniform when I let go. “If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be here. But we must talk to her. Right away. It’s vital.”
“Talk to whom?”
Sherlock gestured at my dress. “Her. The one you’re replacing.”
I copied his gesture, exasperated. “She is obviously not here, or I wouldn’t be replacing her today.”
His countenance fell. “Her name is Patel, yes?”