"Hey, this story has gotten even more hits than the last one," she said. "It's free advertising. I bet we'll get tons of new business from this."

  I wasn't so sure that was a good thing. I hadn't recovered yet from the old business. I had a feeling it was going to take some time before I didn't see that gun pointed at me whenever I closed my eyes. Absently, I stroked Toby's soft ears. He snuggled up against me with a contented sigh.

  "I wonder who his sources are," Irene mused. "He tied up a lot of loose ends. Did you get to the part where he says Dominic Gordon has disappeared? He's probably wearing cement shoes fitted just for him by Vincent."

  I shuddered. "He might just be in hiding from his brother. I know I would be."

  "Yeah, you've got a point. If any more bodies go missing, we'll know for sure." She sipped her wine while she scanned the article. "The Jane Doe's name was Amy Balentine. She's from Bakersfield."

  I shook my head, my heart going out to her family. While it sounded like she hadn't lived a strictly straight and narrow life, she hadn't deserved the end she'd gotten.

  "And Bryan Steele's Internal Affairs investigation has expanded to look into his connections to Vincent Gordon," Irene added, finishing the article.

  "That's a good thing. That man has no business being a cop."

  "Agreed." She glanced up. "Did you ever find out what happened to Tara?"

  I nodded. "She called me last night after the story broke. She claimed she lost her phone yesterday, and she thinks that Rossi stole it from her dressing room to send me that text. He must have deleted it off her phone, but I'm sure the police will be able to check her records with her cell provider."

  "She can't be too happy to be out of work just when she was elevated to prima donna."

  "Actually, I don't think she'll be out of work for too long. She's front and center in this story, and it sounds like she's loving the limelight. She said she's fielding offers to appear on a few daytime talk shows. Who knows, maybe she'll ditch opera for Hollywood."

  "She can be a diva anywhere," Irene said, smiling.

  I leaned forward, looking at Irene's screen and noticing a photo beside Wiggins' article, of an angular-looking man in a ridiculous looking deerstalker cap. "Who on earth is that?"

  "That, my dear Hudson, is Sherlock Holmes."

  I shot her a look. "You've got be joking."

  Irene shrugged. "What? You don't like it?"

  "That hat's a bit much."

  Irene shrugged. "I like to think Sherlock has his own sense of style. Very retro rural England chic, no?"

  I shook my head. "No." I paused. "Where did you even get this?"

  "I pieced it together in Photoshop."

  I opened my mouth to ask more, but didn't get the chance, as the doorbell rang.

  Irene set her glass down. "Are you expecting someone?"

  I shook my head. I went to answer it with Irene and Toby at my heels.

  Barbara Lowery Bristol stood on the porch. "I'm sorry. I should have called." She looked away, clearly ill at ease. "I wasn't sure you'd want to see me after…"

  "I understand you were upset," I said. "Please come in." I stepped aside.

  "I won't take up much of your time." Her fingers worried the clasp of her handbag. "I really just came to apologize for being so unfair to both of you. I hired Mr. Holmes to do a job, and then I behaved miserably when you tried to do it."

  "This wasn't an easy situation for you," I said gently.

  "No." She started to speak, hesitated, and fell silent for a moment. "Losing Rebecca has just been so hard. I—" She paused, looking from Irene to me. "Well, I just feel so guilty. You were right. I did try to nudge Rebecca out of our parents' inheritance. She caused them nothing but grief when they were alive, and I was the one who stayed behind to pick up the pieces and take care of them in their later years." Tears formed behind Barbara's eyes. "But she was my sister. I should have loved her despite her faults. Now I have to deal with the fact we'll never have the chance to reconcile." Her voice broke.

  Reflexively, I reached out to touch her hand. There was nothing either of us could say to lessen her pain.

  After some time, she regained her composure. "I've said what I came to say. Now I have to attend Rebecca's funeral." Her smile was small and weak. "At Haley's Funeral Home. Oh. Here. I've cut another check for you." She handed it to me. "I hope you'll accept my apology." She offered her hand, and we shook it in turn.

