The Great Shelby Holmes and the Coldest Case

by Elizabeth Eulberg

  “So Jordan is your main rival?” While I already knew that was true, I wanted to hear how Aisha would describe their relationship. And how she would react.

  I looked into her big brown eyes.

  (Trouble. Trouble. Trouble.)

  She shifted her gaze away from me and shrugged. “I guess. But I never looked at it like this person is the enemy. At the end of the day, it’s me out on the ice. I have to do the best routine I can. It’s not anybody’s fault if I fall except my own. Well, unless they tamper with my laces, but we got that fixed in time. And did whoever told you that also mention I wound up in first place, even with the last-minute dramatics?”

  “Everything good, Watson?” Sal came over.

  “Yeah, great, thanks!”

  Aisha’s brows furrowed. “Why does he keep calling you Watson?”

  “Ah, it’s a nickname.” Which was technically true, thank you very much.

  The front door burst open and Shelby came into the restaurant. Her face was flushed and she was trying to steady her breath. She must’ve run all the way here.

  “Roberta!” Aisha said right as Sal came over to Shelby.

  “My favorite customer!” he exclaimed as he patted Shelby on the head. “Have you come for my special Nutella pizza?”

  Aisha’s eyes got wide. “They have Nutella pizza here?”

  Shelby studied us, a smile on her face as she saw Aisha. “Yes. I’ve had them recently add it to the menu.”

  Ah. Sal’s didn’t have a dessert menu so Shelby’s parents probably never thought about coming in here and telling Sal that Shelby was off sweets. While I admired Shelby’s parents for trying, they had to know she’d find a way to get around it. I mean, honestly . . .

  “A large?” Sal asked as he looked at us.

  “Oh, I can’t,” Aisha said as she patted her stomach. “As much as I want to.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I replied.

  “Diet?” Aisha asked.

  “Diabetes.”

  “Yes, a large,” Shelby replied as she looked at Aisha. “I’m going to need a lot of sugar for this.”

  Sal laughed. “Whatever you need, Shelby!”

  “Shelby?” Aisha asked. “Why does he—”

  Shelby reached her hand out to me. “Let me see it.”

  “See what? What’s going on?” Aisha’s eyes kept darting between us.

  I pulled out the cipher Aisha had slipped into my bag. Shelby held it up to the light, then put her nose inches away from it.

  “Why is she . . .?” Aisha shook her head. “Is there a problem that I gave you a note? Is there something going on between you two?”

  “No!” both Shelby and I protested.

  I mean, yeah, Shelby was my best friend and all, but that was it.

  Plus, let’s be real, I had enough problems in my life without adding girls to the mix.

  Shelby put the paper on the table. “Well, Watson, I have good news.”

  Good news? It was about time!

  “Aisha isn’t the perpetrator.”

  She wasn’t?

  I wasn’t the only one confused.

  “Perpetrator?” Aisha asked with her hands on her hips. “What exactly do you think I did?”

  Shelby ignored her. “Look.” She took out one of the ciphers Jordan received. “See how Aisha’s handwriting is looser and larger than that of the person sending Jordan these notes.”

  I looked at both ciphers in my hand. Side by side, it was clear that they weren’t from the same person.

  So who was sending the ciphers?

  (It had to be Douglas now, right?)

  “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Aisha looked at me. “Julian? Or is it Watson?”

  Busted.

  Shelby sat next to me in the booth. “I must speak bluntly with you, Aisha. Can you be trusted?”

  Aisha looked offended. “Can you trust me? I’m not the one with different names or talking about handwriting or . . .” It was like a lightbulb went on over her head. “Are you guys even skaters?” She started laughing lightly. “I mean, it was clear you both needed a lot of work, but I’d assumed Tatiana was doing something for charity.”

  Ouch. We weren’t that bad.

  (Okay, we were.)

  Shelby’s reply was to shove a large piece of cheesy garlic bread into her mouth.

  So, it seemed like it was up to me to tell her the truth.

