Sherlock Herms

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Sherlock Herms in The Art of Surveillance
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Sherlock Herms in Code Names
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Sherlock Herms: The Case of The Dancing Ghosts – Conclusion
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Sherlock Herms and The Case of the Dancing Ghosts – Part 5
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Sherlock Herms: The Case of the Dancing Ghosts – Part 4
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Sherlock Herms: The Case of the Dancing Ghosts – Part 3
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Sherlock Herms: The Case of the Dancing Ghosts – Part 2
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Sherlock Herms in His 1st Big Caper: The Case of the Dancing Ghosts

Sherlock Herms in The Art of Surveillance

COVER Lessons with CharleyHi everyone!

Concatulations, you made it to Friday!

In case you aren’t aware, Friday is Sherlock Herms Day when I invite you to join me on one of my purranormal mystery adventures.

Sometimes my phone doesn’t ring, and that means I’m in-between cases.

Like now.

So, while I wait for my phone to ring, my new friend Charley has volunteered to teach me about the private hardboiled detective business. And also about purranormal investigating.

You’re welcome to join me. Today’s Lesson with Charley is on the Art of Surveillance.

Herman mailbox 1

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Sherlock Herms in Code Names

COVER Lessons with CharleyI nommed my breakkie with anticipation of a great day. Charley Feeble wanted to teach me everything he knew about the hardboiled detective business. Also, he would teach me about paranormal stuff since he had personal experience.

Charley is a ghost. I met him during my second case. Charley was also the almost-famous hardboiled detective, Maxwell Shallowford, but had died after being scared into a heart attack from the demon-like Vivian aka Loud Lady. Refer to my case, Mrs. Shallowford’s Ghost, for clarification.

Beside me, nomming her own brekkie, was my lil sisfur Dori. She’s also a partner in my Wonderpurr Detective Agency. “What do you think Charley will teach us today?” I asked her in between bites.

“I’d like to learn how to dwaw dwagons,” she responded. “Or speak Eye-tell-lion.”

My sisfur is the Queen of Non Sequitur. Following her in a conversation is like following Big Foot through the Canadian Rocky Mountains.

I chewed my last bite, then licked my paw to clean my face. “I think Charley is going to teach us about private investigating. Watching for clues. Digging for dirt. Stuff like that.”

Dori licked her plate clean. “I’d rather learn how to dwaw dwagons.”

As I headed up the stairs to my mom’s author office, Opie and Jack fell into step alongside me. They invent stuff to help me solve mysteries. Nepawtism runs deep in my family.

“Charley is going to teach us purranormal stuff,” Opie said. “You think he will wear robes and have a long white beard?”

I looked at my ginger-furred brofur, confused. “Like Dumbledore,” Jack, my tabby brofur clarified. “From Harry Potter.”

“That would be cool,” I said, though I doubted it. We crossed the French doors to my mom’s office, and from there we walked to the door to our house attic. It also served as my Wonderpurr Detective Agency.

On Google I’d read that privacy is extremely important when you’re a detective. I’d needed an office with at least one window, a place nobody else used so I could detect in peace. And the room couldn’t make my meow echo in case someone eavesdropped in on my meetings. Our house attic next to my mom’s author-office was purrfect.

I’d once had my heart set on an office in a dingy building, slowly collapsing under the weight of time and despair, but then, during the case of Mrs. Shallowford’s Ghost, I’d watched our house go through that very transformation and now realized I was happy doing business at home, near my mom.

As I pawed open the door, I expected to see my usual office, with my couch, table of magazines, and my huge desk filled with lots of nooks and crannies. The desk came with my office. Actually, it came with the house. It’s too big to get through the door without chopping to pieces. Our home was built around an older house that refused to be torn down. I found out why. The desk—my attic office—had belonged to Charley when he was alive and practicing being a detective in secret. After he died, the house began to crumble, but Charley loved his office and refused to let the bulldozers tear it down. That’s why our house had to be built around Charley’ home.

Instead of seeing my office, however, I saw Charley had created a classroom.

Classroom_Horner_Avenue_School_1916

Jack and Opie’s tails drooped with disappointment. “No Hogwarts for us,” Opie grumbled.

“Good morning, pupils!” Charley appeared, smiling and happy to get his first lesson underway. Seeing our disappointment, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“They were expecting Hogwarts,” I told him. “It’s okay. This is a real nice classroom.”