  We watched her return to her car and drive away.

  "We should send some flowers to her back in Iowa," Irene said.

  I glanced at her, surprised. "You're getting sentimental."

  "And then we should get you a new roof," she said. "Can you feel that draft?"

  I rolled my eyes. Although she had a point. With Barbara's check in hand, anything felt possible. Maybe even new electrical too. I knew it wouldn't cover everything the old place needed, but you had to start somewhere.

  The sound of an old-fashioned phone ringing came from Irene's open laptop.

  "That's him!" she shouted, diving for it.

  I shut the front door and joined her, taking a spot next to her on the sofa as she put on a headphone set, adjusting the microphone to her mouth.

  "Ready?" she asked.

  I nodded, my heart in my throat.

  Irene hit a button on the computer to answer the call and spoke into the microphone. Only the voice that came out was two octaves deeper and distinctly male. And if I listened carefully, even modulated with a hint of a British accent.

  "Sherlock Holmes speaking," Irene's alter ego said.

  "This is Detective Lestrade of the SFPD," came the reply from the other end. "Mr. Holmes, you're a hard man to get ahold of."

  "My apologies, Detective. As you know, I do travel quite extensively."

  "So I've heard."

  I held my breath, almost not believing our ruse was working.

  Irene and I had assumed that our "end of the day" timeline to have Mr. Holmes contact Lestrade would have vanished when we'd hand delivered a murderer to the detective. Not so much. He'd given us a small stay of execution to have Holmes contact him the following day instead. A day that Irene had spent the better part of loading her computer with this software, practicing her "Sherlock" voice, and trying to come up with answers to whatever hard questions Lestrade might throw her way. She was putting it to the test now, and I was mentally crossing all ten fingers and ten toes that we wouldn't need Barbara Lowery Bristol's check for bail money if she didn't succeed in pulling the wool over Lestrade's eyes.

  "What can I do for you this evening, Detective?" Irene/Sherlock asked.

  "I'd like to speak with you about two of your investigators, Irene Adler and Martha Hudson."

  I bit my lip. What could Lestrade possibly have to say about us?

  "Yes?" Irene prompted.

  "Uh, before I go on, I'd like to let you know I also have the medical examiner, Dr. John Watson, on the line."

  I froze. Irene shot me a questioning look. I shrugged and shook my head. This wasn't in the plan.

  "Uh, yes, I'm familiar with Dr. Watson's work," Irene answered slowly.

  "Nice to finally talk to you, Mr. Holmes," came Watson's voice from the laptop.

  Oh boy. If this went sideways, we were all in now.

  "Likewise, Dr. Watson," Irene answered.

  "As I said, I have a few questions for you about Ms. Adler and Ms. Hudson," Lestrade went on.

  "They are two of my best investigators. Outstanding individuals. Highly intelligent, hard working, and not bad to look at either," Holmes told them.

  I rolled my eyes at Irene and thought I heard Watson chuckle in the background.

  What? she mouthed.

  "Uh, yes," Lestrade continued. "Anyway, as I was saying, I have a few questions. Specifically about their credentials."

  Uh-oh. There it was. He knew we were hacks.

  "Go on," Irene prompted.

  "I don't seem to see a private investigator's license on file for either of your employees."

  I closed my eyes and thought a dirty word.

  But Irene wasn't fazed. "Of course not. They're still in training."

  I heard rustling on the other end, like Lestrade was mumbling something privately to Watson. "In training?" he asked finally. "You mean, taking classes?"

  "I mean, they're working as apprentices under me to accumulate their necessary hours to apply for the license in California. I believe it's six thousand hours, correct?"

  "Oh, uh, er. I'm not sure…" Lestrade paused, whispering to Watson again.

  I held my breath.

  "Uh, yes, I believe that is the requirement."

  "Well, that takes some time, Detective."

