The Great Shelby Holmes and the Coldest Case Page 8

  “Yeah, but those names still stung. So, I started walking different ways to school to avoid him. Mom and Dad knew something was wrong, but I didn’t want to tell on him.”

  This is the part of the story where I get ashamed. I should’ve said something, but I didn’t.

  I thought he’d eventually stop.

  Spoiler alert: he didn’t.

  “What happened with this Donnie fellow?” Shelby asked with furrowed brows.

  “Well, one day I was kicking around a ball in our backyard. It went in the road, where Donnie happened to be waiting. He took it and held it high above his head. ‘Come on, man,’ I had said to him. Then he replied, ‘Naw, I don’t think some stupid twerp like you should have this nice a ball.’ Then he pushed me down.”

  Shelby’s jaw clenched. I was kind of touched that she’d be upset about something that had happened before she even knew me.

  “Here’s the good part: What Donnie didn’t know was that my mom was in the living room. She heard everything and came running out. Seriously, the look on Donnie’s face when Mom approached him was almost worth the weeks of his taunting. She took him by the collar and marched him home and had a talk with his folks. From then on, Donnie was the one avoiding me.”

  A smile spread on Shelby’s face. “It is wise to not get on your mother’s bad side. I am speaking from experience.”

  I let out a laugh. It’s something people often say about Shelby. Hmm, maybe my mom and Shelby have a few things in common. You definitely don’t want to cross either of them. And I’m speaking from experience on both fronts.

  “Yeah, I didn’t like it when Donnie pushed me, but what he said to me was worse. It was the first time I realized how hurtful words could be to someone. That is what’s happening to Jordan. Athletes are strong, but competition can be as much of a mental game as a physical one. Once those words get planted—like ‘loser’—it’s hard to get them out of your mind. Sometimes it’s easier to believe the worst about yourself.”

  Shelby was silent for a moment. When she spoke, it was in a surprisingly soft voice. “Watson, do words people convey to you really hurt you?”

  It wasn’t the response I was expecting from her.

  “They can.”

  She looked thoughtful. “Do I sometimes say something to you in a hurtful manner?”

  Whoa. Was it possible Shelby Holmes was going to become self-aware?

  “I mean, yeah, sometimes.”

  “I’d like specific examples of said behavior,” she stated with a sniff.

  “Ah.” Where do I begin? “You get really short with me when I don’t know something, and you sometimes say things about my abilities in front of others. I’m still learning.”

  “Neither of those statements are a specific example, now are they, Watson? And how are you going to learn if I don’t point out when you are wrong. In fact, I do not mention every occasion you’re incorrect as there are only so many hours in a day.”

  “Right there!” I pointed at her.

  “What?” Shelby genuinely seemed confused. “What word—exactly—did I say that would be classified as bullying?”

  “It’s more of how you say it.”

  “Oh, so it’s the tone of my voice.” She then put on her sweet Roberta voice. “Is this better?”

  “Never mind.” I started walking faster. I should’ve known better. I mean, really, there was sometimes no point in trying to reason with her.

  But as we waited at a crossing light, Shelby said something I never expected from her.

  “I’m sorry, Watson. I’ll try to be more aware of my tone and vocabulary.” She then patted me on the back.

  I was so stunned. I stood there with my mouth open, even after we had the walk signal.

  I did it! She was learning about being a better (and hopefully more tolerable) friend! Miracles can happen!

  Shelby turned around as she crossed the street. “Not the time to be resting on either your laurels or the corner, Watson.”

  Or maybe not.

  As we approached the Sky Rink, a knot began forming in my stomach. I hoped Jordan’s bully was just going to stick to leaving notes.

  I didn’t want to think what this person was going to do if they decided to take it a step further.

  But as we opened the door to the rink, it was clear there was something going on.

  “Get your head in the game, Belle!” Belle’s mom shouted as we entered the rink. She was wearing yellow head to toe and had a huge cup of coffee in her hand. She kept nervously pacing back and forth. “You need to do it again. This time without falling. You have three days to get your act together.”

