The Great Shelby Holmes and the Coldest Case Read online

  “Listen,” Jordan stated. Here we go! “We all respect each other and stay out of people’s way when they’re rehearsing. It’ll probably take us a while to get into a good rhythm, but I look forward to sharing the ice with you on Monday.”

  Yeah, I don’t think she’d be looking forward to it if she knew that we haven’t even ice-skated yet.

  “That’s so nice of you,” Shelby replied with a bat of her eyelashes. “I got worried about working with new skaters. I assumed there’d be trash-talking and unsportsmanlike conduct.”

  Jordan bristled. “Well, as a serious athlete you can’t let that kind of stuff get to you.” She abruptly stood up. “I need to get back to the ice. Nice to meet you.”

  She walked out, with Tatiana following quickly behind her.

  “What do you think?” I asked once the door closed.

  Shelby leaned back in her seat. “Jordan is definitely hiding something. And all those greats: oh, she’s so great, he’s a great guy . . .” Shelby stuck out her tongue. “Please. Nobody likes people that much.”

  “Um, Shelby, most people actually do like other people. I’d probably say that about my friends. They are great.”

  Shelby rolled her eyes. “Well, one of those great people sent her the cipher. And then there’s Aisha. The only one she didn’t use her favorite lackluster superlative to describe. Did you notice her demeanor when I mentioned trash-talking?”

  “Yeah.” It was kind of hard to miss: her shoulders tensed and she walked out not much later.

  Shelby looked thoughtful. “While I still don’t know what that message said, I can tell you one thing: it wasn’t anything good.”

  Ouch.

  I put more ice on my hip. Ouch. Ouch. OUCH.

  Shelby and I had decided to hit the skating rink this morning and yeah, it didn’t go well. Um, okay, to be honest, it was a fiasco. I spent more time falling on my butt than skating. Shelby wasn’t much better. After a couple hours, we were able to somewhat remain on our feet, as long as we didn’t have to make any turns. Or skate backward. Or away from the safety of the sides.

  In fairness to us, how was anybody supposed to be able to balance on a thin blade while gliding over ice? And, to make it even harder, the blade had these tiny claws at the front, which were used for jumps and footwork, but also made me fall. A lot. Every time it happened, Shelby would shout, “toe pick!” at me. Every. Single. Time.

  This whole case might end up being one big disaster. And a pain. Especially for my hip.

  And yeah, maybe my self-esteem.

  To give my body a break, I’d been watching videos of Jordan skating. She was amazing. Her programs at nationals last year were pretty perfect—at least it seemed that way to me. Thinking about those big falls yesterday made me more determined to help her. I even watched some old footage of her and Douglas. Every time they’d finished a routine, they’d hold hands until they got to the area where they waited for the judges’ scores (which I found out is called “kiss and cry” since those were two of the most likely things to happen after a skating performance). Jordan and Douglas would have their arms around each other, with Sergi and Tatiana flanking them. Once they got their scores, they’d do this playful shoulder bump and hand slap.

  As much as a former partner would seem like our top suspect, they really appeared to get along. Jordan still hung out with Douglas all the time. It probably wasn’t him.

  But Jordan had left him . . .

  My phone beeped. It was a message from Shelby. I need you to come upstairs.

  Can’t. Mom told me to wait for delivery, I replied.

  While I didn’t like having to sit in the apartment for whatever to be delivered, I was grateful this gave me some much needed time on the couch and off the skates.

  The sound of stomping feet on the stairs meant that Shelby was coming to me.

  I slowly sat up from the couch. I limped to the door, but then tried to set my face back to a normal position so Shelby couldn’t tell how much pain I was in. While I wasn’t thrilled that I had to pretend to be a figure skater, at least I was finally going undercover. I also felt bad for Jordan. She seemed nice, and it was clear that cipher was messing with her. I was itching to find out what it meant. And how we were going to crack it.