  I glanced around the crowded restaurant. I guessed it was safe to come clean here. I mean, everybody knew Shelby. And a lot of them knew me now, too.

  “What?” Aisha looked around, paranoid. “You’re making me nervous. Who are you guys? What’s going on?”

  “Okay, can we trust you?” I asked again, quietly so no one could hear us.

  Aisha paused for a moment. “Yes, you can trust me. However, I’m starting to think I can’t trust you.”

  Fair enough.

  “My name is John Watson and this is Shelby Holmes.”

  Shelby nodded as Sal put a huge pizza covered in chocolate sauce and something white and fluffy in front of her. My teeth hurt just looking at it.

  “We have dinner in two hours,” I reminded Shelby.

  “Exactly,” she replied as she dived into the sugary concoction.

  My attention went back to Aisha who looked in shock. “Okay, John and Shelby. But I still don’t understand why you’d lie. Why were you pretending to be skaters?”

  “We didn’t lie. We’re . . . ​undercover. We’re detectives, and someone has been sending Jordan these messages. So Tatiana came to us to help find out who was doing it.”

  “You two?” She pointed at us with a look of disbelief. “You’re detectives.”

  Shelby groaned. I had to admit that I was getting annoyed that no one could ever believe that yes, we were detectives. I mean, Shelby’s face was currently covered in chocolate, but anybody who talked to her for more than a minute could tell that she was something special.

  Aisha started gathering her things. “I don’t believe this.”

  “Ask around,” Shelby said with a full mouth. “You can start with Sal here. He’ll tell you all about what I can do. Watson has proven to be quite competent on several occasions.”

  Oh boy. I had to remind myself that to Shelby Holmes, that was a huge compliment.

  “Okay, so let’s say I believe you.” Aisha put her stuff back down. “Jordan’s been getting messages? What kind of messages?”

  “Someone’s been telling her these mean things like she’s going to fall and that she’s a failure.”

  Aisha began nodding slowly. “So that’s why she hasn’t been skating like herself lately.” Then her jaw dropped open. “Wait. You thought that I was the one sending her messages?”

  She looked hurt and she was staring right at me.

  “You were one of our suspects, yes,” Shelby replied. “You knew the code. You had access to the rink.”

  “But it’s not me! I would never—” Aisha’s shoulders sank. “Who else is a suspect?”

  “Those who know the code, you and Douglas,” Shelby replied.

  “And Belle,” Aisha added.

  “Belle knows the code?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Shelby answered for Aisha. “Her mom saw her with the code, so she has to be able to read it.”

  “Oh, yeah, her mom said Belle had been getting notes, too.”

  “No.” Shelby licked sugar from her fingers. “We can only imply from what Mrs. Booth communicated that Belle has been seen with these messages. She never saw her receive them. That was a presumption Mrs. Booth made. When solving a case, it’s dangerous to jump to conclusions before all the facts are available.”

  “We’ve been using the code for a few months,” Aisha commented. “We wanted to have a way to talk behind Sergi’s back. He can be really hard on us. It was innocent, just a way for us to vent. But then Sergi discovered the key.”

  “Sergi knows the cipher?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” A
isha said, like it wasn’t this huge deal.

  Because who would benefit the most from having Tatiana’s only client not place at regionals?

  Her ex-partner.

  “Whoa,” I said aloud. I put my head in my hands and leaned my forehead on the table. Every time I thought we were coming close to figuring this case out, there’d be another curve ball.

  “Is he okay?” Aisha asked.

  Shelby snorted. “He’ll be fine.”

  There was a nudge of my shoulder. I looked up to see Shelby smiling, which was never a good sign.

  “Come on, Watson. I’d say that the day would get better but we still have the matter of dinner with my family.”

  With that, Shelby helped herself to a second slice of Nutella pizza.

  There was no way this day could get any more confusing or longer.

  At least I hoped.

  “Sorry!” I told Dad as he walked up the flight of stairs to the apartment.

  “It’s okay,” he replied. “Schoolwork is important. I get to see you now and that’s all that counts.”

