Sunday Drive

"Middle School, My Dear Watson" part Three

(below is the third installment in my new middle grade book about Sherlock Holmes in middle school. You can read Chapter One here and follow the links from there. The chapter after this one is here.)

ELEMENTARY MIDDLE SCHOOL, MY DEAR WATSON — continued

CHAPTER FOUR

Solution to “The Case of the Missing Math Tests”

“The best hiding place isn’t a hiding place at all,” said Holmes. “It’s a community. For instance, it is all but impossible to hide a tree in a parking lot. But in a forest…”

“If you don’t get to the point –” said Dr. Lestrade, but Ms. Hudson quieted him by touching his arm and saying, “Ssh, George. I want to hear this.”

Holmes gave Ms. Hudson a grateful smile. We were all in the teachers lounge – and by “all” I mean me, Sherlock, Ms. Hudson, Dr. Lestrade, Shonda, and Jim Moriarty. Shonda was still sniffling, but she currently looked more confused than upset. Jim looked outraged.

“I understand,” continued Holmes, “That this room has been thoroughly searched. Behind sofa cushions, at the back of closets, inside umbrella stands, etcetera – basically the whole litany of places where a stack of test paper should not be. But how closely have you examined the place where a stack of test papers should be? The place where you would expect to find a stack of test papers, and thus not see them at all?”

Ms. Hudson figured it out first. “The cubbies,” she said.

Holmes nodded. “The teachers undoubtedly keep all sorts of test papers and other assignments in their cubby holes, to take home and grade later.”

There was a big brown slab of furniture next to the door, with slots for each of the teachers to put their stuff in, and a different teacher’s name written on a sticker below each slot. We were all looking at it now. Sure enough, half the cubby holes had stacks of test papers or homework in them.

“You can’t hide anything in there,” said Lestrade, smugly. “The teachers use their cubbies every day. They’d notice if somebody stuffed a strange stack of papers inside.”

“Not,” said Holmes, “if the teacher in question is absent from school for a month while she recovers from an auto accident.”

“Mrs. Pinchuk,” whispered Ms. Hudson. Dr. Lestrade didn’t look so smug anymore.

We looked at Mrs. Pinchuk’s cubby. As Holmes had predicted, it was full of a big stack of papers. Ms. Hudson reached for them, but Holmes cautioned, “Please grab them by the edges, Ms. Hudson. We don’t want to spoil the fingerprints.” Ms. Hudson looked baffled by that, but I noticed she picked the stack up by the edges, anyway. She gave them a quick glance, then looked at Holmes, impressed. “These are the tests, alright.”

“I didn’t put those there!” insisted Shonda.

“And I certainly didn’t,” glowered Jim.

Dr. Lestrade looked at Holmes suspiciously. “How did you know they’d be there, young man?” He made young man sound like the worst possible thing anyone could ever be in the history of the world.

“Mere process of elimination,” said Holmes. “The only other possibility is the toilet, and a quick test would prove that the school’s water pressure is inadequate for the job.”

Dr. Lestrade grumbled something about utility bills and budget cuts, but he nodded, so I guess Holmes had made his point.

“What were you saying about fingerprints… ah, Sherlock?” asked Ms. Hudson.

“He’s just playing detective,” said Jim. He was talking to Ms. Hudson, but he was glaring at Holmes while he said it, like Sherlock was a piece of dirt. I’d never noticed before how Jim’s neck wiggles like a snake when he’s angry. “We all took the test. All of our fingerprints are on them.”

“Very true. But all of our fingerprints aren’t on all the tests,” said Sherlock. “You, for instance, were the first person to finish. You dropped your paper in the box and left the room before any of the other tests were finished or put in the box. So if we were to find your fingerprints on any of the test papers beside your own –”

“I did it!” said Jim. “I confess.” Then he covered his eyes like he was going to cry.

“What?” said Ms. Hudson.

“What?!” shrieked Shonda.

“Wh-what?” sputtered Dr. Lestrade. His red face was suddenly mottled with white spots.

Jim collapsed on the rickety old sofa and choked out his story. He said he’d felt so bad for Shonda – he hated seeing such a good student get so upset – that, on the spur of the moment, he decided to hide the tests so she’d get another chance. He didn’t think anyone would ever suspect her. After all, everyone knew how honest Shonda was. Then, when everything went crazy, he didn’t know what to do. He was scared. He swore on his mother’s life that if it looked like Shonda was going to really get in trouble he would’ve told the truth. But he never got the chance because Sherlock started playing his crazy games. He was sorry. He was so, so sorry…

By the time Jim stopped confessing, Shonda was patting his back, comforting him.

Holmes was harder to convince. After school we sat in my room eating Twizzlers while he explained the case. “It was obvious from the start that Shonda was innocent,” he said.

“Why was that obvious?” I asked.

“Because only an idiot could think she’d get away with such an idiotic crime. Shonda is annoying –”

“Very annoying,” I agreed.

“But she’s definitely not an idiot. That left Jim.”

“Why would Jim want to steal the test?”

Holmes was lying on his back on my floor, using my old teddy bear for a pillow, basking in the afternoon sunlight that streamed over him from the window, and holding his Twizzler in the air and nibbling at it like it was a rare delicacy.

“He did it to make Shonda look bad. She’s his chief rival for Class Brain. This would have eliminated her completely – far more completely than one bad grade on one little test.” He nibbled daintily on his Twizzler. I almost asked him if he’d like a knife and fork to eat it with. “Oh, he’s clever. You can see how quickly his mind works. First – when Shonda returned to the auditorium and he saw his opportunity to frame her, he went immediately into action. Only a genius would’ve thought of hiding the papers in Mrs. Pinchuk’s cubby –”

“You thought of it –“ I interrupted, but Holmes rolled on: “And Second – when he saw the hopelessness of his situation, how quickly he confessed.”

“You could’ve really caught him with fingerprints?”

“Possibly.” Holmes laughed. “I’ve got a junior detective kit at home. I don’t know how good it is with fingerprints, though. But Moriarty couldn’t take the chance. He knew he couldn’t bluff anymore. It would just make it worse for him when he was eventually caught.” Then he looked thoughtful. “In the end, though, I don’t think making himself the unchallenged Class Brain was the real reason he framed Shonda. After all, it’s a meaningless unofficial title. Everyone already knows that Jim’s smart. No, he had a more basic reason for being so nasty and hurtful and cruel.”

“Okay,” I said, “What was that?”

Holmes turned his head and looked me in the eyes. “He enjoyed it.”

I shook my head. “Are you sure about that, Sherlock? He seemed really upset about what happened. It looked like he was about to cry in the teachers lounge.”

Holmes smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “It doesn’t matter what it looked like. That’s mere deception. Crocodile tears.” His unhappy smile grew wider. “Our friend Moriarty is capable of many things. But I doubt crying is one of them.”

Then he got that faraway look in his eyes, and he said something that made me shiver:

“We have made a powerful enemy today.”