  I opened the door and Shelby burst right in past me. I spun around to see what she was holding, but sucked in a breath as my hip throbbed. I realized I hadn’t shut the door, but that was going to be too much effort so it was going to have to stay open.

  “I need for you to—” She stopped and looked me up and down.

  Here we go . . .

  “I’m sure your mother can give you some acetaminophen to aid in your discomfort.”

  Gee, thanks for your concern, Shelby. And how was she not limping? She fell a few times, too. And it was as enjoyable to watch as you can imagine.

  “Now back to business. I need you to try this on.” She held up a red . . . something.

  There were no words for this thing, as it was shiny and made of spandex. And sequins.

  Wait. There were two words to describe this monstrosity and my thoughts about it. “No. Way,” I replied with my arms folded. I meant it: there was no way she was getting me to wear that thing.

  “Now, Watson, I spent considerable time sewing it. The least you could do—”

  “The least I could do!” I snapped at her. “Shelby, I didn’t hang out last night with my friends, so I could study figure skaters and terms. I spent all this morning falling down. I am doing plenty. But I’m drawing the line at wearing something like that. People can skate in sweats.”

  “When you’re undercover you must become your character, head to toe, including what you wear,” she lectured.

  I seriously think she enjoyed torturing me. Shelby knew everything, so she had to have anticipated I was not going to handle this well.

  She stuck her hand on her hip. “Do you think I enjoy having to wear skirts and dresses and smile when I go undercover?”

  Yeah, like those were the same things.

  “Was this part of your plan? Are you doing all of this so I stop asking to go undercover?” My entire body hurt. I was sore and annoyed.

  “Ah, Watson.” Shelby stopped grimacing at me and pulled her shoulders back, like she realized something. Maybe I was getting through to her.

  I wasn’t going to lose my nerve. “I’m doing the best I can. So you’re going to have to appreciate the effort I’m putting in and realize that there is no way on earth—NO WAY—that I can become a professional skater in a weekend, but more importantly that I will not be wearing that thing.”

  “Watson, turn around.”

  Oh, I wasn’t going to fall for her tricks. “Why? So you can measure me?”

  Shelby sighed. “Has he always been this dramatic?”

  Wait. What did that even mean? I wasn’t being dramatic. I was being rational.

  Then I realized that Shelby wasn’t even looking at me. Her gaze was over my shoulder and much higher than my eye line.

  I slowly turned around.

  I couldn’t believe it. Maybe I was imagining things. I did hit my head pretty hard during one fall.

  But, no. It was real. He was real.

  “Hey, son.”

  “Dad?”

  Before I could really register what was happening, my dad gave me a hug.

  My dad. Who was here.

  “You’ve gotten so tall,” he exclaimed, while I did everything Shelby had taught me about observing each detail about an event. I didn’t want to forget this moment. “Surprised?” he asked with a laugh.

  Surprised was an understatement.

  “What? How?”

  “I’ve been planning this for a couple weeks. I was supposed to come in yesterday, but my flight got canceled. Don’t worry, you’ve got your old man for the whole week.”

  A whole week with my dad?

  “Now don’t tell me you forgot how to properly greet your pops?” He held his hand up, and it
was like no time had passed. I slapped his hand high, then low. Tapped our right elbows together twice and then our lefts before we finished with a chest bump. It was our special greeting.

  “That’s my boy.” Dad grabbed me around the neck and playfully rubbed my head. “Okay, now let me get a good look at you.” He held me at a distance, his face full of pride. “My, my, my . . . ​You’re soon going to be taller than me.” I doubted that. Dad was really tall, over six feet. I had a ways to go.

  He then turned his attention to Shelby. “And you must be the great Shelby Holmes.”

  “In the flesh,” Shelby said as she gave my dad a nod. She then began to study him. I, in turn, gave her a look that made it clear my dad was off limits to her deductive reasoning. He just got here. I didn’t want him running for the next flight home after Shelby was done with him.

  Instead Shelby Holmes actually acted like a normal human being. For once. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  Dad wagged his finger at Shelby. “Listen here, you and I need to have a talk.”

