The jaw-dropping, exciting follow-up to The Hound of The Baskervilles will keep you on the edge of your seat!
Hold onto your hats; it’s going to be a bumpy ride.
The Whistle of Revenge
Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler Mysteries Book 4
by KD Sherrinford
Genre: Historical Mystery Romance
Sometimes, our deepest fear is not the darkness but the light that blinds.
If you loved Conan Doyle’s, The Hound of the Baskerville, prepare to be enthralled by KD Sherrinford’s captivating follow-up, The Whistle of Revenge.
The deadly antagonist, Jack Stapleton, makes a spectacular return to the city of Milan in pursuit of his old nemesis, the celebrated Detective Sherlock Holmes.
Adopting the enigmatic persona of Janus, a vengeful Stapleton, along with the Italian mafia, wreak havoc on the Italian horse racing fraternity and fledgling car manufacturing industry, and kidnapping Holmes’s beloved son as part of their evil and well-executed master plan—Operation Whistle.
Will Holmes, Irene Adler, and their trusted ally, Inspector Romano, crack the code, rescue the boy, and unmask the deadly Janus?
Set against the backdrop of modern Milan, mind games and misdeeds of the highest order play out as the story reaches its thrilling and memorable conclusion.
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Chapter Five: Nicco Sapori
La Prigione Ecclesiastica—The Church Prison
I awoke with a jolt as I felt the carriage swaying from side to side. I opened my eyes, wondering what was happening. The carriage blinds were drawn to three sides, with no sign of my mother. Looking down, I was horrified to discover my hands and feet were tightly bound with rope, cutting into my wrists. The gag over my mouth restricted me from protesting. I tried in vain to wriggle free, but the rope only cut into me more deeply. Then I noticed the woman sitting opposite. My blood ran cold, observing her menacing stare.
She wore a black coat and a large green scarf around her neck, reminiscent of a Russian peasant. Her sallow skin and protruding grey eyes continued to stare at me.
“Be still,” she hissed. “It will be over soon, you’ll see. Nothing will happen to you if you do as I say.”
She advanced towards me, a needle glistening in the moon-light shining through the uncovered window. Then, after she rolled up my jacket and shirt sleeves, I felt a stabbing sensation as she pushed the offending needle into my arm. The last thing I remember was floating into darkness.
When I awoke, groggy from my forced slumber, fear etched into every fibre of my being as I was carried by a man of middle age, with grey receding hair and green piercing eyes that stared at me like a cat. My father instilled in me the importance of remembering details and questioning every-thing. Questions, he said, lead to knowledge and understanding. Learning is an ongoing process that always continues. So I did my best to stay alert and keep my eyes peeled for clues, taking in my surroundings as best I could.
Looking around, I noticed the carriage we’d disembarked from was a hansom pulled by two chestnuts, not my parent’s brougham and a pair of greys. We were on the grounds of what appeared to be an old, disused church with overgrown gardens, broken stained glass windows boarded in places, and a spire hovering in the distance. I heard the distinct sound of a whistle as the man carried me through the derelict churchyard.
There, I saw the gravestones pass by me, highlighted by the glow of the evening’s full moon. One particular headstone caught my eye, engraved with the name Turridu Cannio, who died many years ago. The name struck a chord with me as it had cropped up in conversation earlier that evening. Arturo Toscanini told me that Enrico had given many thrilling performances of the lead singer Turridu in Cavalleria Rusticana.
The man carried me down a flight of crumbling stone steps. He nearly lost his footing twice and was deftly scolded by the woman, who chastised him in a thick European accent. As she flashed a torch light upon us to help the man navigate the steps, I noticed a desecrated religious painting. It was a fresco of a woman, one that was vaguely familiar, hanging on the corridor wall. The mysterious figure wore blue robes and a white habit and looked toward heaven, clutching an olive branch with one hand and what appeared to be a stone in the other. She made an eerie sight in the torchlight.
