The Great Shelby Holmes and the Coldest Case
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About this ebook
Being friends with a super sleuth isn't easy, especially when she's nine years old, four feet tall, and full of attitude. But for eleven-year-old John Watson, being friends with Shelby Holmes is just the adventure he's looking for.
After Watson's online journal chronicling his and Shelby's case-closing abilities attracts the attention of a newspaper reporter, the pair becomes a small "media sensation" in their Harlem neighborhood. So it's no surprise (at least, to Shelby!) when the article lands them a new client--a figure skating coach whose star athlete, Jordan Nelson, is receiving strange, threatening messages, written entirely in code.
There's no one better to crack the cipher than dynamic duo Shelby and Watson! But to gather information, Shelby decides that they'll have to go undercover . . . as an award-winning pair skating team. Can they use the laws of physics and their acting skills to maintain their covers and figure out who's sending Jordan such strange messages before it's too late?
Don't miss the rest of the Great Shelby Holmes series:
The Great Shelby Holmes
The Great Shelby Holmes Meets Her Match
The Great Shelby Holmes and the Coldest Case
The Great Shelby Holmes and the Haunted Hound
Elizabeth Eulberg
ELIZABETH EULBERG is not a detective (or so she claims). She is, however, the internationally bestselling author of The Lonely Hearts Club, Prom & Prejudice, Take a Bow, Revenge of the Girl with the Great Personality, Better Off Friends, and We Can Work it Out. Elizabeth lives outside Manhattan, where she spends her free time stalking English bulldogs in her neighborhood and filling her brain attic with random pop-culture facts. The Great Shelby Holmes is her first middle-grade novel. www.elizabetheulberg.com @ElizEulberg
Read more from Elizabeth Eulberg
The Great Shelby Holmes Meets Her Match Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Great Shelby Holmes Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
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Reviews for The Great Shelby Holmes and the Coldest Case
7 ratings3 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This middle grade mystery introduces nine-year-old detective Shelby Holmes and her new friend and partner John Watson. When John and his newly divorced mother move into 221 Baker Street in New York City the first thing that happens is an explosion. Their landlady Mrs. Hudson is not at all surprised and bring Shelby down to apologize.John is used to moving around. His mother is a former Army doctor who has been transferred frequently. So John is used to being in a new place and making new friends. His mother has arranged for him to attend a school which lets him focus on being a writer. But his parents' divorce has left him with writer's block. School won't start for a couple of weeks so he's glad to meet Shelby even though she is two years younger than he is.Shelby reluctantly introduces him to the neighborhood and he is glad to take part in Shelby's latest case - a dognapping of a show dog belonging to one of Shelby's schoolmates. Shelby has no social skills and has no friends of her own age. John is determined to help her with her case and become her friend. This was a nice mystery and a great story about friendship. I liked the references to Sherlock Holmes. I liked Shelby's personality despite the fact that she is a bossy know-it-all. I liked that John was willing to work hard to be a friend to Shelby.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This book is the best book in the world. I love it.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5" I started with Latin since all the romance languages- Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese- come from it." - Shelby Holmes
Playing my tune. This book is the third installment of the Shelby Holmes series, and it holds its own quite nicely. Eleven-year-olds Shelby Holmes and John Watson solve mysteries in their Harlem neighborhood.
For the adult reader, Sherlock Holmes fan, it is quite satisfying on many levels. It allows you to introduce the character of Sherlock in a fun middle-grade appropriate way all the while noting the parallels to the real Sherlock along the way. Shelby is addicted to sugar, is a pro at languages and science and of course is hyper-observant
Overall it is a cute story filled with Sherlock references which introduce kids to the world of cyphering, physics, acting and surprisingly, figure skating.
The best part of discovering a series, later on, is that kids get the fun of reading three books right away without the dreaded year wait for the next installment. It seems there will be more books too, which will be a relief to the many fans of this series. New readers have three to tide them over til then.
Please note that I received a free advance E ARC of this book from the Kid Lit Exchange without a review requirement or any influence regarding review content should I choose to post a review. Apart from that, I have no connection at all to either the author or the publisher of this book.
The Great Shelby Holmes And The Coldest Case by Elizabeth Eulberg
September 4, 2018
Book preview
The Great Shelby Holmes and the Coldest Case - Elizabeth Eulberg
Acknowledgments
Something was wrong with Shelby Holmes.
You couldn’t really say she was in a bad mood since her usual mood was ah . . . sour. But it was clear there was something going on and it wasn’t good. I practically had to jog to keep up with her after school on Monday. She was muttering under her breath.
