She pretended to ignore my slip. “So they’re not trying to bug your room, then. Not a major improvement.”
We rounded a corner onto a prettyish street not far from her flat. The houses were brick, and they had window boxes, and a few of the doors were painted bright red. “This isn’t our usual way back,” I said.
“We’re looking at a place,” she said, and pointed to a FOR LET sign near the end of the block. “I thought you could give me your opinion. My sublet is up at the end of the month.”
We were the only showing. She’d booked it for two o’clock and, in her usual way, maneuvered us there so subtly and determinedly that we’d arrived exactly on time. The letting agent opened the door and left us to it.
It was quite a bit bigger than her current place, a second-floor flat with low ceilings but lots of light, and a proper kitchen that wasn’t nice, exactly, but not terrible either, with a big old table that came with. The room she’d sleep in was just beyond, with a generous-sized bed, and there a door beside it that led to what I thought would be her study. It was a good size, with a closet and ceiling fan, which I thought would be good to blow away the fumes from her chemistry table. Though she’d have to get rid of the bed in there. Most flats in England came furnished; the only furniture I knew she had to her name was that ridiculous velvet sofa she’d taken from Leander, and so we wandered back to the living room and measured with our arms to see if it would fit. There wasn’t an amazing view from the windows, but then, Holmes didn’t seem to mind those things.
Charlotte. Charlotte didn’t.
“I like it,” I said, and I did. I was also ridiculously jealous of her having her own space. “Though the question is—”
“How can I afford it. I know.”
“Is your brother helping?” She hadn’t been taking money from Milo, though I knew he’d offered. His company had been doing quite well; they’d expanded their operations to South America. He had more power than before, though Milo Holmes was hardly someone to trust with it.
Still, he hadn’t forgotten his sister. That was something. Despite her protests, sometimes he sent her groceries, or paid her water bill, and she huffed for a day or two about him meddling in her business and then texted him to say thank you.
“No,” she said, frowning. “I think I’ll have to get a flatmate.”
“Oh.”
She turned to face me. I was still getting used to the new sorts of clothes she wore—a forest-green sweater over a pair of black jeans, a long necklace with a pendant that looked like a tooth, the fawn-colored jacket slung over her arm. She looked like herself. She looked nothing like herself. The changes had been both gradual and incredibly sudden. In this light, her eyes weren’t gray, but slate-blue.
“Are you going to advertise? For a flatmate?”
“The bookshop you like,” she said. “The secondhand one, not the Waterstone’s. They have a help wanted sign in the window. I went in and the owner asked about you, since we’re always in there, and I—I told him you might be looking for a summer job.”
“Am I?” I asked slowly.
“And then on Fridays, we can work together. It’s not publishing, I know.”
I looked around. There was a fireplace, an armchair; there was a wall of built-in bookcases. There was Charlotte, standing in front of me, biting her lip.
“I don’t have to take it,” she said, as I stood there, saying nothing. “I can find my own—”
“What happens after the summer?” I interrupted. “My classes start up again in September.”
“I thought we’d decide then,” she said.
“And then you might end up without a flatmate.”
“I could move again.”
I was stalling for time, I knew it. “That’s a pain. Three months in, and—”
“You could commute. It’s only an hour.”
“Maybe—”
“I can’t plan my whole future all at once. I’m done with that. I just thought—”
“Watson,” she said, and I nearly bit my tongue. I hadn’t heard that name from her in forever. “Don’t you want to try it? Don’t you want to know?”
“I—I don’t know if I trust it,” I said. “You. I don’t know if I trust you.”
The two of us so long ago in Berlin, talking about getting a place, taking cases together. The two of us hand in hand, running through the night. After all the missteps, all the mutual destruction, we’d been strong together, steady and right and true—and it had been then, and only then, that she had wanted to be alone.
“Not like that,” she said, her eyes searching mine. “Not like before.”
“And not like it is now?”
“Watson—”
“Holmes,” I said, then winced. “Sorry.”
“You can call me that.”
“It isn’t your name anymore.”
“You can call me that. You can,” she said.
“Holmes,” I said. “What is it that you want?”
She reached out and took my hand, her fingers twining with mine.
I stepped toward her. “We’ll be taking cases? You’ll have to double your rates. I don’t come cheap.”
“You’re not that expensive. Anyway, we don’t have to decide today. I know you need to catch your train home.”
There was a reckless light in her eyes I’d thought I’d never see again.
“Is it that late already?” I asked her, smiling. “We should go.”
It was so bright there in the flat that I had to blink against it. We’d have to put in curtains. I didn’t tell her that, though, as we went down to the street. I was too busy counting the steps down to the door. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Outside, she was waiting for me, her hands clasped together in the sun. I hadn’t had to say a word. She’d already known what I was thinking.
Acknowledgments
THANK YOU SO MUCH TO KATHERINE TEGEN AND EVERYONE at Katherine Tegen Books, especially my amazing editor, Alex Arnold, Jamie and Charlotte’s fairy godmother. This was a hard one, and I can’t imagine getting through it without your insights and your support. You are an incredible reader, a rock, and a dear friend. Thank you, too, to Rosanne Romanello, Gina Rizzo, and everyone at Epic Reads. I am so lucky to have you all!
Lana Popovic: we’ve had such an amazing run. I adore you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for taking a chance on me. Sandy Hodgman, Terra Chalberg, and everyone at Chalberg and Sussman: thanks so much for your time and efforts on behalf of Charlotte!
Thank you to Kit Williamson, my platonic other half, for all your work behind the scenes. To Emily Temple, my heart. To Becky Hazelton, Chloe Benjamin, Corey Van Landingham: endless, truest love to my girl gang. To Emily Henry, for every last-minute read that magically fixed my book. Let’s get in that convertible and start driving. To Jeff Zentner, gentleman scholar, and one of my kindest, truest friends. To Evelyn Skye, Parker Peevyhouse, Mackenzi Lee, Angelo Surmelis, Jennifer Niven, Kerry Kletter: you make this community better and brighter, and I am so lucky to know you all. Mika Perrine, Joe Sacksteder, Lesley Tye, and Interlochen: thank you for your wonderful support.
Thank you to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for letting me play in your world for a while. I’m never happier than when I’m there.
Love and thanks to my family, especially my parents. And to Chase—my husband and my home.
And thank you to my incredible, incredible readers. This last one, especially, is for you.
About the Author
Photo by Kit Williamson
BRITTANY CAVALLARO, author of the Charlotte Holmes series, is a poet, fiction writer, and old-school Sherlockian. She is the author of the poetry collection Girl-King and is the recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship. She lives in Michigan with her husband, their dog and cat, and her collection of deerstalker caps. Find her at her website, www.brittanycavallaro.com, or on Twitter @skippingstones.
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Books by Brittany Cavallaro
A Study in Charlotte
The Last of August
The Case for Jamie
A Question of Holmes
Hello Girls
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Copyright
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
A QUESTION OF HOLMES. Copyright © 2019 by Brittany Cavallaro. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover art © 2019 by Dan Funderburgh
Cover design by Katie Fitch
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018962295
Digital Edition MARCH 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-284024-0
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-284022-6
* * *
1920212223PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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