We finally entered an underground chamber, and the man set me on a single bed before untying the gag. Glancing around the small windowless room in bewilderment, I took in my cold, damp surroundings and the familiar sound of intermittent dripping water from a faucet in the passageway. I realised this was to be my prison cell. In the corner was a commode, a bedside locker with a taper candle, two chairs, and a table holding a pitcher of water, a mug, and a plate of black bread and cheese.
“Don’t even think about trying to escape or crying for help. We’re underground, and only the dead will hear you.” The woman laughed with a defining cackle.
“Where’s my mother? Why have you taken me?” I cried.
“Your mother is safe. We’re demanding a ransom. When your parents pay, we shall release you,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. You’ll be our guest for several days.” She smiled dryly. “I want you to write a note for your parents, Signor and Signora Sapori.” She added with a calm aloofness. “To let them know you are safe and that we’re treating you well. If you comply, I’ll consider untying your feet.”
From the clipped consonants and unmistakable timbre of her voice, reminiscent of a former schoolmistress from Berlin, I discerned a distinctly German accent. As the woman spoke, moving with a disquieting precision, she extracted a worn leather notebook and sleek fountain pen from the inner pocket of her coat. Each motion seemed deliberate and methodical, as if honed through repeated practice. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tapped the pen rhythmically against her gloved finger. It was a gesture both unsettling and assured, like a conductor about to commence a well-rehearsed symphony.
An icy dread seized my heart as a certainty settled over me. This woman had orchestrated such grim undertakings before. The smoothness of her gestures, the detached glint in her eye, revealed a mind steeped in calculated control. Indeed, her manner with her subordinate marked her unmistakably as the one in command, the silent overseer of my abduction, as though each step in this dark affair had been meticulously rehearsed to such a devastating effect, devised to her exacting standards.
At that moment, I detested this woman for making me un-comfortable. I loathed everything about her—her sardonic smile, sallow complexion, and protruding eyes. Still, most of all, I despised her for taking me away from my beloved family.
Meet Me in Milan
Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler Mysteries Book 3
The deepest secrets are often to be found out in the open, if you only know where to look.
While her husband, Sherlock Holmes, is off playing detective in London, Irene Adler finds herself having to turn investigator when her friend Renata becomes the prime suspect in the attempted murder of her husband, Luigi Amato. How can she refute the testimony of a credible eyewitness, even though her heart tells her that Renata is innocent? What she needs is tangible evidence, and she’s willing to do what she must to obtain it.
When Sherlock finally arrives on the scene, Irene seeks his counsel, and he agrees to assist with her investigation. However their relationship is called into question by Irene’s dear friend Sophia, who is not overly fond of Irene’s husband nor approving of the way in which they conduct their marriage. Will Irene be able to prove her friend Renata’s innocence, or is there a more tangled web of deception at play? And will Sophia’s misgivings regarding her marriage bear unfortunate fruit?
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I woke up early the following morning.
Before embarking on my journey to La Scala, I showered, changed, and had a breakfast of Caffé noir and fresh fruit. It was a lovely day, so I walked to the Opera house for our final rehearsal before the summer vacation. I found Renata and Sophia waiting patiently for me in the green room.
We made our way into the auditorium to start rehearsal with the rest of the ensemble cast. A real buzz was going around the theatre that morning as our principal conductor, Leopoldo Mugnone, arrived. Originally from Naples, he was a dark-haired imposing man with a moustache and beard, of medium build, attired in a brown three-piece suit and a bow tie. We were all thrilled to be working with Mugnone. He was a conductor of exemplary reputation, said to have been held in very high esteem by the late Giuseppe Verdi.
There was collective excitement throughout the auditorium as rehearsals began. Sophia and I stared in awe as Re nata performed scene one, “Weia! Waga! Woge, du Welle,” in her beautiful soprano voice. We all observed her breathtaking performance with gasps of admiration. This talented girl reminded me of Ava Espirito, who had burst onto the scene and taken La Scala by storm. Sophia and I smiled at each other. We knew what it felt like to finally arrive.