  Well, Mrs. Booth certainly fit the profile of a bully.

  Over on the other ice, Jordan was skating fast. Really fast. And taking huge jumps and landing them, only to jump again.

  She was staying on her feet!

  “No!” Belle’s mom shouted as my attention went back to her. “What has gotten into you?”

  I looked back to the ice and saw . . . ​Belle?

  It had to be Belle because she was skating with Douglas and it was the person getting wrath from Belle’s mom, but . . .

  Shelby and I exchanged a look. Sure, it was only our third day at the rink, but I think I remembered what Belle looked like. Or at least that she had dark hair and now was blond. Did she dye her hair? Or was she wearing a blond wig?

  No, that didn’t make sense. Why would someone wear a wig while skating? No way would that thing stay on.

  Belle was flying right over to her mom, her teeth clenched. She tore a wig off her head, and then started ripping bobby pins out of her hair.

  What was going on? Could one thing about this case start making sense?

  “Maybe this ridiculous thing is getting in my way.” Belle threw it at her mom. It landed near Shelby’s feet.

  Sergi skated over. “No wig. We must focus on elements.”

  Belle narrowed her eyes at her mom. “Told you.”

  “I think you look more cohesive with Douglas if you have blond hair.” Mrs. Booth picked up the wig.

  “No more distractions,” Sergi shouted. “No more autographs! No more watching videos! We skate! Skate only way to win!”

  Mrs. Booth sighed, but sat down on the bench nearest the entrance.

  “Stop with the shouting!” Tatiana yelled to Sergi. “You biggest distraction here!”

  Between the glass that separated the rinks, the two former skating partners and couple glared at each other for a few uncomfortable moments before bringing their attention back to their skaters.

  Yikes. The tension was intense.

  Shelby walked over to Mrs. Booth, her eyes focused on the wig. “Excuse me, are you going to use that?”

  Mrs. Booth did a double take, not realizing we were there and had witnessed the fight between her and her daughter. And then Sergi and Tatiana. “But you have such lovely red hair.”

  “Why, thank you so much. But you never know when you’ll need to have blond hair, right?” Shelby said with an innocent smile.

  (More like, Shelby never knew when she needed to go undercover as a blond.)

  Mrs. Booth stared at the limp wig in her hand. “Sure. Have it. The things we try in order to ensure a victory.”

  Shelby sat down next to Mrs. Booth and started to tie her skates. “May I inquire as to why you wanted your daughter to be blond? She has a nice shade of black hair.”

  “It was a silly idea I had.” Mrs. Booth shook her head. “It was nothing.”

  “I’m sure it was something, since regionals are approaching. We skaters need every advantage to score high.”

  “That was exactly what I was thinking!” Mrs. Booth’s jaw was set stubbornly. “I was looking at old footage of Douglas and Jordan skating. They were such a dynamic pair. I simply noticed that one thing that made it hard to take your eyes off them was that they seemed to fit so well with each other. It was like they were born to skate together.”

  I looked over
at a blond Douglas and then over to a blond Jordan.

  So Mrs. Booth wanted her daughter to be more like Jordan. I wondered what else she was willing to do to get her daughter to win. Like, oh, I don’t know . . . ​leave bullying ciphers to mess with Jordan’s mind.

  But if I was being honest, the only person who had the biggest motivation was Aisha.

  I had to think clearly. Aisha didn’t seem like a bully, but what did I know?

  Maybe Shelby had a point about not making a case personal. It was hard for me to see Aisha as an evil culprit. She was the opposite of what I pictured this bullying person to be. But maybe . . . ​that was exactly what she wanted us to think.

  Mrs. Booth took her video camera and walked to the top of the bleachers to get the best view of the rink. Tatiana skated over to Shelby and me. She shook her head. “No message today.”

  No message? What did that mean? What were we supposed to do now?

  Shelby stood up. “Well, Julian. I guess it’s time we skate.”