Everything okay, Shelby?
I asked.
Her reply was a grunt.
Okay, that was a typical response from her. Next, I would attempt to do what Shelby always did: not simply see, but observe. I would put all the detective skills she had taught me to use and figure out what was going on.
This was what I’d noticed so far: she was her usually prickly self on the way to school. Nothing new there. It was really at lunch when things changed. She sat by herself at her regular table. However, instead of eating, she folded her arms and glared at her lunch bag. After that, she slammed her locker door between classes, and people cleared the way for her more than usual. She didn’t speak at all in science class, and her agitated behavior continued on our walk home.
It had to be something that happened with her lunch. She normally spent lunch period with her head crammed into a book and devouring an assortment of desserts. She didn’t want to waste precious research time
talking to her friends. Well, her friend. Singular. Since she only had one and that honor went to yours truly.
Shelby kept speed walking as we went farther away from the Harlem brownstone where we both lived. What happened with your lunch?
Shelby abruptly ended her power walk to turn to face me. Lunch?
Yeah, you seemed upset with your lunch.
Go on.
She looked impressed.
Wait. This must’ve meant that I was onto something. Soon I’d be like Shelby, deducing a person’s life story with a single glance!
Where are you going right now?
To Kristos.
Kristos is a deli in our neighborhood, where Shelby liked to get her sugar fix.
No way. It couldn’t be.
The pieces of the puzzle started to come together. Shelby being really angry. Her not eating lunch.
I couldn’t believe it. The impossible had finally happened.
And if my deduction was correct, we were all going to suffer for it.
Your parents aren’t letting you have any sugar.
Shelby’s pale face turned the same color as her bright red hair. Between clenched teeth, she said, "Yes, my parents voiced their objection over the amount of sweets I’d been consuming. And they decided to share their concern with every purveyor of sweets in the neighborhood."
So here was the thing: Shelby’s parents were completely right. Not like I’d ever admit that to Shelby. The girl inhaled sugar. And not like a cookie here or there. Several candy bars or cookies at once. Sometimes I didn’t think she even breathed between bites. Candy was her preferred payment method when we solved a case.
If you can’t buy candy, I can get you some.
While Shelby really should cut back on her sweets, I wasn’t going to be the one to deny her candy. I valued my life too much.
Shelby tilted her head. Think, Watson.
Ah, I can handle buying candy. I’m around you enough when you eat it.
It didn’t really bother me that Shelby constantly ate sugar around me. Now, if she did that with pizza and didn’t share, we’d have a problem. Anyway, it seemed pretty simple to me: Shelby’s parents have told people she couldn’t buy sugar, but that didn’t mean—Oh.
Exactly,
Shelby replied, knowing I figured it out.
If I went into Kristos to buy candy, they’d know it was for Shelby since I’m not only Shelby’s friend, I’m also diabetic. Therefore, the ban affected me as well.
(Shelby needed to start giving her parents more credit for how smart they were.)
What are you going to do?
I asked.
Shelby walked right up to a woman on the street corner who was waiting for the light to change. She got onto her hands and knees, examining the woman’s boots.
Can I help you?
the woman asked Shelby. She was probably in her midthirties and dressed in a jacket and skirt.
You really should only walk on the sidewalk. The street can be a very dangerous place to stroll,
Shelby stated as she stood back up and wiped her hands on her baggy jeans.
Where was Shelby going with this?
Okaaay,
the woman replied before turning her attention back to the stoplight.
Shelby continued, While the construction on 128th Street can be a bit of a nuisance, you should’ve crossed over to use the sidewalk on the other side. But I understand it was more convenient to walk on the road. If you crossed over, you’d have to do it yet again to turn on Frederick Douglass.
The woman glanced back at Shelby, her eyes wide. What? How did you . . . Have you been following me?
I couldn’t help but smile. I loved when Shelby did this. How she could seemingly pull information out of thin air so easily. But it wasn’t easy. It was deductive reasoning.
No, I wasn’t following you,
Shelby replied with a smile. It was quite simple, and I can explain if you would be so helpful as to go into that store and purchase me a candy bar. I’ll even give you the money.
The woman stepped back for a moment to get a better look at Shelby with her messy hair and Harlem Academy of the Arts maroon polo shirt. The corners of the woman’s lips curled. Okay, you’ve got me interested. I’ll play along.
The woman waved away Shelby’s money and in a couple minutes came back with a chocolate bar. Shelby tried to grab it, but the woman held it up high. I believe you owe me an explanation first.