At the same time, Mugnone’s stage direction was thrilling, innovative, and respectful of the piece and its composer, Wag ner, who had found inspiration for Das Rheingold in a dream.
We broke from rehearsals just before three o’clock. Renata and I had just said our goodbyes to Sophia, waving as her car riage pulled away, when a solemn-faced constable from the Polizia approached Renata, speaking to her gravely.
“I am sorry to tell you, Signora Amato, that your husband collapsed at home earlier this morning. The housekeeper raised the alarm and an ambulanza was called and took him to the Policlinico Hospital. The doctors suspected food poisoning at first, but then your husband’s symptoms became more severe, synonymous with strychnine poisoning, as the symptoms are similar.”
Renata burst into tears. ‘But my husband was fine this morning, Officer. There must be some mistake.’
“There was no mistake. We have a car outside. We can take you to him.”
Renata nodded and turned to face me. “Nene, will you please come with me?”
“Yes, of course.”
We arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later. Luigi lay on a bed, pale and drawn, unrecognisable from the man we had dined with the night before. Renata sat down on the chair beside the bed, her eyes flooded with grief. The consulente, Ferrari, entered the room. He was a middle-aged man with dark receding hair, wearing a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck.
Ferrari grimaced as he approached, addressing Renata and the constable with a fixed stare. He sighed, then hesitated for a moment before continuing. ‘We couldn’t be certain, but having dealt with similar cases, as a precautionary measure, we administered tannic acid, which precipitates the strychnine as an insoluble tannate salt. We have anaesthetised your husband with chloroform until the effects of the strychnine wear off. We questioned your husband whether he had attempted to take his own life, which he denied. He said he knew nothing of any poison, leaving us to suspect the poison had been administered maliciously. We had no alternative but to notify the Polizia.
“Was your husband unhappy or depressed? Do you think it is possible he may have tried to take his own life?” quizzed the constable.
Renata shook her head. “No. On the contrary, we were, in fact, very happy together. I don’t understand. Luigi would never try to kill himself.
“So, are you saying Luigi could have been deliberately poisoned?” I gasped.
“It’s a distinct possibility. One we cannot rule out.” The constable nodded to Renata sympathetically. “We must speak to your husband once he has recovered, and carry out routine checks. You should go home now, Signora Amato. My inspector will interview you in the morning. Can you come to the station at ten o’clock? Or I can ask Inspector Romano to call at your house, if you prefer.”
I nodded to the constable. “I think Renata should come home with me. I don’t think she should be left alone under the circumstances.” I opened my bag and quickly scribbled out my address which I handed to the constable. Then I did the same on a separate sheet of paper before passing it to Ferrari.
“You have my details. I would like you to update us on any progress in Signor Amato’s condition. In the meantime, we shall expect Inspector Romano tomorrow morning. We will take our leave from you now.”
The constable nodded. “Our carriage is outside. Please al low me to offer you a lift, Signora Sapori.”
“That is very gracious of you, thank you.”
Back at the Villa, with still no word from Sherlock, I dismissed the servants for the night. I poured out a stiff brandy for Renata and me. She sipped slowly from the glass, her hands shaking and her face as white as a sheet. I handed Renata a clean night dress and made her comfortable in the guest bedroom, sitting with her until she finally drifted off.
Slipping downstairs, I was pouring a glass of wine when I was disturbed by a knock at the door. After a few moments, my maid ushered Sophia into the room. She raised an eyebrow, observing my sombre expression.
“I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you being alone.” Sophia furrowed her brow. “What is it, Nene? What has that consulting detective done now?” she asked with a glimmer of sarcasm in her voice.
“Nothing, that’s the problem. I expected a telegram and it never arrived, which is out of character for Sherlock. And, I’m not alone. Renata is staying with me tonight.”
