A Study In Murder

?“Are you kidding?” Sheryl shouted back to me. “It probably doubled the attendance. Why play at mystery when you can be part of a real one?”

?“Hey,” a voice bellowed through the crowd, “that’s Mark Watkins!”

?Another voice rang out, “And look, Sheryl Homes!”

?“There they are!” said a third.

?All at once, we were set upon by wave after wave of people who wanted their photo with us. Some did selfies and held out their arm as far as they could to get the picture, others used extendable sticks. Several were groups where one person photographed all of them at once.

?Sheryl and I smiled politely and took the photos, as we attempted to be good sports when all we wanted was to get out of there.

?One of the twenty-somethings stepped away and said, “Wow! I’ve never had a photo with a real murderer before.”

?I exchanged a horrified look with Sheryl.

?She grabbed my hand and pulled us away, which upset a fresh group of people who expected to pose with us as we scurried down a hallway. We made our way into the secondary lobby where I heard a familiar voice.

?There, surrounded by a group of costumed attendees, was Allen Alexander as he pontificated to his crowd.

?“I knew he would end up this way,” he spoke loudly. “Stealing from me was the first step on a chain that led that deluded man to murder.”

?“Wow!” intoned a young, well-endowed woman in a form-fitting chain-mail bikini. “You’re lucky he didn’t try to kill you.”

?“He wouldn’t have the guts to confront me face-to-face, mano a mano, sweetheart,” Allen smirked.

?“Oh wow!” the busty beauty gushed.

?I ducked my head and Sheryl took us down another hallway. We slipped into an empty meeting room where I closed the door behind us.

?“They wanted pictures because they thought we’re killers?” she snapped angrily.

?“I guess word got out that we’re suspects.”

?She shook her head. “That’s just sick!”

?“Yeah, and now Allen is making himself out to be a big hero!”

?“To add to the myth that you stole his stories.”

?“On the good side,” I attempted, “I always wanted to be a famous writer.”

?“Me, too, but not an infamous one!” She leaned against a large table and sighed.

?“How can we investigate?” I complained. “We can’t even walk around.”

?“Not easily.”

?I muttered, “If we could only be in two places at the same time.”

?She stared at me and her mouth fell open.

?“What?” I asked, puzzled by the look on her face.

?“Oh, I’ve been a fool!” she objected. “I ought to know by this time that when a fact appears to be opposed to a long train of deductions, it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some other interpretation.”

?There she went with the Holmes’ quotes again. “I don’t see—”

?“Two places at the same time!” she repeated. “The murderer would have to be in two places at the same time—”