  And there it was.

  I knew Dad wasn’t going to let what happened a couple weeks ago drop. I mean, it wasn’t Shelby’s fault that after a long day with very little food and water we got locked in a hot basement and I passed out from diabetic hypoglycemia. Okay, maybe some of it was Shelby’s fault, but she got us out of there.

  “Rightfully so,” Shelby acknowledged.

  While Shelby usually hated talking to, well . . . ​anybody about anything, she and Mom had a really nice conversation about me after the accident. Guess it was Dad’s turn now.

  “Well,” Shelby said as she picked up that red excuse for a costume. “I know you two must have a lot of catching up to do, so I’ll leave you to it. Tomorrow at four, Watson.”

  “You got it, Shelby.”

  She paused before leaving. “Have fun at the basketball game tonight.” Then she shut the door behind her.

  Dad’s eyes were wide. “How did she know?”

  “Know what?”

  Dad pulled two tickets out of his jacket. “We’re going to see the Knicks tonight.”

  I took the tickets. “Oh, cool!” I couldn’t believe it. I was going to Madison Square Garden to watch a professional basketball game.

  “How did she—”

  “It’s just this thing she does.” I repeated a line I said to pretty much anybody when they first meet Shelby.

  Dad looked around the apartment. I noticed he didn’t have any luggage with him.

  “You’re not staying here?” I asked, disappointed.

  “Nah, I’m at a hotel a few blocks away. I thought it would be better.” He walked toward the back of the apartment where the bedrooms were. “I didn’t think your mother had to work on the weekends anymore.”

  I shrugged. “She usually doesn’t, but . . . ​Oh.”

  Dad flinched ever so slightly. It was something I would’ve missed two months ago, but now Shelby had trained me to notice the slightest facial tick.

  But I also noticed something else. Mom could’ve been anywhere. “How did you know Mom was at work?”

  “My little man.” Dad held his arms out. “I’m your delivery.”

  So Mom knew Dad was coming and chose to work. She was avoiding him. Maybe I should’ve told Dad that Mom sometimes worked on the weekends. Or told him she did it to make sure he and I would have plenty of alone time together.

  I could tell him all of that stuff, but neither of us would believe it.

  Dad clapped his hands together. “Okay, my New York City man, what are we going to do?”

  My mind raced with possibilities. I had dreamed of Dad coming to visit and showing him around. I couldn’t believe he was really here.

  “What do you want to see?”

  He rubbed his bald head. “Everything.”

  I’d lived in four different states before Mom and I moved to New York. Harlem had been my home for only two months, but as I showed Dad around the neighborhood, I realized how much I’d already settled in.

  “Thanks again, Sal!” I waved to the owner of a pizzeria as Dad and I left.

  “Anytime, Watson!” he called after me.

  “My little man knows all the important people,” Dad said as he patted his belly. “It’s true what they say, New York City has the best pizza in the world. I’m stuffed. Not like we won’t have some hot dogs and popcorn at the game.”

  My face hurt from smiling so much, but I was really happy he was here. I know I looked like a fool grinning from ear to ear, but I didn’t care.

  “So,” Dad said as he threw his arm over my shoulder. “How are you doing, John? Really?”

  I had to think for a moment. I had friends. I had Shelby. I had Mom. My life here was actually great, but could I tell him that? Things would be better if he was here, but that wasn’t going to happen. How would he feel if he knew I was getting by okay without him?

  “It’s all right, I guess.”

  “You can be happy, John.” He nudged me. “You’ve already made all these friends, ones who give you and your pops free pizza.” (I might’ve forgotten to tell him it was because of Shelby that Sal gave us free slices, or was why half the people who passed us waved at me.)

  “I’m doing good.”

  “And your mom?” His eyes glanced down, indicating that he was uncomfortable. Apparently observing micro-facial expressions wasn’t only helpful when talking to a suspect. It also worked with your parents.

