The Case of the Missing Mascot (A Sherlock Shakespeare Mystery Book 1)

by Sydney Katt

  What if I'd been looking at this all wrong? Rivalry and altruism were good motives, sure, but they weren't the two motivators that seemed to drive all crimes throughout the whole of literary history. Love was out of the question. Even in Devils Reach, no one was scandalous enough to fall in love with a teacup pig.

  But what about money? Was it even possible that someone had stolen Champers because they saw him as the way to make a few quick bucks? I didn't see how. Even if people were willing to pay to have a teacup pig as a pet, it couldn't be enough money to justify the risk.

  Still, this theory was just crazy enough to have something to it.

  Maybe.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  As I'd predicted when I started my shift for the afternoon, it was nearly closing time and Watson was the only person who'd even walked by and so much as peeked inside. By now, I'd all but given up on the idea that someone hoped to make any money off Champers. Unless they were planning to ransom the pig back to the school late on Friday afternoon, I couldn't see how anyone could hope to make any real money off the deal.

  I was just about to close up for the night when Francois LePort swaggered in, completely unaware of the closed sign I'd just flipped over. My stomach grumbled, but I silently promised it food as soon as I could get rid of him. As usual, that was easier said than done.

  After fifteen minutes of letting him browse without interruption, I moved from behind the counter to see if there was something I could help him find. He was so engrossed in a cookbook he was reading that he didn't seem to hear me the first two times I said his name. When he finally did realize I was standing there, he shot me a look that would melt bricks.

  "What do you want, girl?"

  I forced a smile onto my lips and tried to pretend that the man didn't have the stench of stale liquor coming through his pores. "I just wanted to see if there was anything I could help you find today, Mr. LePort."

  He made a guttural sound in his meaty throat and waved a hand to dismiss me. I went back to the counter and tried not to let him get to me. He was rude to everyone in town. Besides, I could grab a snack from the cafe to tide me over during the walk home.

  Except I couldn't go in the cafe. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

  After another ten minutes of aimless browsing, I was just about to see how I could hurry up my sole customer when the store's phone rang. I answered, half expecting it to be one of my parents wondering why I wasn't home yet. It wasn't.

  "I figured I could get you to answer the phone if I called the store."

  Tom.

  "I haven't been answering my cell because I wasn't ready to talk to you yet."

  "Come on. Stop being that way so we can fix this."

  "Fix this? It's not like you broke my dollhouse, Tom. You broke my heart."

  Wait. Did I mean that? Had he actually broken my heart or did I just feel like I was supposed to be brokenhearted because of how long we'd been together?

  "Stop being so dramatic. I broke your heart because I had a friend in my room? Come on."

  "No, you broke my heart because you had a girl in your bed when I got there."

  "I wish you'd stop saying that. She was fully clothed on my bed, not in it. You act like you walked in on me banging another chick or something."

  "Well, I might've if I'd walked across the campus any slower."

  "Sherlock, that's not fair and you know it. You're punishing me for something I didn't even do."

  Before I could respond, LePort walked up to the counter and shot an annoyed look at me. "This store is dreadful. I can't find anything I need."

  "Tom, I've got to go." I hung up the phone and turned my full attention to my customer, even though the phone started ringing again almost as soon as I did. "What can I help you find?"

  "I'm looking for The New Oxford Companion to Literature in French."

  "And it wasn't in the foreign language section?"

  "No. That section was appalling."

  "And it's not with literature?"

  "I wouldn't be having this inane conversation if it were."

  "Looks like we don't have it then."

  "I called last week and was told that you did have a copy. I highly doubt anyone in this town rushed in to buy it before I could make time to come in for it."

  He may be a condescending jerk, but he was probably right on that point. "Let me check the back to see if it was set aside for you."

  "Do that. Quickly."

  I hurried into the storeroom, more to get away from him than out of any desire to provide exceptional customer service. He'd made me stay a half hour past closing time and made it impossible for me to dodge Tom's call. He could wait a few minutes.

  The storeroom was full of boxes and shelves that housed new and used books in all varieties. We always said that we were going to organize it, but we never did. Instead, we pretended the backroom didn't exist until it was time to take inventory once each year and then we suffered through a weekend of organizing and counting books while complaining about how we were going to do better about it next year.

  Probably why most people didn't try to turn a hobby into a business.

  The phone rang again while I was digging through a box of leather-bound books. Since it could legitimately be my parents, I answered. It still wasn't them.

  "Look, we need to talk about this."

  "I told you we could talk before the game on Friday."

  "That's not good enough. I want to talk about it now."

  "Tom, I'm helping a customer."

  "No, you aren't. The store's closed."

  "I know that and you know that, but he didn't know that when he wandered in at closing time." I rolled my eyes, but they stopped in mid-roll when I noticed what must've been a thousand-page book sitting on top of the filing cabinet. Sure enough, it was the book I was searching for. "I have to go."

  "Wait!"

  I sighed. "What? What can't possibly wait until you see me in two days?"

