The Case of the Missing Mascot (A Sherlock Shakespeare Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

It looked like a few of the guys were having some kind of barely-coded conversation. I couldn't tell exactly what they were trying—and failing—to be so nonchalant about, but I did know they were meeting at a coffee shop late tonight for something. If I'd just stolen a live pig, I'd probably be looking to pawn it off on someone else too.

I quickly googled the coffee shop's address and entered it into my phone for directions. It wasn't a great part of town. Didn't matter. I'd still be there.

Sherlock I'm-never-telling-my-middle-name Shakespeare was officially on the case.

Even though it was out of the norm for me, my parents didn't even glance up from the books they were reading when I told them I was going out. Most parents probably would've wondered where their teenage daughter suddenly needed to be on a Sunday night. Not mine. Growing up, there were only three things they didn't believe in: bedtimes, curfews and any book written in the current century.

Since it was a Sunday night, I didn't hit any traffic on the way to the coffee shop. I got there way too early, so I sat at a table against the wall where I'd be able to see the door and most of the other tables. As long as they didn't plan to discuss their dirty deeds at the one table I couldn't see, my little stakeout would go smoothly.

After sitting around for about a half hour, I started to wish I'd thought to bring my economics book with me. It would've been nice to have some kind of a distraction other than fiddling with my keys while I sipped hot chocolate. Actually, I was starting to feel a little conspicuous, paranoid even. There weren't many people in the coffee shop as it was, so sitting in the corner with a hoodie and hot chocolate as though it wasn't still eighty degrees outside might stand out. I was considering taking my hoodie out to the car when the most obnoxious sound I'd ever heard erupted from my phone.

Seriously? Tom had nothing to say to me over the last forty-eight hours and
now
he wanted to talk. Ignore.

It figured that he'd wait until now to call. He knew that this was about the time I normally considered bedtime. Seemed just like him to wait until I was exhausted and half asleep so that he'd have the best chance of getting me to believe whatever lie he thought he'd feed me.

My phone rang again. Loudly. I really hadn't thought through the ringtone choice earlier.

Ignore.

I could feel eyes on me, watching me, but no one was looking in my direction when I'd glance up. I shook it off and pulled my hoodie more tightly around me. They must have the AC cranked to the max in here because I was freezing.

A moment later there was a typewriter sound from my phone as a group of high school guys walked in and parked it at a table not too far from me. I glanced down at the text. Super. Now he was telling me to stop being such a bitch and take his calls instead of sending him to voicemail. My reply to him was simple and more than he deserved.

No.

I hadn't figured they'd have the pig with them, but I hadn't really thought about how this stakeout was supposed to hit pay dirt. See, this was why I gave people dirty looks and blew them off whenever they asked me to solve mysteries. I was terrible at this. Truly terrible.

After another half hour of listening to them graphically discuss a cheerleader that a couple of them were banging while pretending to be fascinated by the weather app on my phone, I was ready to call it a night. I was tired, cranky and annoyed by the number of hateful texts Tom was currently blowing up my phone with. Drew was right. I totally regretted sleeping with this asshole.

It was ninety seconds of my life I'd never get back.

I texted Tom and told him to learn yoga so he could go blow himself and then stuffed my phone into the deep pocket of my hoodie. It was time to go. This whole thing was a waste of time. Not only did I not have the school mascot to show for my trouble, but giving myself too much time alone with my thoughts had only allowed me to fixate on the Tom situation instead of distracting me from it.

Just before I could push my chair back from the table, a couple of shady guys came in. Typical sagged pants and sideways turned baseball cap gang attire. Lots of bling. They had that weird simultaneous look of being in high school yet also being about thirty. I guess you saw and did a lot of stuff when you were in a gang that aged you beyond your years.

Or they were thirty and having a bitch of a time passing economics.

Oh wait. I was the one being tormented by econ.

They took in the room with a practiced carelessness, gave me the 'sup girl nod and then swaggered over to the table of high school guys. Conversation stopped in mid-sentence. Actually, one of the guys was standing up pantomiming sex with the cheerleader, so he stopped in mid-hump and sat down hastily. All eyes started darting around the room, so I stared into my mug as though I was intent on reading my non-existent tea leaves.

When I dared a glance up in their direction, the non-nodder stalked up to the counter and grabbed a fistful of the barista's shirt.

"Yo, you need to be here, homes?" He leaned in until his face was dangerously close to the barista's and added, "Cuz I don't think you do."

The barista was in the back room the moment he was released.

You should not be here.

Awesome. Where was that little voice in my head when I was coming up with this brilliant plan? Little late for second thoughts now.

After what felt like the rest of my life, one of the football guys handed over some cash to one of the thirty-year-old gang members. Not a single word. The one who'd nodded at me nodded at them and then the two of them headed out of the coffee shop in silence. Well, not silence since you can't really move lightly on your feet when your laces are untied and your pants are nearly on the ground, but they didn't say anything.

Common sense told me that I didn't want any part of what had just gone down. The part of my brain that liked my self-imposed curfew and bedtime told me that it was time for me to get in the car and head home. It was, after all, a school night.