Behind me Dori and the others had arrived: my sisfurs Peaches, Gidget, Chauncie Marie, Candy, and my other brofurs Jesse, Nikolas, Frank and Noah. Charley wanted everyone to attend his classes. He said the Wonderpurr Detective Agency needed the participation of the entire Wonderpurr Gang in order to be… Well. Wonderpurr!

Charley looked confused. “What is Hogwarts?” Charley died back in the 1940s and had remained there until he followed us home to our time, seventy-some years into the future. He had a lot of catching up to do.

I crossed to my mom’s author library in the corner and tried to hand him the first book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. He couldn’t hold it, of course. He can’t hold anything cuz he’s a ghost. Stuff falls through his hands to the floor.

“Place the book on my— I mean, your desk,” he told me. I did, and watched as Charley disappeared inside the book.

We all stood around with our jaws dropped, and Frank whispurred, “Cool!”

A minute later, the book talked to us.

We obediently filed into Mom’s author office and closed the door to my detective office. We then stood around with our hands in our pockets, waiting.

Nikolas checked his watch. “Is this going to take long? I have a date with an unspayed Siamese.”

“And I want to hunt birds,” Frank added. “Also, there’s a squirrel with my name on it.”

“You may return!” we heard Charley call out. I reopened the door.

Charley with sorting hat

We all exploded into yowls of joy. Charley gave us a few minutes to explore the classroom, then asked us to have a seat.

Classroom with Wonderpurr Gang

“Thank you all for giving up your prowling and hunting and napping for my lessons,” Charley said once we settled down. “For my first lesson, I’d like to open with a little history about private investigating. The very first private investigation agency was opened by Allan Pinkerton, who was born in Glasgow, Scotland in 1819. Pinkerton played a significant role in history, as it is alleged he became aware of the plot to assassinate President Abraham Lincoln whilst en route to his inauguration in Washington D.C. Pinkerton overtook Lincoln’s entourage and persuaded him to change his itinerary, thus thwarting the attempted assassination.”

I wanted to raise my paw and ask where Pinkerton was four years later when the president was assassinated at the Ford Theater, but I didn’t know how to ask without sounding like a know-it-all. I’m my author mom’s mews. We read a lot of history stuff when doing research for our books.

Then I saw Dori raise her paw, and I held my breath. Dori hangs around our mom’s office, but she doesn’t care much about history. She’s more about if Mom has any snacks in her desk drawers, and likes to sleep on top of her novel notes. I could see she had a package of Smittens in her lap, so I doubted she would ask about Charley serving ‘wefweshments.’ I couldn’t imagine what question she had.

“What about code names?” Dori asked.

Charley looked as confused as I felt. “Code names? You mean like kind the Secret Service uses for presidents and their families? The use of code names began as security when sensitive electronic communications were not encrypted. Today, code names simply serve for purposes of brevity, clarity, and tradition. They didn’t use code names when President Lincoln was alive. They began under President Franklin Roosevelt. Oddly, he didn’t have a code name, but President Kennedy’s code name was Lancer. President Clinton’s is Eagle. President George Bush’s is Trailblazer. President Reagan’s was Rawhide. President Obama’s is Renegade.”

Dori again raised her paw. “I don’t know all them hoomon’s. I want to know what our Code names are.”

“Like OO7!” Opie yowled.

“And Q!” Jack joined in.

“Agent 99!” Peaches and Chauncie Marie said in unison.

“Agent J from Men in Black,” Jesse said, and Frank joined in with, “Secret Squirrel.”

Charley and I exchanged discreet glances. I felt a little embarrassed. This was play stuff. Pretend private investigators. Not real hardboiled detective with grit in his blood stuff like Sam Spade, Philip Marlowe and my hero, Sherlock Holmes.

“Well,” Charley said, “why don’t we spend today picking out code names, and then get down to the actual lessons next time? Dori. What code name would you like to have?”

From her expression, clearly she had already decided on one. “Pwincess.” To accent her choice, she slid a crown onto her head. It looked like one her boyfriend, Wills aka @HRMeownessWills, had given her.

Dori with Crown

“That’s an excellent code name,” Charley said diplomatically.

Opie snickered behind his paw. “She should have the code name, Destroyer.”