  "I need to know if we're still going to the Homecoming dance after the game."

  The part of me that was used to blindly giving in to whatever Tom wanted started to agree, but the sound of LePort drumming his fingers on the counter while he huffed and sighed tore open the cage inside me where I hid the part that was sick of being the doormat of Devils Reach High. "You know, Tom, I'm not really sure that I'm going to feel like draping myself over your arm and pretending to like any of your friends this Friday when I'm pretty sure I can't stand you right now."

  "I already had a buddy buy the tickets for us," he bit out.

  "Excellent. I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding some bimbo at the game to go with you."

  I slammed down the phone before he could yell at me and plastered a smile on my face again before I went back to the counter with the book. I could get away with being snarky to Tom, but I couldn't do the same to a customer, no matter how much he deserved it.

  "Sorry about that. This is a new copy of the book, but you're welcome to look it over for imperfections before buying it."

  And of course, he did.

  While he was checking over the book, the phone rang again. In my sweetest, most angelic voice, I answered, "Shakespeare's Books. What literary adventure can I assist you with today?"

  "Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me that way?"

  He was still rambling off obscenities at me, but I talked over him in a deliberate tone. "As I've been trying to tell you, the Shakespeare you're looking for isn't working tonight. Have a good night, sir."

  When I returned my attention to LePort, he was just staring at me with a look of shocked respect. Apparently, Tom's yelling had been loud enough to reach LePort in addition to nearly shattering my eardrum. "Is the book to your satisfaction?"

  He slid it across the counter. "Yes." While I rang it up, he added, "People in this town really are something, aren't they?"

  "They can be." Honestly, it was hard to pay attention to anything he said once I realized the book
cost nearly two hundred bucks. Who wanted to read about French literature that much?

  "You know, I've been interviewing waitresses all week for this Saturday's dinner for the governor and I haven't been able to find a single soul I'd trust to carry a butter knife."

  "That's too bad."

  "Too bad? If I don't have better luck with the batch coming to interview tomorrow at three, I may find myself serving my own guests. Can you even imagine the travesty of it? What could be worse than that?"

  "Not even death itself," I deadpanned. "That'll be $214.77."

  He sneered at me and tossed his credit card down onto the counter, clearly letting me know that placing it in my outstretched hand was beneath him. He must not've been paying attention because a piece of paper flew out of his wallet with it. If he'd been nicer, I might've handed it to him. As it was, I barely glanced at the small recipe card for suckling pig when I grabbed his credit card and slid it through the reader.

  He snatched up the paper with just as much distaste as he'd used to throw down his credit card while he waited on me to process his transaction. I handed back his credit card with the receipt and walked him to the door. Finally, this doomed day was over.

  Except the phone started ringing again while I was shutting off the lights and locking up the cash.

  "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling here," I shouted into the phone.

  "I certainly hope that's not how you always answer the phone when you work, sweetie, or we might have to rethink hiring someone else."

  "Sorry, Mom. It's just that—"

  "My cell's about to die. Which do you prefer: green or blue?"

  "It depends on what it is, I guess."

  My mind wandered back to LePort carrying around a recipe for suckling pig in his wallet. That was weird.

  "I'm just picking up a dress for you to wear to the dance this Friday."

  "Oh. I don't need a dress anymore."

  There was so much silence at the end of the line that I wondered if her phone had already died. "Sweetheart, you say that every year, but then you always rush out on Thursday night or Friday afternoon to buy one anyway. Green or blue?"

  "Mom," I whined. When she didn't seem to relent, I finally answered, "Green."

  "Good choice. See you soon."

  Apparently, my parents were the only two people in Devils Reach who didn't know about my quasi-breakup with Tom. Maybe she'd be able to return it. Not that she would. Even though I was completely capable of picking out and buying my own clothes, my mother loved picking up outfits she thought I should wear even though I never would.

  Someone must've taken away her dolls before she was ready when she was a kid.

  I finished locking up and started home as quickly as I could. Something about the interaction with LePort was tickling at the edges of my mind and wouldn't go away. I didn't have a clue what suckling pig was, but I did know that I needed to find out more about it. If anyone in town was awful enough to eat the school's mascot, it was certainly Francois LePort.

  I was so inside my own head during the walk home that I didn't realize Drew and Watson were walking home on the other side of street until I approached the intersection. When I realized Drew was looking at me, I raised my hand to wave, but he just glared at me, stuffed his hands into his pockets and took the sidewalk to the left that would lead him home. I crossed the street to join Watson and we took the sidewalk leading to the right.

  Watson put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed lightly. "It'll work out."

  "Yeah."

  He removed his arm. "Wanna hear about what Tanya did at the cookout?"

  "Not really."

  "Yeah you do."

  "Fine, Wats. What did she do this time?"

  He started dancing around in front of me in excitement while we walked. "She dumped her entire cherry slushie on her boyfriend's head when he looked at another girl. Then she started throwing hot dogs at him until some of the parents made her leave." His eyes sparkled. "Looks like they might be broken up for good this time."

