As Holmes and I stepped off of the train into Blairstown, we both were stunned at how different it was from London. The town was much smaller while still keeping its exquisite ‘know everyone’ feel. I heard Holmes mutter something along the lines of, “Well this will be a long stay,” as he sighed and began to gather his things.
Somehow, Holmes had managed to finagle his way into us staying in a local Blairstown resident’s spare room. The house faced the notable Blair Academy waterfall, which separated Mr. Blair’s house and the school grounds. As we made our way there, I decided to test my detective skills and study Holmes’ face. I deduced that he must be in deep thought with an urging irritance, or he was simply on the verge of dozing off. Disrupting my study, I heard Holmes murmur,
“What in the bloody hell are you doing, Watson? You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes!”
At this I simply grinned, sat back, and relaxed for the remainder of our trip to Blair Academy.
At the quaint house we were staying in, I noticed a young man and an elderly woman arguing ferociously about god knows what. I brought Holmes’ attention to it and he merely said, “Ah! And there is the kind woman who is letting us stay in her house.”
The young man saw us step out of our black carriage and suspiciously stepped away from the conversation and through two buildings into the darkness of the shadows. The woman turned around and approached us with a confused look on her face. Holmes stopped me and told me to wait by the carriage as he met the old woman. From the far away voices, all I could pick up was, “What are you doing here?”; “Who is he?”; and “You shouldn’t be here”.
At this, Holmes turned and ushered me forward. He then went on to say, “Isabella, this is Watson. Watson, this is Isabella. Now let's go, we have work to do.” Isabella had a slightly hunched over figure and a eerily skinny torso. Her face was tanned dark brown and dryly wrinkled from days upon days in the sunlight. Her hair was grey but you could still pick up some traces of fading amber brown colored. Though she was a small woman, I figured she still had some ‘spice’ left in her based on her interactions with the young man.
Isabella’s house was small and Holmes' and my room was incredibly small. I noticed that Holmes seemed dissatisfied with our accomodations but he settled in without protest. Holmes went on to say, “What is your take on this exemplary case Watson?” This I have been thinking about for the entire journey here.
I answered, “Well I do believe that the perpetrator of the Hell’s Kitchen Murders is on campus of the school.”
Holmes acknowledged with a slight, “Mhm…”
I continued on with, “He or she must be staying in the Old Academy school house. And I believe that the reason for the murders has something to do with Mr. Blair’s wife, Mrs. Blair.”
Holmes scoffed and said, “Yes, yes all that may be true but who do you think this person involved with this case may be?”
I answered confidently, “Well none other than Mr. Blair’s son himself!”
Holmes laughed, “And that is where I disagree! Based on the gathered information, it must be someone like an acquaintance to Mr. Blair, like a current or old student, or a teacher at the school.”
I rebutted, “And what makes you say that?”
Holmes grinned and said, “You’ll find out soon enough.”
All of a sudden, we heard an earblasting gunshot from the street below. Holmes and I raced down the stairs and out of the house to find the young man who Isabella was arguing with dead with a bullet through his head; and Isabella, no-where to be found.
