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19 pages

English

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The final story in a series of five adventures which re-work original stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle into our modern world. The murder of an aged rock star is initially blamed on a gang of burglars, but Holmes senses that his widow is hiding something. What is the formidable music mogul not telling about the night her husband died at their Gothic country home? And how will Watson and Lestrade face up to the life-changing decisions they both decide to make? A re-working of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Adventure of the Abbey Grange.

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	05 février 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781780925882
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0050€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Title Page
ABBEY STRANGE
A Modern Sherlock Holmes Story
by
Charlotte Anne Walters

Publisher Information
First edition published in 2014 by MX Publishing
335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive, London, N11 3GX
www.mxpublishing.com
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2014 Charlotte Anne Walters
The right of Charlotte Anne Walters to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and not of MX Publishing.
Cover design by www.staunch.com

Acknowledgements
Thank you to Sherlockology, The Undershaw Preservation Trust and MX Publishing for including Charlie Milverton in their publication Sherlock’s Home, The Empty House.
Thank you to my husband Tim who patiently reads everything I write, also Janice and Louise who probably think I’m mad but support me anyway, and of course, the genius of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
The story within this book has been inspired by an original Sherlock Holmes adventure created by Conan Doyle. I have simply updated it to 21 st century scenarios and settings. Therefore, I cannot take full credit for all the plot twists, clues and concepts the story contains, just its re-working into modern equivalents. The original story I have used is The Adventure of the Abbey Grange.

Abbey Strange
“Look honey, it isn’t really any of my business but I’m about to lose a bloody good security manager. I understand that it must be difficult working with your ex, but do I really have to accept his resignation or is there any way the two of you can sort things out? Della sweetheart, I know he hurt you and behaved like an idiot, but if I had a pound for every time my husband hurt me and behaved like an idiot, I’d be a billionaire instead of a plain old millionaire.”
“Gareth’s resigned?”
“Yes hun. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No, we’re not really speaking.”
“If you genuinely want shot of him then fine, I’ll have to let him go. But if you still love him, then perhaps you’ve punished him for long enough and it’s time to give him another chance. Decide Della, because if not he’ll be gone by the end of the month - been offered work in the States minding a Hollywood star. Gareth’s one of the good ones Del - men like that don’t come along often. The great thing about having a wise old crone like me for a manager is that you can learn from my mistakes. Sweetie, I know what it’s like to be left crying over ‘the one that got away’. Between you and me, I know more than ever right now.”
***
Watson sat at his desk flicking through the newspaper. A cold draft blew in through the old windows and he sipped his steaming mug of coffee to take away the chill. The lawyers had plush offices on the upper floors with air con, posh carpets, smart furniture and panoramic city views. He was in the basement of the building, his view out of the window was a brick wall and his carpet was stained and threadbare. A morning glance through the papers brought a brief escape from his general misery, a chance to see other people’s lives and how they were often much worse than his own. Like Tyler Welbourne for example, who now had no life at all.
The wrinkly rock-star had been murdered at his country mansion the previous night. It was front page news, the Welbournes were a high profile couple and the paper devoted pages to the incident. He was a drug-addled old rocker whose band, The Dreadful Death, had enjoyed big success during the 80s and 90s. His wife Karen had been their manager and stood by him despite the affairs, drugs and call-girls. She was now a powerful force in the music industry herself, a shrewd business woman who owed CEX Records and had taken over the management of girl-group The Angels, after the demise of the infamous Todd Carter. This made her Della Breton’s manager and Lestrade’s boss, something which made Watson particularly interested in the case. He was just about to call Holmes and ask if he had seen the news, when Julian Sinclair -Booth, partner in the law firm, walked into his office with a look of intense displeasure flickering across his aristocratic features. Watson closed the paper and braced himself - this wasn’t going to be pleasant.
***
“Gareth, wait,” Della called out, watching the back of her security manager disappear into the conference room. She rushed to catch up and walked in just as he was about to close the door.
“I’m doing a briefing in ten minutes,” he said rather gruffly, taking folders from under his arm and spreading various documents out on the table. He didn’t make eye-contact with her.
“I just wondered if you had heard from Karen. I’ve tried calling but she’s not answering her phone. I just want to know if she’s ok, if I can do anything to help. She’s been so good to me and the girls. The papers say she was hurt too; the robbers tied her to a chair. She saw them kill her husband - God it’s so awful, I can’t imagine how she must be feeling. I know she can be a feisty cow but most of that is just an act.”
Gareth looked up at his ex girlfriend and felt that terrible aching in his heart again which he couldn’t get rid of. He was hoping the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean might help but seeing her standing there in the sweater he bought for her on a romantic break in Milan, running her fingers through her hair in the way she always did when anxious about something, he very much doubted it.
“I haven’t heard from her. I’m going to head out there after this briefing, offer to help liaise with the police. Though I’ve heard she doesn’t want to see anyone - which is understandable I suppose.”
After some uncomfortably intense eye contact, Gareth swiftly returned to laying out his papers.
“We were talking yesterday; she said some odd stuff about crying over ‘the one that got away’ and how she knew how that felt more than ever.”
“Why on earth did that come up in conversation?”
Della turned to look out across the city through the giant windows lining the walls. They were on the top floor of the record company headquarters, in a conference room designed to seriously impress. It was early but the winter sunlight was already intense, reflecting off the many mirrored surfaces punctuating the capital’s skyline.
“We were talking about you,” Della replied quietly. She could see his reflection in the glass; see that he looked up as she spoke the words. She turned to face him and anxiously pushed aside her fringe as it fell over her eyes. “Please don’t go Gareth...”
***
Watson should have gone home, should have travelled straight back to the modern suburban house he shared with his wife and paid for by selling his soul to soulless employment. But now he wouldn’t be able to pay for it, so returning there was the last thing he wanted to do. That and having to face his wife and tell her the news which would confirm her simmering suspicions that he was unreliable and not the sensible, ambitious young doctor she had hoped years ago. He wandered around the city for an hour or so, bought a chocolate muffin and then when it started to rain, found himself in a cab heading to Baker Street.