Chapter 14

Spellbound Pages Bookshop, Downtown Los Angeles, California, United States

"Whoa, you're really Sherlock Holmes?" Boon asked the great detective, looking him over with shock. "I thought you were fictional. How is this even possible? This is amazing."

Sherlock Holmes and King Rudolfus Sweetwater stood in the center of the bookshop, looking very different from each other. The great detective was dressed in his usual brown tweed suit with a flat cap covering his serious expression. The king of the fae wore a silk blue tunic and modern slacks and a toothy grin. They'd portaled over to Spellbound Pages Bookshop as soon as Gen called about the murder.

"This is ridiculous," the postman complained, tossing his hand through his short, white hair. "This woman says she's a Rogue Rider and then calls a man she says is Sherlock Holmes and you all believe her." He pointed at the man beside the detective. "And who is this guy? The President of the United States?"

Pressing his hand to his chest, Rudolf smiled. "I would never take such a boring position. I'm the king of the fae. I manage drunk models and although it's a thankless job, it pays handsomely."

"How handsomely?" Bernard asked, floating over and inspecting the king more closely.

"Well, I'm the richest man in the world," the fae answered. "But that's mostly because I make really good gambles and own all of Las Vegas."

"And he's really the king of the fae," Summer said, twirling one of her dreadlocks around a finger and regarding Rudolf with a dreamy expression. "I've seen pictures of you, although you're much better looking in person. Will you marry me?"

"I would, but my wife would kill me," Rudolf answered, smoothing his blond hair with one hand. "And thank you. Cameras never capture my charm fully."

"Are you out of your mind?" JoAnne cried, tears falling over her cheeks as she pointed to the dead man lying on the carpet in the distance. They'd all moved to the open area to the side of the bookstore, away from Walter's body. "He's dead and you're making proposals. Can't we cover up his body if we can't leave? I can't be forced to continue to stare at it."

Boon consoled her by putting his arm around her shoulder and directing her attention the other way, putting their backs to the dead body in the distance.

"I'm afraid that the murder scene can't be compromised until we have a chance to investigate," Sherlock responded, matter-of-factly, looking intently at Gen. "You say that your dragon picked up on these events before they happened?"

She nodded. "Yes, he knew that something was going to happen, but wasn't sure what. And then he's psychically and telepathically determined that someone in this room murdered Walter, although he can't pinpoint who."

"Your dragon is psychic and telepathic," Boon said, his eyes wide with amazement. "That's so rad."

"Again, Walter has died," JoAnne said through sniffles. "Will you all be more respectful?"

"It was your soup that killed him," Bernard said, floating next to his cat who was licking her paw and not paying much attention to anyone.

"That will be for us to determine," Sherlock said, putting his hands behind his back. "And I believe that Emperor, the dragon, is correct and this is a murder but it will be King Rudolf's and my responsibility to find who did it."

"Why do you think it's a murder?" Summer asked, backing up, looking around at everyone with suspicion suddenly, realizing she was in the presence of a murderer.

"Because the very power that has kept me alive for centuries is driven by the desire to solve mysteries," Sherlock answered. "If there is an unsolved murder, I'm aware of it. And I'm fueled to solve that mystery and I don't rest until I do. That is what has made me immortal. The fire to find out who done it keeps me alive and that's why I have never died. And as long as I always discover the truth, then I never will."

"So, you feel the mystery here?" Boon asked. "You know there was a murder?"

Sherlock lowered his chin, giving the young man a measured glare. "Let's just say, I'm not drawn to accidents or natural causes of death. If Gen Beaufont called me for that, as much as I like her, I wouldn't show up."

King Rudolf pointed to the man beside him. "And I go where Sherlock goes, because let's face it, this guy would run into the street without me. He doesn't know modern society very well. But then we have Gen and she's?—"

"Here and ready to start the investigation," Gen interrupted, not wanting anyone else in the room to know that she was a time traveler from the 15th century, dropped into the present day. She liked to hide that fact when and if she could. She turned her attention to Sherlock and Rudolf. "So, as you both know, we have a murder that has happened here. Emperor knows the murderer to be one of the suspects in this room with us now. Therefore, where do you want to start?"

Sherlock Holmes pointed to the dead man's body. "With investigating the murder scene. It will reveal the means, then I can determine the motive and opportunity by talking to the suspects."

King Rudolf snapped his fingers and a bottle of red wine appeared. "With drinking. I think best when I lubricate my mind."

"And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" JoAnne asked, looking around at the others with a pleading expression.

"Stay silent until we question you," Sherlock Holmes advised. "Or you can talk and incriminate yourself, but either way, I will discover which one of you is the murderer."