Previously on Sherlock Herms in Will Dori Forgive Sherlock Herms
“Dori, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be condescending with you. I’m just frustrated. How am I supposed to find a dead lady who doesn’t know she’s dead? Especially when my clients refuse to answer direct questions about who she is. I didn’t even get a chance to ask her name.”
“Why don’t yoo ask me who she is. I know.”
I stared at my little sister. “What? Who? Tell me!”
“Now yoo sound bossy.” She walked to the door leading to the stairs to my office.
I growled, “Dori!”
Her paw on the doorknob, she narrowed her eyes at me. I’d seen that look before—right before I got a headache. Dori claims she can give migraines just by thinking one into your head, and I believe her.
“Dori! Stop right there. Tell me the granddaughter’s name. I’m your boss.”
Her eyes brimmed with hurt. “I thought yoo were my pawtner.” A tear trickled through her whiskers, making me feel like a two-headed monster.
I ran to throw my paws around my little sister, but she closed the door between us. By locking it, she put an exclamation point on her feelings.
I felt wretched. I hadn’t meant to growl or be condescending. I loved Dori with all my heart. And while she could overwhelm and exaspurrate me, she’d also had a big impact on solving my cases. Our cases. She was my partner. My bestest friend.
I covered my eyes with my paws and moaned, “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. But I did. I’m a baaaad kitty.”
“Youse not a bad kitty kitty,” said a sparkly voice. “Youse a good kitty kitty.” The high-pitched baby talk triggered a memory of the day we’d arrived at our new home. “Youse just need to a-poly-gize to make Dori feel awwww better.”
I lowered my paws to see the blonde lady in a pink polka-dotted dress.
The lady Dori called Evie Pees.
And now… Evie Pees
I had no idea who she had been in life, but in death Evie Pees captivated me with her charm. She reminded me of a bubbly Elle Woods with Oprah’s knack for warm compassion. And while her Jennifer Tilly-like baby voice kinda grated on my last nerve, she drew me to her like a moth to a flame.
At a glance she looked as alive as my pawrents, but then I noticed how the moonlight turned her pale skin almost translucent. It didn’t take a pawfessional purranormal detective to realize that meant she was dead. Despite that, I felt comfortable with her. I guess that was the Spirit Counselor in me that Charley mentioned.
Midnight had come and gone, and the air had turned chilly. Still, we sat on the roof talking, mostly of my frustration to present myself as a hardboiled detective with grit in my blood, while my little sister innocently undermined me by playing at being a detective instead of acting like a pawfessional.
“Dori isn’t deliberately trying to embarrass you,” Evie told me. “She thinks the world of you. She is very proud to be your partner.”
After a solid hour of listening to her baby talk, I’d found the courage to explain to Evie that my pawrents speak to me and my fursibs like intelligent equals—never newborn pets. She’d found this bit of information interesting, and had stopped using the high-pitched nonsensical cooing that had made Frank want to spray stuff when we had first arrived at our new home. Read More