Sherlock Sam and the Sinister Letters in Bras Basah Read online

  ALSO IN THE SERIES

  Sherlock Sam and the Missing Heirloom in Katong

  Sherlock Sam and the Ghostly Moans in Fort Canning

  Copyright © 2013 by Adan Jimenez and Felicia Low-Jimenez

  Illustrations copyright © 2013 by Epigram Books

  All rights reserved.

  Published in Singapore by Epigram Books.

  www.epigrambooks.sg

  Illustrations by drewscape

  Edited by Ruth Wan

  Book layout by Foo Siew Huey

  With the support of

  National Library Board,

  Singapore Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  Low, A. J.

  Sherlock Sam and the sinister letters in Bras Basah/

  by A. J. Low. – Singapore : Epigram Books, 2013.

  pages cm

  ISBN : 978-981-07-5889-9 (pbk.)

  ISBN : 978-981-07-5890-5 (epub)

  1. Child detectives – Singapore – Juvenile fiction.

  2. Singapore – Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

  PZ7

  S823 -- dc23 OCN837044383

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,

  and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination

  or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  FOR THE OCTOPUSES:

  Wherever in the world you all may be

  “Everything-has-gone-black,” Watson said.

  “It’ll only be for a second,” I replied, squinting in concentration.

  I was standing in front of my robot, putting the finishing touches to the new equipment I had just added to him. Unfortunately, a side effect of my tinkering meant that Watson would lose his vision function for a short while. Needless to say, he didn’t take to that kindly.

  “It-has-been-twelve-seconds-and-everything-is-still-black,” Watson said.

  I pushed a button.

  “My-vision-has-returned,” Watson reported. “You-have-been-eating-biscuits-in-bed-again. I-see-crumbs.”

  I made a mental note to install a vacuuming function in Watson. Then instead of just complaining, he could be of some use to the constant crumb situation that infested my bedroom.

  “We’ll test out your new super power tonight, Watson! But for now, dinner!” I said. “I smell…”

  I paused and sniffed the air.

  “Bacon!” I cried.

  Dragging Watson by the arm, I dashed out of my bedroom.

  “Three, two, one…A-HA!” Wendy exclaimed as I entered the dining room. She was holding a slice of bacon and waving it in the air. My sister could be very strange at times.

  “A-ha, what?” I said, taking my seat. Wait, the dinner table was empty! Where was dinner?

  “I was just testing a theory. Dad and you aren’t the only ones who experiment,” Wendy replied, snickering. She popped the slice of bacon in her mouth and chewed. “Mom said dinner will be ready in five minutes, by the way.”

  A trap! I had been lured to the dinner table by a bacon-waving sister!

  “I-believe-this-time-it-is-Wendy-one-Sherlock-zero,” Watson said.

  I glared at my robot as I walked to the kitchen to see if I could help Mom.

  Dad was already there, carefully putting crisp slices of bacon on top of lettuce, cucumber, tomato and cheese. Mom had grilled the bread so that the cheese had been melted to perfection, just the way I liked it! She was putting the finishing touches to her potato salad—bacon bits! I helped carry everything to the dinner table quickly.

  “No sneaking extra helpings of bacon, Sam!” Mom called out from the kitchen. Mom was a great cook, but I was never allowed extra helpings of anything, except vegetables.

  Wendy grinned at me widely as I sat down. I frowned at her in return. She pulled out a slice of bacon from her sandwich and waved it about. However, before I could inform Mom about Wendy’s devious ploy, she put it on my plate, right on top of my sandwich, and smiled.

  Sometimes, having a big sister was pretty nice.

  I grinned back and quickly popped the bacon into my mouth before Mom caught us.

  Dad, Mom and Watson finally sat down as well.

  “So, Sam, what’s this letter game I hear people are playing?” Dad asked. “I read about it in the papers. The reporter called it a massive island wide game of Chain Mail.”

  “It’s not a game, Dad. It’s a sociological experiment,” I replied. Dad was a genius engineer and loved science; he understood the importance of experiments.