  Oh no. Not that. Anything but that.

  Progress!

  Well, sort of.

  Are you ready for this? Shelby and I had managed to remain upright for fifteen minutes as we skated around the rink.

  Yep. Fifteen whole minutes.

  Not bad. Not bad at all.

  Especially since Jordan wasn’t so lucky. She didn’t fall with every jump, but she did fall. A lot. The only time I came close to landing on my butt was when Jordan skated by us so fast, it startled me.

  Shelby and I skated back toward the bench to rest. I couldn’t believe it wasn’t even seven o’clock yet.

  Mrs. Booth was laughing as we sat down. “I guess I should apologize.”

  Okaaay. Where was that coming from?

  “Clearly you aren’t competition.”

  Duh. That was what we were trying to tell her.

  “What I can’t figure out is why Tatiana is wasting her time with you when she has Jordan. All you did was skate around. You can’t jump? Spin? Something is off about you two.” She wagged her finger at us.

  “I’m nursing an injury so I have to take it easy,” Shelby replied through gritted teeth.

  Hey, that was the excuse I wanted to use on our first day! No fair!

  “I’m going to do a circle to make sure a cipher wasn’t missed,” Shelby whispered to me. “I’ll be right back.”

  I sat there and watched the other skaters. Mrs. Booth had a point: we were nowhere near as good as her daughter. Or anybody else. But we’d only been skating for a few days. The fact that I stayed upright in itself was a victory. I didn’t want to fall in front of Aisha. Or any of them, really.

  Aisha skated over and got out of the rink as music cued up for Douglas and Belle’s routine. Mrs. Booth hovered with her video camera as the pair began spinning around.

  “They’re really good,” Aisha said as she sat down next to me.

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  Why was I nervous being near her? Was it because she was our lead suspect?

  Yep, that was what I was going with.

  She could be guilty.

  Douglas and Belle finished their routine and we all clapped, except for Mrs. Booth. “You wobbled on your camel, Belle!”

  Always a critic.

  Douglas seemed frustrated. “You need to hold on to me tighter when we spin. I could feel you losing your grip. Jordan always locked her fingers when she did it. Maybe she can show you?”

  “Oh yes!” Mrs. Booth clapped her hands excitedly. “What a wonderful idea! Let’s ask Jordan for some pointers when she’s done today.”

  Belle hung her head as she got off the ice.

  Aisha stood up and started to stretch. “Well, it’s my turn. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” I repeated, but I wanted to say something more. “And, you know, you’re like, um, also really good.”

  Aisha’s entire face lit up. “Thank you! It’s been a lot of work, but I love it.”

  “I can tell.” Not like I’d been spending lots of time looking at her or whatever, but she kind of came alive when she was on the ice. The only time I’d seen anybody that happy about what they were doing was when Shelby was inhaling candy.

  “Thanks, you’re so sweet!” She then reached down and gave me a hug.

  Bullies didn’t give good hugs, did they? (Please say no.)

  Aisha returned to the rink as Mrs. Booth continued to give Belle an earful about her performance, which I thought was really good. But yet again, what did I know? (About anything apparently.)

  Shelby came back. “Nothing,” she reported.

  Should we be relieved or worried that there weren’t any messages?

  Shelby took a quick look at me and shook her head.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Fraternizing with a suspect,” she said with a twitch of her nose.

  “What are you—”

  She pointed to my left shoulder, which had glitter on it from Aisha’s hug.

  “I was just being nice,” I defended myself.

  “Oh, I’m sure.”

  You know what, I take it back. Shelby was a bully. I mean, she was only telling the truth, but I didn’t like her attitude. I could be nice to people and still be a detective. She should maybe try it, for a change.

  Jordan skated over to the side of the rink, in front of us. She gave us a little nod as she picked up her water bottle.

  Shelby stood up and narrowed her eyes.

  “Don’t drink that!” Shelby said quietly as she took the bottle from Jordan’s hand.

  “What are you doing?” Jordan asked loudly.