  I hated having to cancel on Dad before dinner, but I had to get my homework done since I knew I’d crash after.

  “Oh,” Dad said as I shut the door to the apartment behind me.

  “You’re going to love Shelby’s parents. They’re the complete opposite of her,” I said, trying to distract him from the fact that I was instructed by Mom to take Dad straight up to the Holmeses’.

  But by the look he gave the door, he knew what was going on.

  We started up the stairs to the Holmeses’ floor.

  He cleared his throat. “Look, son, I wanted to—”

  “Good evening,” Shelby greeted us at the top of the stairs. “I thought I’d save you the torture of having to endure going through Michael to gain entrance.”

  “Hey, Shelby!” Dad exclaimed. “And Michael is your brother, right?”

  “Unfortunately. You can’t disagree with DNA results.”

  Dad laughed nervously as we walked into their apartment. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Martin!” Shelby’s dad approached him. “So nice to meet you. We’re big fans of your son here.”

  “We certainly are,” Mrs. Holmes said as she appeared behind her husband.

  Shelby plopped down on the couch with a sulk. I couldn’t contain my smile. I liked Shelby’s parents. They were nice and friendly, and, you know, behaved like regular people.

  “I brought you dessert,” Dad said as he handed them a box from Levain Bakery.

  Shelby perked up, while her parents exchanged a look. “Why, that was awfully gracious of you.”

  Yeah, I should’ve told Dad not to bring dessert, even though Mom suggested it. But when we went to Levain the other day, he insisted on getting cookies for dinner. Mom even gave me permission to eat half of one (which honestly, is like two regular cookies).

  “Thank you. That is very thoughtful,” Mrs. Holmes replied. She brushed her red hair from her forehead, then turned to Shelby. “Now, Shelby, you will have fruit for dessert tonight. No exceptions.”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t want Dad to have to witness one of Shelby’s infamous meltdowns.

  But Shelby simply smiled. “That is fine, Mother.”

  Ah. What was going on? I mean, besides the fact that Shelby had inhaled an entire large sugar-filled pizza two hours ago?

  Dad made small talk with Shelby’s parents, while I sat down next to her. “Is it actually possible?”

  “Is what possible?” she replied with a sniff.

  I laughed. “That you’re going to pass up a Levain cookie?” They were ginormous and gooey. And might be Shelby’s favorite thing ever. Even I think they’re pretty awesome, and I’m not someone who craves sweets.

  “Please, Watson, I know where my mom will hide the leftovers.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. I’m fully versed on the best place to hide something.”

  “Where?”

  “My parents have been doing regular searches of my backpack and room to make sure I’m not hiding any candy.”

  But Shelby had been hiding candy. A ton. So where was she putting it?

  She handed me a book that was on the coffee table. “It’s best to hide things in plain sight.”

  I opened the book and found the inside pages had been carved out, revealing a secret hiding place where Shelby currently had five candy bars stashed. I quickly shut the book before we were caught.

  Shelby placed it back on the table, right in the middle of the room for all to see.

  Okay, that was pretty smart. (Of course it was, it’s Shelby!)

  “Normally, if someone doesn’t want you to find something, they’ll put it in the last place you’d ever look. But that is precisely where you should look first,” she stated.

  “So where’s your mom hiding sweets? Her underwear drawer?” I laughed some more. Man, I was pretty punchy on little sleep. Everything was hilarious to me.

  Shelby grimaced. “No. An even worse place. Somewhere I would only dare venture under the most dire of circumstances.”

  “Where?” I asked. Where in their apartment could Shelby be almost scared of?

  “The vegetable drawer, underneath the spinach.” Shelby stuck her tongue out in disgust.

  “Am I to presume by the look on your face you’ve tasted dinner?” Michael approached us slowly.

  “No, I simply saw you coming,” Shelby fired back to her brother.

  He nodded at me. “John.”

  “Hey, Michael,” I replied. When I first met Michael Holmes, I tried to treat him like anybody else. Be polite. Make small talk. But then I learned it was best to keep it short. And get out before he started asking impossible science questions.