  "But, you see, the problem is that I actually can't seem to find a license on file for you either, Mr. Holmes."

  I shot Irene a helpless look. Last year when we'd first made up our phony baloney employer, Irene had forged a license for him, which she'd then sent to Watson to prove our credential. Of course, if anyone actually went digging into the real records at the Bureau of Security and Investigative Services, it wouldn't exist. And apparently Lestrade had dug.

  "No, of course not," Irene said, sounding completely unruffled by the question. "I'm not licensed in California."

  I blinked at her. She was just admitting it like that?

  I heard more rustling. "Uh, Dr. Watson here," came Watson's voice. "I distinctly remember you sending me a license issued by the state of California when you were looking into the death of Miss Hudson's aunt."

  "Yes, I did," Irene agreed. "But that's expired. So, at current, you would find no record of an active license for me in California."

  "Then you can't practice in California," Lestrade jumped in. "And neither can your apprentices."

  I hated how satisfied he sounded about that.

  This was not going well. My gaze pinged to Irene again.

  "Actually, I do believe I can," she went on, cool as a cucumber. "You see, I'm licensed in Georgia."

  "Georgia?!" Lestrade said.

  Georgia? I mouthed to her.

  She winked at me.

  "That's correct," she answered us both at the same time. "And, I believe the Bureau has a reciprocity agreement with Georgia, which allows me to conduct business in California."

  "Well…I…I'm not sure about…" I heard Lestrade try to cover the mouthpiece of his phone and address Watson. "Is that true?" he mumbled. "Can they do that?"

  I didn't hear Watson's reply, but it must have been affirmative, as Lestrade came back on the line a much surlier man. "Don't think I won't be checking Georgia's records!" he warned.

  "Please do," Sherlock said smoothly. "Now, if there's nothing else, I do have a rather busy schedule today."

  "I'm sure you do," Lestrade said, laying on the sarcasm.

  "Oh, but before I go, my associate Miss Hudson wanted me to relay a message to Dr. Watson."

  I did? I narrowed my eyes at her and shook my head in the negative.

  "She did?" Watson's voice asked. If I didn't know better, he sounded hopeful.

  "Yes," Sherlock went on, completely ignoring my ever-increasing head shaking. "In fact, she said she's quite sorry she had to run out on your—"

  I gave Irene a look that could kill.

  "—business dinner the other night and would like to make it up to you."

  I would not! I mouthed vehemently.

  Liar, Irene mouthed back.

  Okay, so maybe it was a slight fib, but the last thing I needed was "Sherlock" to do any matchmaking for me. He'd already screwed up every other area of my life—he could leave my love life alone. Measly as it was.

  "Well, you can tell Marty that I'd like that very much," Watson answered.

  Irene shot me an I told you so look. "Splendid!" she answered him. "I'll have her text you the details."

  "Uh, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade bustled back on the line, clearly out of patience with all of us. "When will you be in town so that we can meet face to face?"

  "Oh, I'm so sorry, Detective, but I'm afraid my business will keep me here a bit longer."

  "Exactly where is here?" Watson asked.

  "Sorry. My connection isn't very good. I'm having a bit of a time hearing you. I'm afraid I must go now, but thank you for the very lively chat, Detective. I do so look forward to meeting with you when I'm in town again. Cheerio!"

  Amid Lestrade's protests, Irene disconnected the call and removed her headset.

  "You don't think the 'cheerio' was a bit over the top?" I asked.

  Irene grinned, refilling our empty wineglasses. "Relax, Hudson. I got you a date, didn't I?"

  I shook my head. "Yeah, I guess you missed my violent no to that."

  "Watson sure seemed to like the idea."

  He had kind of, hadn't he? "Fine. Thank you for the business dinner." I paused. "But what was all that about Sherlock being licensed in Georgia?"

  She sipped her wine, looking supremely pleased with herself. "Turns out, Georgia has the most lenient licensing requirements of all the states with California reciprocity. So Shinwell went on a little vacation last week to Georgia to get licensed. You know, just in case we needed it."