  “Yes, of course, son. Could you explain this sociological experiment to your old Dad?” Dad said, smiling.

  “Basically, you receive letters from people all around Singapore with instructions on how to send out your own letter to another person,” I said. “We have to use paper and pen, and snail mail. Sometimes it’s your friends who send you letters, but they’re not supposed to let you know.”

  “Oh! That’s like the game we used to play when we were kids,” Mom said. “This was long before email was invented. No one writes letters any more. Such a pity.”

  “We’re not playing it, Mom. We’re participating in an experiment,” I said.

  “Yes, dear,” Mom replied. She and Dad grinned at each other.

  “For our game, I mean, experiment,” Wendy said before I could correct her, “Sam and I wrote about our favourite books.”

  “Yeah! Then we mailed our letters to someone else with instructions for them to do the same,” I said.

  “How did you kids get involved in this experiment?” Dad asked.

  “Nazhar was the first to receive a letter. And then later on, Wendy, Jimmy, I and even Watson received letters too!” I said. My initial reaction had been to try and track down the sender. It was a mystery! It had to be solved! But Nazhar convinced me that not knowing who sent the letters was an important part of the experiment, and that by seeking him or her out, I would be ruining the experiment. It was logical, so I stopped my search.

  “Wow!” Dad said. He turned excitedly to Mom and asked, “I wonder if we’ll receive any chain letters?”

  “I hope so,” Mom replied. She looked just as excited as Dad. Mom loved to read and talk with Dad about the books she read.

  “May I have just one more slice of bacon?” I asked hopefully.

  “No more bacon, Sam. But if you’re still hungry, I can make you a tuna sandwich,” Mom replied.

  “Er, no thanks, Mom,” I replied. Tuna. Always with the tuna.

  Later that evening, at 9.30pm, I sent Watson to the kitchen to test out his new ability. I instructed him to come back to the room at 10.30pm with his findings and double chocolate Khong Guan biscuits (if the coast was clear).

  At 10.32pm, Watson returned to our room.

  I immediately asked him for the most important thing.

  “Did you get the double chocolate biscuits?” I said.

  “No. Someone-came-to-the-kitchen-while-I-was-there,” Watson said.

  “Was it Dad sneaking ice cream again?” I asked. “No, wait, don’t tell me. SHOW me!”

  I ran over to turn the bedroom lights off.

  With a soft whirring sound, Watson’s tummy started to glow and a beam of light shot out from him. The new holographic projector I had installed in him earlier this evening worked!

  I saw a small, fuzzy image (I would have to recalibrate it later). However, the scene that Watson was playing back showed an empty kitchen.

  “There’s no one there, Watson,” I said.

  “Patience-is-a-virtue-of-aspiring-y
oung-detectives,” Watson replied.

  I watched a few moments more, wondering what exactly would reward my patience.

  Suddenly, I saw what Watson was referring to. Someone had entered the dark kitchen. The sneaking figure was walking on tiptoe and kept looking behind its shoulder, checking to see if anyone was following it. I immediately deduced that it didn’t want anyone to know it was in the kitchen, or else it would have turned the light on! I shifted closer to the holographic image to get a better look. It had to be Dad. He knew Mom had a “No snacks after 10pm” rule. The figure reached up to the top shelf and took out the tin of Khong Guan biscuits! MY Khong Guan biscuits!

  “It has to be Dad!” I exclaimed.

  Just then, the dark figure walked over to the kitchen table to open the tin. The moonlight from the window hit its face.

  “MOM?” I said. I turned to Watson, pointed at my holographic mother and exclaimed in shock, “It’s MOM! MOM is sneaking Khong Guan biscuits! MOM!”

  “So-it-appears,” Watson replied.

  I was too surprised to do anything, but the last thing I remembered thinking before I fell asleep was: I wonder what Mom’s favourite Khong Guan biscuit is.

  “So, Mom, how did you sleep last night?” I asked Mom as she drove Wendy, Watson and me to our lunch appointment. It was Saturday and we were on our way to meet Officer Siva for lunch at Albert Centre, a really big hawker centre along Queen Street, behind Bugis Street.