Happily,
Shelby remarked before dropping back down to her knees. She pointed at the woman’s right boot. You have a fine dusting of dirt on the right side of your right boot, but nothing on your left boot, which indicates that you recently walked by dirt that was to your right. Since we are predominantly surrounded by concrete pavement in Harlem, there aren’t a lot of places in the general vicinity that you could’ve come in contact with dirt, except the construction that has blocked half the sidewalk on 128th Street. Most people would’ve crossed over, unless you were planning on taking the next right, which was Frederick Douglass.
The woman looked down at her boot. But it’s so . . . simple.
It was, but Shelby was the only person who could put it all together.
Yes. It’s also correct,
Shelby stated as she held out her hand. The woman laughed as she gave her the chocolate before crossing the street.
Shelby ripped open the wrapper and wistfully finished off the candy bar in four bites. She had a spring in her step as we made our way back home. But once we turned the corner onto Baker Street, Shelby let out another exasperated sigh.
What is it?
Shelby glared at me. That
—she pointed to a woman standing outside our apartment building—is all your fault.
"What did I do?"
Shelby shook her head as we studied the woman from the corner. It’s that online journal of yours.
I couldn’t make the leap to figure out how a woman standing outside our building had anything to do with the journal I started about our cases. My online readership really only consisted of a few classmates, my parents, and my English teacher. Oh, yeah, and one Moira Hardy, AKA the only person to ever outsmart Shelby.
She’s a journalist,
Shelby stated.
I examined the young Asian American woman writing in a spiral notebook.
Before I could even ask Shelby how she knew that, she started to explain. She’s taking notes outside of our building. There are only a few types of people who would do that. Mrs. Hudson has no intention of selling her brownstone. Therefore, we can automatically rule out real estate agents or building developers. Of course, detectives are observant creatures, but this woman isn’t with the police. And you, Watson, should know the other type of people who observe and take notes.
Writers,
I answered as I thought of my own notebook in my backpack that I use to jot things down.
Exactly,
Shelby replied with a satisfied nod. She is dressed in a business casual manner: nice jeans, blazer, not too much jewelry. So she’s professional, most likely a journalist, but not someone on-camera. She has a large messenger bag, which no doubt contains a laptop.
The bag could have other things,
I argued. While I knew it was pointless to ever doubt Shelby, it was the only way I was going to learn.
Shelby raised her eyebrow. Okay, I’ll bet you twenty candy bars that she’s a reporter. Or whatever the equivalent of twenty candy bars is to you.
No way was I taking that bet. I was curious, not a chump.
How do you know there’s a laptop?
Her left shoulder is lower than her right, signaling that she is carrying a lot of weight from her bag. My conclusion is that she has a laptop. Not only that, but she is here to interview us about your blog for her community newspaper, although with the current state of printed papers, I deduce that she writes for an online outlet.
Really? She wants to interview us?
Visions of fame floated through my head. My online readership would grow! I’d win awards! I’d be invited to go on television to talk about fighting crime!
"We certainly will not be participating in any kind of interview," Shelby said, extinguishing my dreams.
Why not?
I whined.
Shelby scowled. "I will not be traipsed around the press as some pint-sized detective and hear oh, isn’t that just adorable. No, our work should be taken seriously."
Okay, Watson. This was going to be a challenge to convince Shelby. I wanted to be interviewed so more people could see my writing. All I had to do was to get Shelby to say yes. And the best way to get Shelby to be agreeable (when chocolate wasn’t around) was to feed her ego.
Nobody could take what you do as anything but impressive, Shelby.
Her scowl softened slightly. Well, you and I are aware of that fact.
Of course. But wouldn’t it be beneficial for people to know what a great detective you are? It would increase your profile, and once people read about how brilliant your skills of deduction are, we’ll be flooded with more clients. Because, really, why go to the police, when you could go to Shelby Holmes?
(Yeah, I was going a little overboard, but Shelby looked thoughtful at what I was saying.)
You have brought up a good point, Watson.
She paused for a moment. Maybe.
Maybe! I was getting somewhere. Now I needed to turn that maybe into a yes. And I knew exactly how to close this deal.
And just imagine how annoyed Detective Lestrade would be when she read the article.
Shelby brightened up. You know what? A little press would be good for us. It would get more people to read your journal as well.
Oh, yeah, I didn’t think of that.
(And seriously, the fact that I didn’t crack up right then and there showed how much better I was getting with acting. Real undercover work was just around the corner. I could feel it.)
All right, let’s go,
Shelby announced as we approached the woman.
The reporter was too wrapped up in writing in