A Study in Charlotte (Charlotte Holmes, #1)

by Brittany Cavallaro

‘Wait, for now. Distrust everything, if you have to. But trust the hours. Haven’t they carried you everywhere, up to now?’”

“Well then.” My father clapped his hands together. “You’ve met! You’re friends! You’ve found yourselves a murder! I couldn’t have asked for more. Come, let’s eat before the detective arrives.”

😆

Now I really want a meat pie 🥧 😋

My father liked reading about adventures, liked talking them through over a glass of whisky. He even liked the thought of his son having them, up to a certain point.

I had, in this past week, plunged off that point and into a very troubling ocean.

Maybe Charlotte Holmes was still learning how to pick apart a case; maybe I was still learning how to write. We weren’t Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I was okay with that, I thought. We had things they didn’t, too. Like electricity, and refrigerators. And Mario Kart.

The X-Files, which is, to the best of my understanding, a show about a rather appallingly dumb man who is nevertheless very attractive, and aliens.

Accurate haha

about the curative powers of chicken jalfrezi. He is incapable of eating Indian

At that dinner, Abbie Watson asked me to watch her two young sons while she did the shopping the next day, most likely because I happen to be a girl and she assumes that this is what girls do for spending money. I agreed, and taught them how to make bombs from dung, and where best to hide them. She didn’t ask me again.

Classic Holmes