At our house, Dori is famous for making stuff crash. I watched her eyes narrow. I’d seen that look before—right before I got a headache. She claims she can give migraines just by thinking one into your head, and I believe her.

“Your code name should be Opipotamus,” she growled, “cuz yoo haz a big butt.”

While everyone meowed out loud, I hid my smile behind my paw. Charley’s white brows lifted with surprise.

“So does Chauncie Marie,” Frank shouted.

Our tabby sisfur’s eyes grew large with hurt. “Meowmy said I am the Beyoncé of the cat world.”

Peaches glared at Frank. “Your code name should be Toxic Tabby after what you do to a litter box.”

I put my paws over my eyes. This wasn’t going well. I could see by how pale Charley looked—even for a ghost—that he was getting nervous. Charley once told me he liked girl cats because he had once been bit by a boy cat. I couldn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be a brawl with lots of scratching and biting if someone didn’t say something to defuse the tension.

I waved my paws. “Let’s not insult each other. This is supposed to be fun.”

“Fun?” Opie snorted. “I saw you laughing behind your paw at Dori calling me Opipotamus. Your code name should be Skinny Ass’d White Boy.”

I felt the fur on my neck stand on end. “That’s getting purrrsonal. I can’t help being a lightweight.”

“No more purrrsonal than me being called Opipotamus because I’m a heavyweight.”

“I was thinking of using Monkey Boy,” I told everyone. “That’s what Mom calls me.”

Jack and Jesse started scratching and screeching like chimpanzees, while the others rolled their eyes. They’re all jealous of my relationship with our mom cuz I’m the favorite.

“I want my code name to be Chef,” said Gidget, “because I help Mom cook.”

We all ignored her, preferring to argue among ourselves.

“I don’t want my code name to be Amazing,” Candy’s sweet little voice penetrated the cacophony. (That’s a ten dollar word for a harsh discordance of sound. Remempurr, I’m my author mom’s mews.) “The pressure is too much for me to live up to it.”

We all stopped arguing to look at her. Candy is our newest sisfur. She’s a Calico and so far she’s fit in pretty good. We all like her, even Opie.

I watched his whiskers twitch. I knew from experience that Opie can be cutting and brutal with insults. I hoped he wouldn’t be mean to her. She’s only a year old; still a baby.

“Amazing would be a lot of pressure,” he agreed. “But I have a better code name for you. It’s the one Mom calls you because you’re always stripping off your collar.”

We all looked at Candy’s throat – naked of her pink collar.

Candy with no collar

“Your code name should be Bubbles,” Opie told her. “Bubbles the Stripper Kitty.”

Everyone laughed. Including Charley. Including Candy. She clapped her paws. “That’s a fun code name. I like it! I’m Bubbles.”

The Wonderpurr Gang then got down to business of picking out serious code names.

Jesse and Nikolas are both black panfurs and look like twins, so they chose Toxic Twins 1 & 2.

Peaches chose Alpha Queen cuz…she is.

Chauncie Marie chose Meyowcé, and Gidget changed her mind from Chef to Cuisine.

Our newest outside brofur, Noah, chose the code name Ex-Stray because that’s what he is. Jack chose Agent J (He’s a huge Men In Black fan), while Dori and Candy stuck with Princess and Bubbles respectively.

Frank decided he liked Peaches’ insult, Toxic Tabby, and Opie chose Gingerman for his deep orange fur.

I chose Monkey Boy because that’s what my mom calls me.

“Hey Charley!” I said when we were getting ready to leave. “You didn’t pick a code name for yourself. What name do you think would be good for you?”

Charley thought about it a moment. Then, with a twinkle in his eyes, he replied, “I think my code name is Mud.”

We all stared at him, not getting the joke, if there was one.

“Meet back here next Friday,” Charley then told us. “Your first lesson on mastering the techniques of private investigation will begin then.”

Hope to see you all join us, too. Until next Friday, have a Wonderpurr week!

Purrs! Herman!!!

If you’re new to Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries and want to catch up, here are the links to my first case, The Case of the Dancing Ghosts, and my second case where I met Charley Feeble, Mrs. Shallowford’s Ghost. Also, you can click on the links located on the sidebar of this website.

Thanks so much for stopping by. I’d love to hear what you think of my series, so please leave your comment below. Thanks so much! Herman!!!

