Sherlock Holmes and the Vampire's Kiss by J.R. Rain & Chanel Smith

Author:J.R. Rain & Chanel Smith [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2021-01-27T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The Horseman’s Tavern,

95 Ensign Street

Two great occurrences, though quite ordinary at face value, brightened up my morning.

First, Holmes was pleased that we actually arrived early at the tavern. And second, Sofia Hofer had indeed laid out fresh-from-the-oven scones and jam in anticipation of our arrival.

“How are you holding up, Mrs. Hofer?” I asked, forgoing common formality to lean in for a brief embrace. I sensed she needed the comfort. Sherlock Holmes, of course, remained as standoffish as ever.

“As well as could be expected,” she said with some courage, though her eyes held a distant gaze. “I keep expecting him to walk through the door at any minute. It’s near to driving me mad.”

“Stay strong, Mrs. Hofer,” Holmes encouraged, nodding once. I knew that for my detective friend, this was akin to a warm embrace. “We’ll unravel this mystery and have your husband back to you safe and sane in no time at all. It is our understanding that some have claimed to see him about?”

“That’s what we heard,” said Charlie Mitchum suddenly from across the room. “We went searching, and me friend got killed in the process.”

“Oh, Charlie...” Mrs. Hofer moved in his direction to comfort her distraught friend. “You can’t go blaming yourself for that. Roger was as eager to go out searching as you were. It was his idea, if I recall correctly. No, the blame should fall squarely on my shoulders. I was overcome with hope when I heard those rumors of his sighting. No doubt rumors were all they were.”

“It is my experience that rumors have at their foundation a bit of truth, however small,” Holmes put in. “It is our jobs as investigators to sort out the bits and find our way to the truth.”

“We can only hope,” Mrs. Hofer returned. “For the time being, how about we dig into those hot scones and jam so we can hear over that growling lion trapped in Dr. Watson’s stomach.”

I felt myself blush. “Begging your pardon, madame.”

“Nonsense, sit down here at the table and enjoy. There is plenty for all.”

Which was no exaggeration. There were enough to allow each of us to imbibe in half a dozen each. They were the size of my fist and released a puff of steam when broken open. I put forth my best effort to consume my share of the lot, rivaling Charlie Mitchum, himself a burly dockhand used to taking in large portions at each sitting. Though Holmes was known to be a light eater, even he made short work of three.

“Have you had enough then, Dr. Watson?” Mrs. Hofer asked as I labored to finish the last few bites of my fifth, surprised at how hungry I had been.

“I am quite satisfied,” came my cheerful response. “I’ve always maintained that no woman living or dead has ever made better scones, excepting my grandmother on my father’s side. However, today, I have changed my mind. Gran’mum never made such delicious fare.”

“That would be on account of starving yourself half to death, Dr.

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