Sophia raised an eyebrow, staring at me curiously. “I’m sure there will be a logical explanation for Sherlock’s absence. He will arrive soon, you’ll see. But tell me, why is Renata here with you? Has there been some altercation with Luigi?”
I shook my head, taking Sophie’s hand in mine. “Sit for a while, take wine with me, and I will tell you everything.” Sophia agreed, and we sat on the chaise lounge together. I filled her in on all that had transpired at the theatre and the hospital.
“It’s a good thing Sherlock is on his way. It appears Renata and Luigi will need his help.” Sophia squeezed my hands, observing my subdued expression. “I can tell that, like me, you have become very fond of Renata. Why, she is like a sister. Don’t worry, my dear. If anyone can get to the bottom of this bizarre affair, then it will be your husband. I shall call and check on you tomorrow. In the meantime, please do not hesitate to send for me if there is anything I can do.”
After Sophia left, I retired to bed. I couldn’t sleep as I lay on top of the sheets on what was a hot and sultry night, closing my eyes and wondering what Sherlock would think of the events that had transpired so far. It was inevitable that our vacation would have to be put on hold.
Christmas at the Saporis
Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler Mysteries Book 2
First place, and best in category at the Chanticleer International Book Awards for Shorts and Novellas
What will the Saporis find under the tree this year—Christmas presents, or family skeletons?
In the spirit of the holiday and a wish for familial harmony, Irene Adler persuades her detective husband to invite his brother Mycroft to Christmas luncheon. Holmes had cut ties with his brother when he discovered the machinations Mycroft employed that drove Sherlock and Adler apart for four years. He isn’t really sure this reunion is a great idea, but he can deny his wife nothing.
Of course, they can’t tell the children what Mycroft is to them, as that would entail learning that their father is the celebrated detective when they know him simply as Lucca Sapori. And just when they think things may be going better than expected, ghosts of the past crop up in unexpected ways and threaten to ruin the holidays for everyone.
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I left Nicco and Mycroft to set up the chessboard and made my way towards the stables, wondering what could have happened. I took a breath before crossing over the threshold.
How I had been dreading this day. Over the years, my relationship with Sherlock had been exceptional. He worked hard to present the best version of himself before the children and me, but perhaps now was the time to release him from his obligations.
So, with a heavy heart, I slipped into the stable block where I found Sherlock loading hay in one of the mangers.
“Which of the horses has gone wrong?” I quizzed, staring at him anxiously. A shadow of a smile passed over Sherlock’s face.
“Ah, sorry to have alarmed you, but I needed to draw your attention somehow. I’ve been trying to get you out here all day. Come with me.” He took my hand and led me towards the end stall, which usually stood empty. Sherlock slowly pushed open the door. I was stunned to find a black Friesian yearling, a small white star on his forehead, lying in the straw, gazing back.
I was speechless as my husband and I entered the stall, sitting down beside the yearling who pricked up his ears as I stroked his head and thick black mane.
“For me?” I murmured. “I thought you’d forgotten my Christmas present. My god, he is magnificent.”
“I do pay attention some of the time.” Sherlock chuckled, staring at me keenly. “You have no idea how long I deliberated over him. I almost chose a filly who was a bonny thing, but then decided this little chap had more spirit. His official title is Black Hawk Gallo, but what will you name him?”
“Well.” I laughed. “As I failed to notice your plan, I shall call him Shadow. How did you get him here?”
“He was delivered yesterday while we were at the Three Tunnes. The children were in on the secret. They’ve been helping me to look after him.”
I sighed. “You can be exasperating at times, Mr Holmes. But, even after all these years together, there are moments like this when you do something that reminds me again why I love you. I would never want to be with anyone else.”
“Yes,” said Sherlock, as he stared into my eyes. “I have no idea what I did to deserve you either, Nene. Do you think I’m not aware of the sacrifices you’ve made so we can be together? The way you put up with my moods and insensitivities, like the incident earlier. I had no right to say that to you. Forgive me?”