  Tatiana skated over. The three of us watched Shelby as she swirled the water around Jordan’s bottle, then twisted off the lid and sniffed it. Shelby placed the bottle back down. “Don’t touch,” she said under her breath. “Pretend that we’re having a team meeting or whatever it is you do.”

  Tatiana nodded as she clapped her hands. “Okay, we talk schedule,” she said loudly.

  “What’s going on?” Jordan asked as she tried to grab her water bottle, but stopped when she saw the glare from Shelby.

  “Have you had a sip of this yet?”

  “No. What’s the big deal?” Jordan put the bottle up to her lips.

  “I would advise you don’t drink that unless you want to spend the majority of the day in the bathroom.”

  “What?” all three of us asked.

  The color drained from Jordan’s already pale face. “What?” she repeated.

  “Someone put an oily substance in this water,” Shelby whispered as she studied the bottle carefully. “I need to do some testing, but I’m fairly certain I know what it is. It would make you a little sick, but wouldn’t do any permanent damage.”

  No permanent damage? I don’t think that was making anybody feel better. I certainly felt a little sick to my stomach knowing that the person had moved from notes to sabotage. And I wasn’t even the person they were targeting!

  “How do you know all of this?” Jordan asked.

  Shelby examined her for a minute, then sighed. “Well, I think it’s time we dispense with the charade.” She then turned to me. “Watson, what’s going to be our biggest obstacle in finding the person who tampered with this?”

  “Who’s Watson?” Jordan asked, looking between the two of us.

  I couldn’t believe Shelby used my real name, but I guess she had decided that Jordan needed to know our real identities.

  “Watson?” Shelby repeated. “Biggest obstacle?”

  Ah, the fact that anybody here could’ve done it? But no. There had to be something special about this case and where we were. I quickly examined everybody in the rink. We all had one thing in common. And one thing that would make identifying a criminal difficult.

  “Gloves,” I replied. Shelby wouldn’t be able to dust for fingerprints.

  Once again, gloves were proving to be an issue for us. Who knew?

  “Exactly.” Shelby produced tweezers from ins
ide her skate. First the ciphers and now tweezers? What else did she have in there? I was used to her backpack being stuffed with every possible item you could need while solving a case. I had no idea how she fit her foot in that boot with everything else she apparently had stashed in there.

  “Hello! What’s this?” Shelby said as she took the tweezers and picked up something from near the lid. It was a black piece of fuzz. “Who’s wearing black gloves?”

  I looked around. “Douglas . . .” I flinched. “Aisha . . .” Sergi had red gloves while Belle and her mom had yellow gloves that had some sort of snowflake pattern.

  “And me,” Jordan said as she waved her black-clad fingers at us. “Would you please explain what is—Hey!” she protested as Shelby plucked a fiber from Jordan’s gloves.

  Shelby held both pieces up to the light. One had a bit of gray in it and was thicker than the other.

  “Different gloves,” Shelby stated. “Your fiber is made from merino wool, while the other is alpaca.”

  Jordan’s forehead was creased. “Can someone please explain what’s going on here?”

  “Jordan, I think it’s time we have a little talk.”

  “I don’t understand what’s going on.” Jordan paced back and forth in Tatiana’s office. “Who are you again?”

  “I’m John Watson and this is Shelby Holmes. We’re here to help find the person who is sending you the ciphers,” I explained.

  “What’s a cipher?” Jordan asked with a flip of her ponytail.

  “It’s the messages you’ve been getting,” Shelby stated flatly.

  “Oh, those.” Her eyes darted around the room, not willing to make eye contact with either of us.

  “And we aren’t figure skaters,” I clarified.

  Jordan stopped walking and started laughing. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry! Really, I figured you weren’t figure skaters.” She turned to Tatiana. “I was wondering why you were bringing in another team so close to regionals. I thought you were giving up on me.”

  “Never!” Tatiana rubbed Jordan’s shoulders. “I hired them for help. You no talk to me. You too upset.”