  “Me? I slept fine, Sam. Thank you for asking,” Mom replied, not taking her eyes off the road.

  Fine? A likely story! If I were Mom, I would have been riddled with guilt and unable to sleep all night long! I scrambled forward in my seat and searched Mom’s face closely for clues, but her eyes were as unlined and clear as ever, with not a hint of any dark eye circles.

  “Sam, what are you doing? Sit back down and buckle your seat belt properly,” Mom scolded.

  Wendy, who was seated in the front seat next to Mom, turned around and gave me a weird look.

  “Do you know why Officer Siva wants to meet us, Sam?” Wendy asked.

  “He said he wanted to thank us for helping him solve the Case of the Ghostly Moans,” I replied, buckling my seat belt.

  “Well, don’t give Officer Siva too much trouble. I’ll be shopping at my favourite bookstore at Bugis Junction, so just call me when you’re done, okay?” Mom said.

  “Yes, Mom,” Wendy and I replied.

  The hawker centre was very crowded, but Officer Siva had already reserved a table for us. It was the first time we were seeing Officer Siva in something other than his police uniform. He looked much younger in a purple Transformers T-shirt and jeans.

  “Hello, everyone! Hi, Mrs Tan! Thanks for bringing the kids out to meet me on the weekend. Hope it wasn’t jammed all the way,” Officer Siva said.

  “It’s no problem at all. Thank you for treating the kids to lunch,” Mom replied. “You really don’t have to.”

  “Officer Siva, I’d like some black carrot cake and chicken rice, please!” I said cheerfully.

  I had read reviews online that said Guan Kee’s black carrot cake was super delicious.

  “I’d like a bowl of fishball noodles, please,” Wendy said politely.

  “I-would-like-some-used-batteries-please,” Watson said. Used batteries were Watson’s main source of power. He was an environmentally friendly robot.

  “Kids, behave yourselves now!” Mom warned, but she was smiling as she left.

  Officer Siva bought food for both of us and pulled out a bag of used batteries from his backpack.

  “When I called your mom to ask if I could buy you lunch, she told me that both your classes would be taking part in your school’s first exchange programme with an international school?” Officer Siva asked.

  “Yes, we’ll be attending Enterprise International School for a week. The school’s nearby, along Queen Street,” I said, digging into the piping hot plate of black carrot cake. I much preferred black carrot cake to white carrot cake because it was sweeter due to the sweet black sauce. The Uncle at the stall had expertly mixed the egg into the carrot cake and the result was crispy gooey perfection!

  “Both our classes are going. We were selected because we earned the most points for volunteering and doing good deeds in our community,” Wendy said.

  “Now I’ll get to learn about what people from other countries like to eat,” I said. “I wonder if they have special kinds of food at the school canteen!” Mom had even promised to give me pocket money instead of the usual packed lunches!

  “Wah, that’s a very interesting way to get kids involved in the community,” Officer Siva said.

  “Nazhar and Jimmy will be coming with us as well,” I said, just in case Officer Siva didn’t know that Jimmy was in my class and Nazhar was in Wendy’s.

  “And Eliza too,” Wendy said as she made a face. Wendy didn’t like her classmate very much as Eliza could be a bully. But even Eliza had pitched in to earn good-deed points for her class.

  “A friend of mine has a son who goes to Enterprise International School,” Officer Siva said.

  “Is your friend ang moh?” Wendy asked.

  “Ha ha, yes, but his moh isn’t ang. Though I think he secretly would like to be a redhead. His hair is as dark as yours and mine. He’s actually from Mexico but his family lived in the US for many years before he came to Singapore,” Officer Siva replied. “His name is Fidel Alvarado. Have you kids heard of him?”

  “Oh! I’ve heard of him. He wrote that children’s book about the boy who thought he was a superhero,” Wendy said. She turned and looked at me just as she said it.