When I nodded, he sighed. “Mycroft always brings out the worst in me. How you can excuse my brother’s behaviour after he forced us apart for over four years amazes me. People consider love the most challenging emotion, but they’re wrong. It’s regret, that gnawing feeling eating away at you, reminding you of what you had and lost. Those years we were apart I consider the biggest failure of my life. So if you can find it in your heart to forgive Mycroft, I must find a way to come to terms with your decision.”
I nodded.
“Your brother was only trying to protect you, and I understand that now. Let’s put it behind us and celebrate what we have. But, you know, I’m glad Mycroft got to see the children. The security he provides to keep them safe is immeasurable.”
I paused for a moment, gazing into my husband’s eyes. “I would never want you to stay with me out of a sense of duty. If the drama of family life becomes too much for you, then you need to tell me. I will accept whatever you say, for I know you would never lie to me.”
Sherlock smiled, tears running down his cheeks. “You are a remarkable woman, Nene. Every day I remind myself of that fact, and how fortunate I am to be your husband and a father to those two incredible children. Love came to me late and unexpectedly. First you, then Nicco and Charlotte. Unexpected, yes, but never unwanted. And to be allowed to return that love is the most incredible privilege. I know I rarely tell you this, but I love and adore you with my whole heart. I want you to know that.”
I put my arms around him and hugged him, tears in my own eyes. And as I did so, I realised how blessed I was to lead such an incredible, sometimes lonely, but often exhilarating life. For Sherlock and me, being together wasn’t always easy. We made a lot of sacrifices along the way to maintain our relationship. A lot of strategic planning was involved, often with the help and support of Mycroft, and all for one purpose—to keep our children safe. But, as far as Sherlock and I were concerned, Nicco and Charlotte always came first. Our time together in Fiesole, and our confrontation with Colonel Moriarty, made me acutely aware of how fragile life was, and the importance of friends and family, even disordered family members. Admittedly, Mycroft might be pompous and cantankerous at times, but like his brother, under that icy exterior was a decent man who I knew would be prepared to do anything for our children, despite the fact he only met them for the first time that day. So I decided I could cope with his sardonic humour and his sanctimonious comments.
After all, it wasn’t as though I would be expected to entertain him every day.
Song For Someone
Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler Mysteries Book 1
Finalist at The Chanticleer International Book Awards for Romantic Fiction- The Chatelaine— Proud Recipient of The Editors Gold Seal.
Love is the aria of the soul.
Charlotte Sapori has led a wonderful life, safely tucked in the bosom of her family. Her mother, Irene Adler, is a renowned opera singer, while her father, Lucca Sapori, does important government work that frequently takes him away from them. Charlotte is close to her older brother, Nicco, and they are both doted on by their parents. All is well until her mother receives an unexpected diagnosis which shakes the family to its core.
Knowing herself to be dying, Adler confesses to Charlotte things that have long been kept from her, telling her to find and read her diary. A distressed Lucca Sapori tells his daughter to read his as well. And by the way, Lucca Sapori is not his real name. In fact, she may have heard of him—he is actually the world-famous detective, Sherlock Holmes.
Charlotte finds both diaries and plunges into the hidden world of Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes as she discovers what brought them together, and how they managed to stay together for thirty years despite having to battle the odds.
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Prologue: A Very Bohemian Scandal: Irene Adler
It’s strange how two words can turn your world upside down.
I had no way of knowing that the witness to my wedding to the lawyer Godfrey Norton would come back to haunt me in years to come. My cousin Estelle once told me that the true love of one’s life is the one who catches you unaware and changes you inexplicably.
was in my late twenties when I moved to London in 1887, having spent the past few years performing as a contralto at La Scala in Milan, and then a term as prima donna with the Imperial Opera of Warsaw. And it was in Warsaw where I first met Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Feldstein, the hereditary king of Bohemia.