  "Why is that so exciting to you?" I stopped walking, a horrifying thought setting up shop in my mind. "Don't tell me you've got a thing for her."

  "Everyone has a thing for her." When he realized I wasn't still walking, he came back to me. "What? She's hot and I'm awesome. I totally have a shot."

  "I know you do." That was the problem.

  "Sorry. We don't have to talk about Tanya while you still don't know what's going on with Tom."

  I started walking again. "Oh, I know what's going on. I'm pretty sure I broke up with him tonight."

  "Don't yell at me or anything for saying this, but since when has Tom ever let you break up with him?"

  He had a point. "Probably since I decided he didn't get to own me."

  Watson chased after me, pestering me for details, but I didn't feel like rehashing it. It wasn't like he'd have to wait long to find out anyway. I'm sure Tom had called several of his pals to let them know how horrible I was. He was probably already trying to line up a sure thing for after the dance.

  It didn't matter. Tom could sleep with every hot girl between here and Austin if that's what he wanted. Not my problem.

  I had a mascot to find.

  Don't get me wrong; the way people were freaking out about a missing pig was still totally stupid. I'd just never needed a distraction from life like I did right now. Drew hated me, Jamie was insane, Tom would never let me end things with him without some sort of a scene and now there was a chance my brother was going to hook up with the one girl at the school I couldn't stand. Oh, and I was potentially schizophrenic or something.

  Sad as it was, finding that damn pig was the only normal thing in my life right now.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Thursday was basically the worst day ever. From the moment I stepped foot on school grounds, everyone seemed to be looking at me and whispering. As predicted, Tom had called his remaining high school buddies to fill them in on what a terrible girlfriend I was. Yeah, girlfriend. I didn't get to be free until he said so.

  And no, I wasn't just being paranoid. When I was in the restroom between second and third period, I heard a group of underclassmen gossiping about how they would worship the ground the former quarterback walked on if they were lucky enough to be his girlfriend. I knew that I should wait in the stall until they left, but that was something Doormat Sherlock would do.

  Instead, I left the stall and walked through the middle of the now silent group to get to the sink. When I was done washing my hands, I turned back to them and said, "Maybe you should tell Tom that when he's here for the game tomorrow night. See how much you enjoy being cheated on and controlled by that arrogant asshole."

  While it felt good to say something instead of continuing to pretend I didn't notice anything, it wasn't the smart thing to do. Before the door could close behind me, the girls started gossiping again. "I don't get why he's with her. She's not even pretty."

  I probably could've done without hearing that.

  Lunch usually wasn't so bad because I always sat with Drew and having him with me was like a shield against all the petty high school crap. Today, however, he walked right by me without so much as a glance and went to sit with Tanya and the other cheerleaders. That appeared to be the signal they'd been waiting for and they all started flashing dirty looks my way.

  Whatever. I removed my phone from my pocket and tried Jamie. She was a no-show for school again today. When her cell went straight to voicemail, I tried the landline. Her mother always picked up if she was home, regardless of how many telemarketers called.

  "She's got some kind of a bug, Sherlock. I'm sure she'll be back on Monday."

  "Oh. Should I pick up her assignments and bring them over after school?"

  "She's already made arrangements with all her teachers."

  "I could come over anyway."

  "I wouldn't." Jamie's mother lowered her voice. "She's barely coming out of her room right now. You'd just
spend the afternoon trying to talk to her through the door." After a pause, she added, "You're a good friend."

  Yeah. Tell that to Drew.

  After I'd put away my phone, I pulled a random textbook out of my bag and resigned myself to studying whichever subject it was until lunch was over. And, of course, to carry on the day's streak of amazing luck, I pulled out my econ book instead of history or literature or anything I'd actually want to read. Oh well, it was the subject I needed to study for if I didn't want to end up repeating it next semester.

  I was about a page into the evils of applying ceilings and floors to supply and demand when someone pulled out the chair across from me. I looked up expectantly, hoping it was Drew. No such luck.

  "What do you want, Ricardo?"

  He leaned forward in the chair and grinned. "Why, I'm here to keep up the pretense of pursuing you now that shit with Encyclopedia Brown finally hit the fan."

  I sighed and closed my textbook. He wasn't Drew, but he was still a shield of sorts. "And should I be on board with this or annoyed as usual? You saved my life, so letting you call this one is the least I can do."

  Ricardo reached across the table and covered one of my hands with his. "It really depends on whether you want the spies to report back to your man that you're considering hooking up with someone else the very next day after a big fight. I can spin it to my advantage either way."

  Ugh. The spies. It would serve Tom right to think I'd already moved on, but we still hadn't technically broken up. Since I didn't want to deal with the fallout that would come if the rest of the school thought I was now cheating on the sainted Tom Brown, I pulled my hand away.

  "Good call." He leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs out under the table, again forcing me to fold my legs up into the chair. "You'll understand if I don't leave yet. Can't look affected by being shot down, you know."

  "It's fine. Economics was boring anyway."