CHAPTER THREE           Story Table of Contents          Finding Martin Game

Sherlock Hemlock, the world's greatest detective, was finding it difficult to concentrate.  

The problem had very little to do with the fact that Timothy wasn't really Sherlock Hemlock.   Tim was quite used to pretending to be characters from Sesame Street, in fact he'd been doing it since he was three years old.  There were days when he felt completely in tune with eating like the Cookie Monster or grumbling like Oscar the Grouch.  And it just didn't seem right to count ten chocolate cream pies without fininshing it off by singing "Ten, nine, eight -- seven, six, five -- four, three, two, one!"

Tim's problem with concentrating didn't have anything to do with a lack of clues, either.  Since unlocking the door to Martin's house, Tim had spent quite a bit of time exploring the living room, bedroom, bathroom, and courtyard.  He'd found an intriguing e-mail on the computer, apparently sent by a coworker friend named Phouthavong Bochandilay.  Unfortunately the attachment to the e-mail was encrypted with a password, and Bo's hint of "Circular Reasoning is Irrational" was about as clear as mud, even to someone pretending to be Sherlock Hemlock.

In the cushions of the sofa, Tim found a pocket watch that appeared to be some kind of remote control device.   By changing the time on the watch and then putting it in his pocket, he'd figured out how to watch movies and television, how to raise the video screen up into the ceiling, and how to get food delivered to him by the model train that ran from room to room through tunnel-shaped openings the walls.  Tim suspected that the pocket watch could be an important tool for finding out what had happened to Martin, if only he could concentrate on being Sherlock Hemlock.

The true reason for his inability to concentrate was standing right in front of Tim, growling ominously.

The dog had been following Tim from room to room, eying him with the sort of deep distrust and suspicion that is most aptly demonstrated by a middle-sized mutt with a wrinkly face, asymmetrical markings, and extremely bad breath.  The dog appeared to have been carefully bred from at least 57 different doggy varieties, perhaps in an attempt to increase the likelihood of his being someday cast in a beer commercial.  According to the brass tag that hung from his collar, his name was Spartacus.

"Nice Doggy," Timothy ventured, trying to get Spartacus to stop growling long enough so that Tim could concentrate on examining the photographs on top of Martin's dresser.

There were some older photographs too:  a black-and-white wedding picture that Tim assumed to be of Martin's parents, and a candid shot of Martin's father (at age thirty-five or so) assembling a tricycle in the living room of this house while a calico cat sat on the diagrams and assembly instructions.  Tim looked at a yellowed clipping from a local newspaper showing Martin's mother tap dancing in a community theatre production of "42nd Street".  There also was an old flyer promoting the Raina Kessler School of Dance, which Martin's mother had apparently operated here in the house.

The most recent photo on the dresser showed Spartacus playing in the overgrown grass on the front lawn, jumping up to catch a red rubber ball.

But there were no pictures of Martin.

Wait a minute.  Tim ordered his mind to back up.  He was pretty sure that something important had slipped past him when he wasn't paying attention.

Something about a pocket....

Tim reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a sticky, chewed-up, red rubber ball.  Hoping that Sparatucus wouldn't be too upset to see a stranger handling his toy, Timothy threw the ball across the room.

As if motivated by pure instinct, Spartacus immediately stopped growling and raced after the ball to retrieve it.  Despite the small size of the bedroom (which was mostly filled with a very large bed) the dog somehow managed to run around in circles several times, pausing only to turn around and then run in a circle in the opposite direction.

After a little more running about, the dog trotted over to stand in front of Tim. 

Spartacus was no longer suspicious of Tim.  Apparently the human had proven his true character as "one who throws balls".  As a natural consequence, the dog's soulful brown eyes shone with the trust and loyalty reserved for comrades who have journeyed far and shared noble adventures together.  Spartacus carried the ball as if it were a well-earned trophy.

Suddenly Spartacus crouched, his body close to the floor, tense and excited and extremely eager to repeat the red rubber ball game.  The ball dropped out of the dog's mouth and fell to floor, rolling slightly towards Timothy.

Some time later, after chasing the red rubber ball for the umpteenth time, Spartacus panted slightly as he crouched for the next throw.  Tim threw the ball, but the dog didn't run after it.  Instead, Spartacus  stood up and watched with complete indifference as the ball sailed across the room and rolled to a lonely stop at the far end of the floor.

The dog shook himself briefly, obviously unsurprised to discover that Tim, like most humans, was too stupid to know when the throwing ball game was supposed to be over.  Spartacus sauntered out of the room, presumably headed for the kitchen where he could drink water out of his doggy bowl.

Wait a minute, Tim thought.  Where's the kitchen?

Tim raced into the back half of living room in time to see the dog crawling into a small passageway under the desk, heading east.  The passageway was too small for Timothy to follow.

But Tim had a plan.  He pulled out the pocket watch and went to the front half of the living room, where a large video screen covered most of the east wall.  As Tim pushed and turned the watch stem, the video screen receded up into the ceiling.  This revealed some very large fish tanks.

There were two fish tanks, one saltwater and one freshwater.  They reached from floor to ceiling, serving as a somewhat transparent wall between the front half of the living room and the room directly east.

The tanks were crystal clean and filled with a colorful variety of fish and other underwater life, including starfish, several large snails, and a wide variety of plants.  The sand at the bottom of the saltwater tank was orange and the sand at the bottom of the freshwater tank was yellow.  There were some large rocks in the tanks as well.  The tops of the tanks were fitted with metal covers that were giving off a low hum.

The two tanks were separated from each other by a space that was large enough to walk through.  This space was filled with strands of beads hanging from the ceiling, making it somewhat difficult for Tim to see into the next room.

The fish were bizarrely beautiful, displaying a wide variety of sizes, shapes, and colors.

But the fish seemed somewhat subdued, not moving around very much.  It occurred to Tim that they seemed bored.

Tim tried to push his way through the strands of beads, but couldn't.  The strands were oddly stiff and unmovable.

Tim couldn't help thinking that the fish were watching him as he tried to force his way through the strands of beads.

The fish seemed to be expecting Tim to do something.

The fish seemed to be looking at the books that Tim was carrying.

Tim had previously picked some children's story books when he was perusing the bookcases in the back half of the living room.

Sherlock Hemlock would have concluded that the fish wanted someone to read them a story.

Tim made a mental note telling himself that he needed to come up with a better role model as soon as possible.

Although he felt foolish doing it, Tim opened up one of the books and started to read aloud.   Tim doubted that the fish could hear him, but they appeared to be reading his lips.

Unfortunately the fish became quite annoyed when Tim read the story about the three little kittens who lost their mittens.

The fish didn't like stories about cats.

Then Tim tried reading about the three little pigs, and Goldilocks and the three bears.

He finished it off with "Go Dog Go".

The fish didn't like stories about pigs, bears, or dogs either.

There was only one book left, a book entitled "The Boy Who Had No Words."  Tim wasn't sure if the fish would like this story, but it was worth a try.

So he began reading...

Chapter Four          Story Table of Contents          Finding Martin Game