I suppose it all sounds rather grand, given his title, but Wilhelm was a kind, fun-loving man, and a huge fan of the opera. A big man, in every sense of the word, he was a tall, imposing figure—well-built with broad shoulders and a muscular frame, black hair, sparkling brown eyes, and a handlebar moustache. He would often make a grand entrance with his entourage, insisting the cast join him for drinks afterwards. They all adored him, of course. He was thoughtful and generous. So I thought little of it when a bouquet of flowers appeared in my dressing room every night.
A few months after meeting Wilhelm, I was invited and accepted into the elitist fold of La Scala’s theatre chorus. My I KD Sherrinford 2 dream had always been to train at the prestigious Opera House. Wilhelm took the news badly. He told me he’d developed feelings for me, and while I had grown very fond of him, I knew I had to follow my dreams. Looking back, enrolling at La Scala was one of the happiest moments of my life. But then I gave it up for the position of prima donna at the Grand Opera House in Warsaw, which was the worst decision of my life.
A few weeks after my arrival in Warsaw, a letter from Wilhelm revealed he had returned to the city upon learning of my new appointment and asked if he could take me to luncheon. I accepted the invitation. In truth I was looking forward to seeing Wilhelm again. I missed his infectious humour and I hoped we could remain friends. We spent a lovely morning together and laughed watching the waiters scurry around, eager to please him. His disposition and exuberant personality were so endearing, always the life and soul of the party. I was always aware he held a torch for me, but I was taken aback when he declared his undying love and his intention to make me his wife. I was speechless, swept away by the excitement of it all until I came to my senses.
“No.” I shook my head. “This can’t be. Your parents would never allow it.”
Wilhelm became animated, insisting he would be king one day and could choose his own bride. Although I was young and naïve, I knew the matter was not that simple. Wilhelm claimed he would speak to his parents, confident they would listen to reason. He pleaded with me to be patient
More than four weeks passed before I received a letter informing me of his failed attempts to win over his parents. His father was so enraged at the absurd prospect that he ordered Wilhelm to propose to Clotide Lothman von Saxe-Meiningen, the second daughter to the king of Scandinavia. There was no apology. Wilhelm even had the audacity to suggest I become his mistress and, to add insult to injury, demanded the return of a photograph he’d had taken of us.
Incensed at the disrespect I’d been shown, I decided to retire from the stage and move to London. They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. In an act of foolishness, which I later regretted, I told Wilhelm I intended to send the photograph to Clotide’s family should the engagement be announced. This was admittedly scandalous behaviour, but I was young and I and had never experienced rejection. I still remember the feelings of anger, betrayal, and jealousy, as though I’d felt them only yesterday—they were all-consuming.
Wilhelm’s response was to send his agents after me. Upon my arrival in London, I was searched at Charing Cross station before my house in St John’s Wood was broken into. Wilhelm’s pursuit of the photograph was relentless, although I was always one step ahead of him. Before I left Warsaw, I arranged with a friend to post the photograph, which was addressed to my agent in London, secreted in the sleeve of a book. I kept it in a secure hiding place, one I was certain Wilhelm’s agents would never find.
It was around this time I went to see my old friend, Sarah Burton, who was performing as Desdemona in Shakespeare’s Othello at the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane. After the performance, she invited me to join her and a few friends for dinner at Rules in Covent Garden. And that was where I was introduced to Godfrey Norton. He was a dashing man—tall, dark—and I was instantly taken with him. Godfrey was neither vain nor arrogant, an attentive listener with a talent for putting those around him at ease. I told him about Wilhelm and what had transpired, but that did little to dampen his ardour. On the contrary, Godfrey pursued me relentlessly over the coming weeks. He sent me flowers and frequently escorted me to the theatre and dinner. During the day we enjoyed long leisurely strolls through the park, at which times Godfrey spoke incessantly of his hopes and dreams, his plans for the future—plans which he said included me.