  “Yeah. She’s good, too.”

  Should I tell him how much I missed him? He and I didn’t get mushy like that. We played ball. We watched sports. We didn’t have these big heart-to-heart talks.

  We kept walking as I struggled to come up with something to say. We never had this problem before. Usually I’d tell him about school or he’d tell me what happened at the recruiting office. He always had funny stories about the interviews he’d have with people interested in joining the army. A lot thought that the second they’d enlisted they’d be given these huge guns and go off to beat the bad guys. One dude even said to Dad, “You expect me to go to training?” Dad’s go-to reply would always be, “You expect to ever get a job someday?”

  “How’s work?” I asked to cut through the quiet.

  “It’s work,” Dad replied with a shake of his head.

  Then silence.

  Followed by even more uncomfortable silence.

  “So!” Dad said as we were stopped at a crosswalk. “What are you and Shelby up to? I’m assuming that argument you were in earlier was about a case?”

  “Yeah!” The case! I could talk to my dad about our case. “We have a new one we’re working on. We have to decrypt this cipher that an athlete got. Her coach, who was an Olympian, came to us after she read that article I sent you.” I started standing a bit taller even talking about it. Sparkly costumes aside, it was a pretty cool case. Even if it was causing me to fall on my butt. A lot.

  “Olympic athletes! What sport?”

  Great.

  I continued to babble so I didn’t have to answer that question. “And we’re even going undercover. Which I’ve been waiting to do.”

  “Look at you. You planning on joining the CIA when you’re out of college? FBI?”

  I laughed. I’d never really thought about it. Maybe I did have a future as an actual, real-life spy. I bet covert CIA operatives never have to wear sequins.

  “What sport is it? Because I know Shelby is some sort of genius, but no way can she compete with my boy on the field or court.”

  I continued to laugh even harder. It was mostly forced, but it was also because Dad was right. I could beat Shelby at any sport, except maybe figure skating.

  “Well, it’s not really a sport on a court or field.” He was going to find out eventually. “It’s on the ice.”

  “Hockey!” Dad guessed. “Can’t say I know much about hockey, but you better make sure you wear plenty of padding. Those hockey players play rough.”

  I took a deep breat
h. “It’s not hockey. It’s . . . ​figure skating.”

  Dad stopped walking. “Hold up, hold up. Are you telling me that my son is going undercover as a figure skater?”

  I couldn’t say it aloud. So I nodded my head ever so slightly.

  Dad’s face was frozen for a few seconds. He may have not even taken a single breath.

  “Dad . . .?”

  Finally, a huge grin broke onto his face. “This, I’ve got to see!”

  The impossible happened: a compromise had been reached.

  I could wear sweats while we were undercover, but they couldn’t, as Shelby dictated, “have the grotesque logo of any professional or intramural sporting organization.”

  Hey, that was something I could agree to. Anything that kept me out of spandex.

  But that meant we needed to go back to the ice to practice before we had to skate in front of actual figure skaters tomorrow morning.

  “Good afternoon,” Shelby greeted Dad and me with a slight lift of her chin.

  “Oh, hey, Shelby,” I said as I pulled her away so we could talk in private. “Do you mind if my dad comes along? He wouldn’t get in the way. He just wants to see us work.”

  Shelby looked over at my dad, who was busy typing on his phone. “From what I’ve been able to gather about talented child athletes, there’s usually a parent hovering around them, so his audience wouldn’t be questioned. We’d just have to fill him in on his alibi.”

  This was getting better and better. My first undercover assignment and I got to do it with my dad!

  “Ready to go?” Shelby marched past us, not waiting for a reply.

  “You know, Shelby,” Dad said as he caught up to her. Shelby walked fast, so Dad practically had to jog to reach her. “I’d love to meet your parents while I’m here. Maybe after this, you could introduce me?”

  “Believe me, Mr. Watson, once you cross paths with my parents, they will force an invitation on you for dinner. They love to have people over.”