The delusional fictional detective part of my brain told me to follow them.

I hurried out of the coffee shop, grateful that gangbangers didn't own belts since I was able to hear them down the block long before I saw them. They were talking now, but I couldn't catch anything they said. They could've been talking about what they were going to do with Champers. They could also be talking about new ways to hold up their pants while they walked so they'd have both hands free.

After a few blocks, they made a left around a building. I crept to the edge of its concrete exterior and peeked around, just to make sure they hadn't stopped for a weed break or anything right there. They were about halfway down the block, so I waited another few seconds to be on the safe side before I finally rounded the corner after them.

Turn around.

Since everything else tonight hadn't gone to plan, I don't know why I thought they'd get to wherever they were going quickly. I followed them on a midnight tour of the seediest parts of town, winding through alleys and making so many turns that I only vaguely knew the way back to the coffee shop. As I'd done at every other corner I'd followed them around, I stopped, waited, then checked to make sure they weren't right there before I stepped out from behind the wall.

And, of course, Tom picked that moment to begin calling me again.

The gangbangers stopped in their tracks and their heads whipped around. From where they were standing under a streetlamp, I could see the nodder's eyes narrow. He recognized me. If I'd kept on walking like nothing was abnormal when my phone started ringing, it probably would've been no biggie. Just another girl walking the streets at night nowhere near home in unseasonably warm clothing. But since I'd stopped like a deer hoping to appear invisible to the hunter while jamming my hand desperately into my pocket to try silencing the phone... I knew exactly how guilty I looked.

Run.

Since my shoes were tied and my pants weren't halfway to my ankles, I was able to make excellent use of the half-block head start I had on them. I zigged and zagged through the streets of this godforsaken deserted part of town in a desperate attempt to lose them. Every time I thought I'd succeeded, they would round a corner and start gaining on me. At this point and with all the adrenaline pumping through my body, I wasn't sure I could find the coffee shop.

Not that I really thought the barista who'd nearly peed his pants in fear was really going to act like a grown-up and help me.

At least I could use my keys as a weapon if it came down to a fight. I fumbled with one pocket of my hoodie and then the other as I ran. Seriously, how deep were these pockets?

Cold dread and hot bile entered my gut. I didn't have my keys. They were still on the table in the coffee shop.

Hide.

I'd developed an epic case of tunnel vision when they started chasing me, so I hadn't paid attention to anything but the road in front of me at first. Now though, when I realized hiding was the superior option to running, I realized I was somehow on a road that must only be used for deliveries. Not a single front door in sight, just the deserted backs of various businesses.

And just because I didn't already have enough reasons to be terrified of how this would turn out for me, I was apparently on the longest, most unbroken street in the world.

You cannot beat them in a dead run.

Enough already, obnoxious survival voice in my head. At this point, it was more annoying than helpful.

I ripped apart all my options in an instant and took off diagonally across the street, digging deep to put as much distance between them and me as possible. They must've pulled up their pants because it sounded like they were starting to gain on me. No part of my brain had the creative capacity to imagine what they'd do to me if they caught me, but no part of me wanted to find out.
 

If I managed not to die tonight, I was really going to have to start doing some cardio or something. I didn't remember it from any of the books, but I'll bet that Sherlock Holmes spent a shitload of time training so that he could outrun any bad guy he couldn't otherwise outwit. I probably shouldn't've tried to play detective without a self-defense class or twenty under my belt.

Whoa. I might actually die. Another quick decision and I was changing course to dart into the first darkened alleyway I saw. Anywhere it would take me had to be better than this.

Oh, dear God. If I died tonight, I'd be found wearing the Hello Kitty underwear Nana got me for Valentine's Day.
 

Humiliation like that surely followed you into the afterlife.

The hot bile and cold dread churned together the second I realized my fatal mistake. I'd run too far into the alley to be able to turn around now without running smack into them. Of all the alleys I could've found first, it had to be the one without so much as a dumpster to hide behind.

Dead end, Sherlock.

For some reason, the only thing I could think to do through the overwhelming wave of panic was to lie on the ground and curl up into the fetal position. Clearly I'd binged on too many Animal Planet shows at some point if my brain thought
that
was a good idea. I was dealing with thirty-year-old high school gangbangers, not a Kodiak bear. It was unlikely that they'd just sniff me a few times before getting back to their evening.

With the moon dipping behind some wispy clouds that were rolling in and a nearby streetlight broken, it wasn't like the alley was bright. It was the worst plan in the world, but I sprinted to the corner of darkness at the far end of the alley and fought to retrieve my phone from my hoodie. Then my mind went blank. This must be why Sherlock Holmes always took Watson everywhere with him. Watson was always packin' heat.

Unfortunately, anyone I had on speed dial wouldn't be armed and would never get here before these guys rounded the corner. I needed new friends. Desperately.

I was just trying to pull up the smartphone's keypad to call 9-1-1 when I heard the telltale sound of bling and baggy pants approaching. So much for hiding in the shadows. The light from my phone had my face glowing brighter than the Griswold’s Christmas lights.