I was, of course, flattered by his attention, but I had no wish to give him any false hopes. I had naively convinced myself I was still in love with Wilhelm, until finally I realised I’d been possessed by a mere girlish infatuation. I didn’t really know love at all. In fact, I doubted if it even existed. But Godfrey didn’t care. He was certain that given enough time I would learn to love him. After my experience with Wilhelm, I felt vulnerable. It was comforting to have someone on my side, so I gladly accepted his proposal.
Godfrey arranged for a special licence so we could be married right away. Having obtained a licence that was only valid for a few days, Godfrey found a clergyman willing to carry out the ceremony at such short notice. This proved to be an extremely stressful period for both of us. Not only were we desperate to be married, but Godfrey was also attempting to obtain fake identities. We intended to flee London shortly after the wedding to be rid of Wilhelm and his agents for good. The thought of being constantly under surveillance was beginning to take its toll. I even considered returning the photo to Wilhelm, but Godfrey insisted we needed it as leverage in case Wilhelm had second thoughts and decided to come after us.
KD Sherrinford is a multi-award-winning International author. She was born and raised in Preston, Lancashire, and now lives on the Fylde Coast with her husband, John and their two children—an avid reader from an early age. KD loved the mystery writers Conan Doyle, and Agatha Christie was her favourite. She read the entire Conan Doyle canon by age 13.
KD had a varied career, working with thoroughbred horses and racing greyhounds. To mix things up, she joined Countrywide and became a Fellow of The National Association of Estate Agents. Retirement finally allowed KD the time to write her multi-award-winning debut novel, ” Song for Someone.” KD got the idea for the story after a visit to The Sherlock Holmes Museum on Baker Street in 2019; KD has always wanted to write about the iconic character Irene Adler. A talented pianist from age six, the music from some of KD’s favourite composers, Beethoven, Wagner, and Stephen Foster, all feature strongly in her writing. .” Song for Someone “was awarded The Editors Choice Gold Seal Medal in 2022 and received critical acclaim from Book Viral, Readers Favorite, Literary Titan and The Historical Fiction Company, which described” Song for Someone” as an evocative masterpiece and a book that stands out in contemporary literature. The novel was a recent Finalist at The Chanticleers International Book Awards- The Chatelaine. ” Christmas at The Saporis” was published last December. The third book, ” Meet Me In Milan”, went live on the 29th of September 2023. This thrilling Trilogy was Shortlisted for The CIBA’s Series Book Awards in Genre Fiction.KD Sherrinford is a member of The CWA, the RNA and the LWA. Her short, cosy mystery ” A Bit of a Do” was published in Marla Breeden’s Limited Edition Anthology, entitled ” Malice Matrimony and Murder “On the 13th of November 2023. Twenty-five original short, cosy mysteries from international authors, including Deringer and Agatha Finalists, CWA members, and recipients of The Editors Gold Seal, KD is very proud to be a part of this fabulous collection. Book four of the Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler Mysters, the much anticipated ” The Whistle of Revenge” was just released in 2025. You can reach KD on her Facebook author page.
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IS HISTORY THE AGREED UPON LIE? Historical Fact & Historical Fiction.
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A definite read, love Sherlock Holmes :)
Hi Lisa.
I hope you enjoy my novel, which critics consider the best of the series.
Hi Lisa,
I hope you enjoy The Whistle of Revenge.
KD.
I would enjoy reading this book. The excerpt sounds great.
Hi Marcy,
I hope you enjoy The Whistle of Revenge, should you decide to download a copy.
KD.
This is a must read for me…love a good mystery
Hi Michele,
I hope you enjoy The Whistle of Revenge as much as I enjoyed writing the novel.
KD
I am so loving the cover of this one. I am adding this book to my must read list for the summer.
Hi Heather,
Glad you love the cover for The Whistle of Revenge. Hope you enjoy my novel .