P.S. If you’d like to learn more about the books me and my mom write, visit our Author Page.

My Books in Row

Sherlock Herms: The Case of The Dancing Ghosts – Conclusion

Sherlock Herms 1st caper cover CROPPEDPreviously on Sherlock Herms…The Case of the Dancing Ghosts…

When we last left our hero, Herman TattleCat – the dashing hardboiled detective with grit in his blood, and his beautiful yet sated sisfur/assistant, Dori, they had come to the conclusion that the Throckley mansion was contaminated with ghosts, and the CritterZone Air Naturalizer that Dori had pulled from the wall when they were sucked into the kitty play tunnel-slash-trans-portal might eliminate the ghosts. But before they did that, Herman wanted to find out how the ghosts got dead in the first place.

Dori wanted to hire a Medium to connect with the ghosts by letting them inside their bodies to talk, but Herman couldn’t afford one. Plus he didn’t like the idea of Old Man Throckley inside him, all drooly and stinky.

Suddenly the ghost party returned, making Dori and Herman run upstairs to the third floor where Throckley appeared, holding a hammer. Herman was afraid he would hit them, but then Throckley walked through them, through the wall. When an explosion of violent hammering burst from beyond the wall, Dori zoomed back downstairs, but Herman remained behind, determined to solve the mystery. With his sensitive whiskers tingling with feline intuition, Herman put his paw on the wall. It felt cold. Really really cold.

Then, it hit him!

And now…
The Conclusion.

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Sherlock Herms and The Case of the Dancing Ghosts – Part 5

Previously on Sherlock Herms…The Case of the Dancing Ghosts…Sherlock Herms 1st caper cover CROPPED

When we last left our hero, Herman TattleCat – the dashing hardboiled detective with grit in his blood, and his beautiful yet bored sisfur/assistant, Dori – they had just explored the second floor of Roland Blunden’s haunted house when Herman saw the ghost of the former owner, Old Man Throckley, in his bedroom on the third floor…and peeded his floofy britches. While Dori researched ghosts from a book she had taken from her mom’s library, Herman followed Gladys, the singing mother ghost, into the kitchen where he watched her prepare ghost chicken in the greasy black frying pan. He saw her remove a packet of something from a jar of pineapple and add it to the chicken before vanishing.

Herman and Dori return to the third floor where Herman saw Throckley’s ghost. Something about the third floor makes his sensitive whiskers tingle, but since he doesn’t own a pipe like Sherlock Holmes, or smoke cigarettes like Sam Spade, Herman has to rely on his superior feline instinct to figure out what is wrong. Meanwhile…Dori is bored and wants to go home. Suddenly they hear music and laughter from downstairs. The ghost party has returned. Standing at the top of the stairs they see the ghost couple, Christina and Gorgeous George, dancing up the stairs toward them…straight through them…and then they dance right through a solid wall. A moment later Herman and Dori hear a shrill, horrible scream that comes from behind that wall. And then…all is eerily silent.

And now…Part 5

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Sherlock Herms: The Case of the Dancing Ghosts – Part 4

Previously on Sherlock Herms…The Case of the Dancing Ghosts…

When we last left our hero, Herman TattleCat – the dashing hardboiled detective with grit in his blood, and his beautiful yet hungry sisfur/ assistant, Dori – they had just received payment in advance for their first case. Roland Blunden of the Chelmsford Blunden’s—who said ‘whilst’ instead of ‘while’ because he was British—wanted them to prove his house wasn’t haunted, and if it was haunted, he wanted the ghosts busted so he could sell the property at triple his investment. They had 24 hours to do their job, or Blunden would demand his two quarters back.

With their work cut out for them—they saw a dancing ghost couple on the staircase shortly after Blunden left—Herman and Dori headed across the street to question a neighbor about the house’s original owner who mysteriously disappeared in 1923—twenty years ago. As Herman lived in the 21st Century before his stroller was sucked into a glowing kitty play tunnel rumored to be a trans-portal, he surmised he had time traveled to the 1940s for his first case.

