Previously “¦
Holmes was there quickly enough, and I showed him the evidence I had found, glossing over the fact that I broke up a snogging couple, but informing him a desk was warm when they got there.
I was about to bounce my theory off of him when a prudish older woman stomped into the room.
Her brown hair was tied into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she glowered at us from over her hawk-like nose. With that tightwad look, she was either vice principal or the English teacher.
Continued …
“I suppose you two are working,” Hawky snapped.
Holmes” jaw clenched. I missed the subtlety of his tongue biting.
“Yes, ma”am, we are,” I replied coldly.
I took in the older woman”s business, clean-cut, old-fashioned suit and came to the conclusion that, even though she was dressed like a witch, she wasn”t actually wearing a costume.
“Well, would you mind telling me why the school is on lockdown?”
I opened my mouth, a catty response ready.
“It”s a police matter,” Holmes said, hand vice-gripping my arm. He flashed his badge toward Hawky, whose lip curled in contempt. “We just ask that everyone cooperates, ma”am.”
The witch made a harrumphing sound.
My nephew Ashton and his girlfriend Sammi burst into the room, crashing into the older woman. A single brown hair came loose from her bun.
“Oops! Sorry Mrs. Poe,” Sammi exclaimed at the red-faced woman.
Ashton crossed to me, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. He would end up as a detective or private investigator for sure.
Megan Hall | Argonaut
“Did you notice he was dressed as Hamlet?”
I blinked. “Huh? Who?”
“LeRad. He was Hamlet,” Ashton repeated.
I frowned. Hamlet. He was one of Shakespeare”s depressing leading men, right?
“Is he the one who killed himself?” I asked, pointedly looking at Madam Witch, er, Mrs. Poe.
Holmes” mouth twitched and I heard a small snort escape from Sammi.
“He”s the one who gave a big long speech. “To be or not to be, that is the question,”” Holmes explained.
Ah. I knew that. “Same thing, right?”
Ashton shook his head, knowing the game that I was playing. Mrs. Poe looked as though I had just killed her favorite cat, of which I”m guessing she had several. Yup, she was the English teacher, no doubt about it.
Before her shrill exclamation about Shakespeare”s greatest work, blah blah blah, a tall Indian man breezed in.
“What have you got, Dahli?” Holmes demanded.
The man shrugged. “Not much, Holmes. There is the obvious murder weapon sticking out of our vic”s chest, but there is some other factor here I”m not seeing.”
I glanced at Mrs. Poe. Her mouth was set, the loose curl decorating her pale skin. Her eyes shifted toward the door. She wanted to run. She wouldn”t be able to in the shoes she was wearing – black heels.
Holmes turned to me, his baritone voice echoing into my brain. I glanced at him with a frown. If the knife hadn”t killed LeRad, then “¦ poison? No, that would be too easy to find – Unless it was a poison of a different kind.
“Earth to P.J.,” Holmes said, waving a hand in front of my face.
I blinked and bolted out of the classroom. If my theory was right, I knew exactly what to look for.
To be continued “¦
Claire Whitley can be reached at [email protected] or on Twitter @Cewhitley24