  “And it was adapted into a comic as well. Dad bought it for me,” I replied, taking a spoonful of my chicken rice. It was tasty, but Mom’s chicken rice was much more delicious.

  “That’s him. We drink kopi at the same kopitiam every morning, and after a while, we became friends. I taught him how to order kopi properly, Singapore style! And he taught me Spanish,” Officer Siva said.

  “How do you say kopi in Spanish, Officer Siva?” Wendy asked.

  “Café!” Officer Siva replied, grinning widely. “Fidel’s son Luis is in the fourth grade at Enterprise International School. But recently, Fidel has been thinking of removing him from the school and going back to the US,” Officer Siva said.

  “Why does he want to leave? Is it because of durian?” I asked. I loved durian and could never figure out why people said it was stinky. I especially loved durian pengat.

  “They actually love durian, Sherlock,” Officer Siva replied. “The reason Fidel wants to leave is because—”

  Officer Siva lowered his voice and looked around cautiously. We all leaned in closer to listen. Even Watson.

  “The real reason is because Luis, Fidel’s son, has been receiving threatening letters,” Officer Siva whispered.

  “Threatening letters? Are they sinister?” I asked, my interest immediately piqued. “Who has been sending them?”

  “We don’t know yet. We don’t even know if it’s just a prank or something more serious,” Officer Siva replied, still whispering.

  “So Uncle Fidel approached you for help?” Wendy asked.

  “Yes, but because we cannot tell if it’s just a kid’s prank or a real threat, the police cannot take official action. Fidel is quite worried,” Officer Siva said. “Luis doesn’t even know what’s going on. He finds the letters in his school bag, but as all the letters are addressed to his dad, Luis has never read them. He doesn’t know he’s the target. He thinks it’s part of some game called Chain Mail.”

  Chain Mail! That’s the game that we’ve all been playing. Interesting.

  “This is where we come in, isn’t it, Officer Siva?” I said. “You would like us to investigate exactly who is sending sinister letters to Luis!”

  “Does this mean you’re taking the case, Sherlock?” Officer Siva said, grinning.

  “It-is-known-that-Sherlock-will-investigate-for-food,” Watson repli
ed, as I ate more of my black carrot cake.

  “Er, Sam, we should first ask Mom and Dad if it’s okay,” Wendy said.

  “Don’t worry, Wendy. I’ll definitely check with your parents first,” Officer Siva replied. “I just wanted to make sure Sherlock Sam and his Supper Club are on the case.”

  “Wait, why are we his Supper Club?” Wendy asked, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t eat supper and Sherlock isn’t supposed to either.”

  “I-would-like-an-explanation-as-well,” Watson said. “He-only-ever-feeds-himself-and-not-just-supper.”

  I wanted to explain to Wendy what a supper club was, but I was too excited. Sinister letters! A threatened student! A new case! I couldn’t wait to start! But first, I had to be thorough—

  “By the way, Officer Siva, the international school has a big canteen, right?” I asked.

  “What’s that?” Jimmy said, pointing to the game being played at the basketball court. Four kids were bouncing a ball back and forth among them while they attempted to stay within four squares painted on the ground. We were standing at the playground of Enterprise International School, watching the kids play.

  “I have no idea,” Wendy replied.

  “It looks like it’s very popular,” Nazhar said.

  I observed the players carefully.

  “The point of the game seems to be to get other players out of the game by bouncing the ball out of their square without them catching it,” I said.

  “Oh! Like ping pong, but with a bigger ball and four players,” Jimmy said. “And no table. Or paddles. And you’re out after only one point. And the same person serves all the time until that person goes out…” Jimmy started counting all the differences with his fingers. He looked up helplessly at Wendy.

  “So-not-really-like-ping-pong-at-all,” Watson said.

  “You guys have never heard of Four Square?”

  We turned around and saw Eliza, but something was different about her. She was alone, without her group of friends who always followed her around, and she was toying with her braids, looking a bit nervous.

  “What do you want, Eliza?” Wendy asked. “Why don’t you go hang out with your friends and leave us alone?”