The neighbor, aka Broom Lady, had vivid recall of the night twenty years ago when the owner left town on a business trip, and his young wife and her bawdy mother threw a dilly of a party with liquor and cigarettes. But then her favorite radio program came on and she flicked her broom at them to shoo them off her porch. Disappointed that neither Blunden nor Broom Lady would serve her refreshments, Dori got revenge by eating grass and then throwing up on Blunden’s valuable Oriental (an old rug, not a Siamese cat.)

And now…Part 4

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Sherlock Herms: The Case of the Dancing Ghosts – Part 3

Previously on Sherlock Herms…The Case of the Dancing Ghosts…

When we last left our hero, Herman TattleCat – the dashing hardboiled detective with grit in his blood, and his beautiful yet uncoordinated sisfur/assistant, Dori – they had just arrived at the location of their first case after being sucked through a kitty play tunnel that doubled as a trans-portal. Because Dori had been mesmerized by the pink button on the control panel that she had been warned not to touch, but pawed repeatedly anyway—with each touch the button delayed their arrival by ten days—they arrived in British Columbia eleven months later.

Looking like an extra from The Maltese Falcon, their first client, Roland Blunden of the Chelmsford Blunden’s, explained the house he had purchased ‘whilst’ still in England (he’s British so he said whilst instead of while) was rumored to be haunted, and he couldn’t sell it until they either proved it wasn’t, or got rid of the ghosts. They had 24 hours to do their job, or Blunden would demand his two quarters back that Dori had demanded he prepay.

And now…Part 3

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Sherlock Herms: The Case of the Dancing Ghosts – Part 2

Previously on Sherlock Herms…The Case of the Dancing Ghosts…Sherlock Herms 1st caper cover CROPPED

When we last left our hero, Herman TattleCat – the dashing hardboiled detective with grit in his blood – he had just opened the Wonderpurr Detective Agency and had been hired to take his first case. However, he had concerns about the location of the case, as he didn’t have purrmission to leave the yard. That’s when his brofurs, Opie and Jack, arrived with Herman’s Gen7Pets stroller…with slight modifications…along with a nylon cat play tunnel that was said to be a trans-portal.

Accompanied by his sisfur –the beautiful though uncoordinated Adorapurr aka Dori – Herman climbed into his tricked out stroller, and pressed the H on his collar to the H on the control panel with a scary array of glowing buttons, including a pretty pink one that had Dori mesmerized. After Dori meowed the address and pawed the appropriate button, Herman’s Ride began to shake like a wet dog. Before them the nylon tunnel glowed in the attic’s shadowy darkness. Herman thought it looked like it was growing bigger…or maybe he and Dori were shrinking. Either way, his Ride was rolling toward it, as though being sucked inside.

While Dori freaked out – “Haalllp! We are being eaten!” – Herman zipped the stroller’s hood into place just as Opie and Jack returned, waving their paws. Despite the bouncing and the blurring Herman can see the fur on their backs standing straight up.

“Stop!” Jack yowled. “I forgot to tell you—” Then he was gone. And Opie was gone.

Everything was gone!

And now…Part 2

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Sherlock Herms in His 1st Big Caper: The Case of the Dancing Ghosts

My name is Sherlock Herms. It is my business to know what others don’t know. At least that’s what I hoped for once I got my paws wet as a private investigator. It was my first day on the job.

The Wonderpurr Detective Agency had been open for business all of twenty minutes, but my phone hadn’t rung once. I flicked my floofy tail with impatience. How long would I have to wait before someone hired me to solve a caper?

It all began a couple nights ago when Mom and I were wide awake cuz Dad was snoring Classic 70’s rock songs in his sleep. We ended up in front of the TV watching a documentary on famous detectives. Mom told me to pay close attention. She had decided to write mysteries. She seemed pretty set on doing it. That made me nervous.

I’m her mews, you see. I inspire her when she writes novels. I even starred in FINDING MYA for her. But how could I inspire her when I know nuffin’ about solving mysteries? If I fell down on the job, she might ask my arch-nemesis to be her mews. He’s a chunky orange tabby named Opie. He’s also my brofur.

With that in mind, I paid close attention to the documentary featuring Sam Spade, Philip Marlowe, Mike Hammer, Dick Tracy, Charlie Chan, and the husband and wife team, Nick and Nora Charles. My purrrsonal favorites were Spade and Marlowe for their hardboiled detective lingo, and Sherlock Holmes for his use of logical reason to solve cases. Plus I liked his hat. Read More

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