  Michael studied me with his normal bored look on his face. “I’ve been keeping up with your chronicles about my sister. The fiction you’re able to spin with such uninspiring source material is quite a feat.”

  Wait. Michael was reading my journal? And I couldn’t figure out if he was giving me a compliment or not. (Knowing Michael, he probably wasn’t.)

  “How brotherly of you to keep tabs on your sister,” Shelby said with a glare.

  “It is imperative for the brains of the family to look out for those with fewer talents.”

  Shelby smiled warmly at her brother. (This had to be a setup.) “You know what, my dear brother, you are quite amazing.”

  Michael looked pleased with himself. “Why thank yo—”

  “Yes,” Shelby cut him off. “It’s truly amazing how one individual can be so daft.”

  I totally cracked up. I was feeling goofy. But come on, Michael. I’d only known Shelby for two months and I knew better. Michael couldn’t be that smart if he kept challenging her.

  Michael then turned to me. “I see we are under obligation to meet your father this evening.”

  “Oh, hey!” Dad came over and stuck out his hand. “You must be Michael. Martin Watson, nice to meet you.”

  Michael’s lip curled under the strain while shaking Dad’s hand. “Pleasure.”

  “I hear you’re already in college. That’s impressive!”

  I tried to signal my dad to stop talking to Michael. I had warned him that he was a little prickly, even more so than Shelby.

  “Well,” Michael said, picking a piece of lint off his jacket, “what is truly extraordinary is why anybody would want to endure four years of high school.”

  “Ah,” Dad replied as he rubbed his bald head, which I’d noticed was a tell for when he was at a loss for words.

  I know Dad, I know.

  A noise came from Dad’s pocket. “Sorry!” he replied as he took out his phone, studied the screen, and then put it back in his pocket. “I thought I shut the ringer off.”

  I looked at Shelby in hopes that she could save us from Michael. (I realized how desperate I must be if I was looking to Shelby to make something less awkward.)

  But Shelby was studying me with a worried look.


  “What?” I asked her under my breath.

  Her reply was to lightly pat me on the shoulder.

  Oh no, this wasn’t good. Why was Shelby feeling bad for me? The dinner couldn’t be that disgusting. I actually liked the meals we had at the Holmeses’. Also, Shelby’s parents always made her wear a dress, which annoyed her to no end, and that was pretty fun for me.

  “I’m sorry you have to leave so soon, Mr. Watson,” Shelby said quietly.

  “What?” I said, louder this time. “Are we not staying for dinner?”

  “Oh.” Shelby shot Dad a disapproving look.

  “He’s not that fortunate to miss the brick that the parental units refer to as meatloaf,” Michael replied. “Besides, his flight isn’t until tomorrow.”

  I stood up. “WHAT?” I said even louder, hoping someone would finally answer me. Nothing seemed funny to me anymore, especially this. I didn’t like that a conversation was happening around me, especially one concerning my dad. “Tomorrow’s Thursday. He’s not leaving until Sunday.” I turned toward Dad, who couldn’t look at me. “Right?”

  “I wanted to tell you before we got here . . . ,” he said in a small voice.

  “Oh.” I didn’t hide my disappointment. Yeah, I knew he was leaving eventually, but I wanted more time. “Why?” I asked a lot angrier than I meant to. But no, this wasn’t fair. I had four more days with him. He was my dad—I should have a lot more time than that.

  “Why don’t we go into the hallway and talk?” Dad suggested.

  The room was silent. Michael had opened a book, apparently not at all concerned with the fact that my life was falling apart in front of him. Shelby didn’t move a muscle.

  I jumped as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes came from the kitchen. “Dinner is served!”

  Shelby stood up. “You two talk, I’ll handle them.” She grabbed Michael by the elbow and led him into the dining room.

  “I’m really sorry, son,” Dad said as he put his arm around me. “Something came up with work. They need me back in the office right away, so I was forced to change my plans. But I’ll see you in a month for Thanksgiving.”