http://www.stephanie-osborn.com
I am pleased to announce the release of book 5 of the Displaced Detective Series, entitled A Case of Spontaneous Combustion!
This book continues the science fiction/mystery adventures of Sherlock Holmes, who has been yanked from an alternate reality in the which he exists, into our modern day reality by Dr. Skye Chadwick, chief scientist of Project: Tesseract. Unable to return to his own place and time, Holmes is forced to adapt, learn, and grow. With Skye's help, he succeeds admirably.
But when
an entire village west of London is wiped out in an apparent case of mass
spontaneous combustion, Her Majesty’s Secret Service contacts The Holmes Agency
to investigate.
Once
in London, Holmes looks into the horror that is now Stonegrange. His
investigations take him into a dangerous undercover assignment in search of a
possible terror ring, though he cannot determine how a human agency could have
caused the disaster.
Meanwhile,
alone in Colorado, Skye is forced to battle raging wildfires and tame a wild
mustang stallion, all while believing that her husband has abandoned her.
Who — or what — caused
the horror in Stonegrange? Will Holmes find his way safely through the
metaphorical minefield that is modern Middle Eastern politics? Will this
predicament seriously damage — even destroy — the couple’s relationship? And
can Holmes stop the terrorists before they unleash their outré weapon again?
~~~Excerpt~~~
Prologue—Changes
in Routine
Stonegrange
was a little old English hamlet in the County of Wiltshire in the Salisbury
Plain of England, much like any other such ancient British village: a tiny
central square in the midst of which crouched a hoary, venerated church,
surrounded by a few small shops, and residences on the outskirts tapering off
into the surrounding farmlands. On Sundays the church was full, and on
Thursdays the outlying farmers brought their produce in to market. The
occasional lorry carried in other supplies, and the Post Office ran every day
but Sunday. So small was the village that the constable wasn’t even full time.
Still and all,
it wasn’t very far from a main thoroughfare, the A338, that ran through
Salisbury and on down to Bournemouth and Poole, and it wasn’t uncommon for
lorry drivers to stop for a bite in the local pub, or even park their rigs in
an empty lot just off the square for a good, safe night’s rest. Sometimes they
even used the lot to hand off cargo from one freight company to another.
So no one
thought twice when a flat-bed trailer showed up overnight in the lot, a large
wooden crate lashed firmly to its middle. The locals figured it was either a
hand-off, or someone’s tractor rig had broken down and been hauled off for
repair, while leaving the cargo in a safe place.
* * *
Dr. Skye
Chadwick-Holmes, horse trainer, detective, and one of the foremost hyperspatial
physicists on the planet, answered the phone at the ranch near Florissant,
Colorado.
“Holmes
residence,” she murmured. “Skye speaking.”
“Hi there, Skye,
Hank Jones here,” Colonel Henry Jones, head of security for Schriever Air Force
Base, greeted the lady of the house from the other end of the line. “If you
don’t mind, grab Holmes and then hit the speaker phone.”
“Oh, hi,
Hank,” Skye replied warmly. “Good to hear from you, but I’m afraid I can’t
oblige. Sherlock’s not here right now. Billy Williams called him down to the
Springs to update him on some new MI-5 HazMat techniques; I completed my
certification last month, but Sherlock had a nasty little cold and missed out.”
“Oh,” Jones
said blankly. “Well, are YOU available?”
“Um, I guess
so, for whatever that’s worth,” a hesitant Skye said. “Depends. Whatcha got?”
“Murder in the
residential quarters at Peterson,” Jones noted, grim. “Suspects and victim were
all Schriever personnel, though, so I get to have fun with it. Joy, joy.”
“And you could
use a bit of help?”
“‘Fraid so,”
Jones sighed. “As usual, I’m short-handed right now. The Pentagon never seems
to get the fact that ‘Security’ means ‘document control,’ ‘police force,’
‘guard duty,’ ‘investigation,’ and half a million other different jobs all
rolled together, on a base like this.” He sighed again. “Listen, is there any
chance you could meet me down there in about an hour or so, have a look around the
crime scene yourself, then call your husband in when he’s available if you need
to? As a favor to me? I need to get rolling on it A.S.A.P.”
“Um, okay,”
Skye agreed after a moment’s thought. “Yeah, I can at least get started on it,
and collect the initial data for Sherlock. Maybe even come to some basic
conclusions and formulate a theory for us to work on. Gimme the address and
I’ll buzz on down…”
* * *
The trailer
remained where it was, off Stonegrange’s central square for two days, and still
no one thought to question. After all, tractors had mechanical difficulties
just like the residents’ own autos and lorries, and sometimes those
difficulties took a few days to repair. So no inquiries were made. The trailer
was ignored.
Until, at
precisely 11:02 p.m. three nights after its arrival, the crate emitted a soft,
reverberating hum. No one was near enough to hear it, however—at least, no one
curious enough to bother checking it out. Exactly five minutes later, a loud zap! sounded from the box.
Stonegrange
was as silent as the tomb the rest of the night.
~~~End Excerpt~~~
The official release date for A Case of Spontaneous Combustion is tomorrow, 15 May, in all ebook formats! Trade paper will be available mid-June.
If you've enjoyed reading the adventures of Sherlock and Skye as much as I've enjoyed writing them, hurry out and get your copy of their latest adventure!
-Stephanie Osborn
http://www.stephanie-osborn.com