  I blinked at her. "You sent Shinwell to impersonate Sherlock Holmes to the Georgia state licensing board?"

  She nodded. "He's a great actor, really."

  She was missing the point. "We've now committed fraud in two states," I mumbled.

  Irene handed my wineglass to me. "You worry too much, Marty. Besides, Sherlock has to keep doing business somehow."

  "No! No, he does not have to keep doing business."

  Irene shot me a look of mock hurt. "Marty. How much is that check worth that you're holding?"

  I didn't realize I was still clutching Barbra Lowery Bristol's check. I glanced down at it. "Three thousand."

  "And how much was your electrical estimate?"

  "Ten thousand." I sighed.

  A slow smile snaked across Irene's face. "So, want to check Sherlock's email and see if his newfound fame has caused any new cases to come in?"

  I glanced up at my water-stained ceiling, my knob-and-tube wiring, my single-paned drafty windows, and my crumbling plaster walls. "Maybe just one more case."

  Irene's smile stretched from ear to ear. "Sure, Marty. Just one more case…"

  * * * * *

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  ABOUT GEMMA HALLIDAY

  Gemma Halliday is the New York Times, USA Today & #1 Kindle bestselling author of the High Heels Mysteries, the Hollywood Headlines Mysteries, the Jamie Bond Mysteries, the Tahoe Tessie Mysteries, the Marty Hudson Mysteries, and several other works. Gemma's books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, two National Reader's Choice awards, a RONE award for best mystery, and three RITA nominations. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her boyfriend, Jackson Stein, who writes vampire thrillers, and their four children, who are adorably distracting on a daily basis.

  To learn more about Gemma, visit her online at http://www.gemmahalliday.com

  BOOKS BY GEMMA HALLIDAY

  Marty Hudson Mysteries:

  Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Brash Blonde

  Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Disappearing Diva

  High Heels Mysteries:

  Spying in High Heels

  Killer in High Heels

  Undercover in High Heels

  Christmas in High Heels (short story)

  Alibi in High Heels

  Mayhem in High Heels

  Honeymoon in High Heels (novella)

  Sweetheart in High Heels (short story)

  Fearless in High Heels

  Danger in High Heels

  Homicide in High Heels

  Deadly in High Heels

  Suspect in High Heels

  Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:

  Hollywood Scandals

  Hollywood Secrets

  Hollywood Confessions

  Hollywood Holiday (short story)

  Hollywood Deception

  Hollywood Homicide

  Hollywood Revenge

  Jamie Bond Mysteries:

  Unbreakable Bond

  Secret Bond

  Bond Bombshell (short story)

  Lethal Bond

  Dangerous Bond

  Bond Ambition (short story)

  Fatal Bond

  Tahoe Tessie Mysteries:

  Luck Be A Lady

  Hey Big Spender

  Baby It's Cold Outside (short story)

  Anna Smith & Nick Dade Thrillers:

  Play Dead

  Dead to Rights

  Young Adult Books:

  Deadly Cool

  Social Suicide

  Other Works:

  Viva Las Vegas

  A High Heels Haunting (novella)

  Watching You (short story)

  Confessions of a Bombshell Bandit (short story)

  The Missing Laughing Leprechaun (short story in the Pushing Up Daisies collection)

  * * * * *

  ABOUT KELLY REY

  From her first discovery of Nancy Drew, USA Today bestselling author Kelly Rey has had a lifelong love for mystery and tales of things that go bump in the night, especially those with a twist of humor. Through many years of working in the court reporting and closed captioning fields, writing has remained a constant. If she's not in front of a keyboard, she can be found reading, working out or avoiding housework. She's a member of Sisters in Crime and lives in the Northeast with her husband and a menagerie of very spoiled pets.

  To learn more about Kelly, visit her online at: http://www.kellyreyauthor.com

  BOOKS BY KELLY REY

  Mary Hudson Mysteries:

  Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Brash Blonde