Best
KD
question for author- What message or feeling do you hope readers take away from your book?
Hi Sohna,
Thanks for your question, which is a good one.
I hope readers come away with a sense of satisfaction and see my protagonists, Sherlock and Irene, in a new light.
I have been amazed by how readers have shipped Sherlock and Irene’s remarkable relationship.
KD
Sherlock Holmes has always been my favorite fictional detective.
Hi Cindy,
Sherlock is my favourite detective too. Growing up, I was addicted to Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes Canon. As a young girl, I remember watching the old black and white film, Hound of the Baskervilles, on television, and hiding behind the couch as my hero, Basil Rathbone, as Sherlock Holmes. Nigel Bruce as Dr. Watson stepped out onto the Great Grimpen Moor, terrified that something dreadful might happen to my idols. I’ve been hooked ever since, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would write a follow-up to Doyle’s classic one day. ” The Whistle of Revenge” is described by critics as! Chef’s Kiss is widely considered the best of a stylishly addictive series.
KD
love the covers, the exceprt sounds amazing
Hi Wendy,
Thanks for your very kind comments. Glad you love the except and cover, which was created by the very talented Martine Jardin, who made all my covers for the series.
KD
I really like the excerpts and the covers.
Hi Sherry,
Glad you like the excerpt and cover.
Best
KD.
Thanks for the great blurb and excerpt. The book sounds wonderful. Love the gorgeous cover!
Hi Piroska,
Thank you so much fo the wonderful comments.
KD
I hope you enjoy my novel ” The Whistle of Revenge”. The book has just received a Five-Star Editorial Review from Reader’s Favorite. Who said KD Sherrinford is a gifted storyteller. The author creates a tale of mystery filled with suspense and intrigue. The setting is meticulously detailed and stunningly executed. The author infuses a sense of the ominous in the setting, especially Venice and Milan, and also captures the cities’ allure. The characterisation is excellent with Sherlock a grilling detective with emotional flaws, and his wife Irene, depicted as wise and consistent. The tension escalates as the conflict deepens, involving kidnappers with hidden motives, a web of deceit involving the criminal underworld, and personal betrayals threatening to destroy Sherlock and Irene. The Whistle of Revenge is a well-delivered mystery that is as suspenseful as it is emotionally resonant.
Sounds really good
Hi Terri The reviews are very good so fa
Hope its a great mystery!
Hi Jon. Readers say it’s a great mystery.Hope you enjoy the novel. KD
Looks very exciting Do you write in a daily journal?
Hi Heather I do write in a daily journal mainly prioritize things and events which can change on a daily basis I also keep a list of notes and ideas on my laptop. KD
This sounds like an exciting read.
Hi Wendy The novel is described by readers and reviewers as an exciting enthralling read that will keep you on the edge of your seat. KD
Sounds like a great series.
Hi Rita,
Thanks for the lovely comment. The series has won eight Literary Awards and received Five-Star Editorial Reviews from Readers’ Favorite, Literary Titan, Book Viral, and The Historical Fiction Company, of which I am so proud.
This sounds like a great Historical Mystery Romance.
Hi Susan,
Thanks for the lovely comment. A great deal of time and Historical research went into each book by me and my development editor, Tony Waslin-Ashbridge; his knowledge of the musical and historical nuances of that time during the Victorian period is excellent. I will always be grateful for his incredible insights.
KD
Looks like a good read
Hi Alma,
Thanks for the lovely comment. The novel is proving very popular with fans who consider The Whistle of Revenge as the best of the Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler Series, which is wonderful considering the tetralogy have already won several literary awards.
KD
nice cover
Thank you.
The cover was created by Matine Jardin.
KD
I am actually thankful to the holder of this web site who has shared
this impressive paragraph at at this place.
Looks a good read
Hi Valerie,
Many thanks for your lovely comment.
The novel is considered by many to be the best of this award-winning series.
KD
Sounds like a great read.
Hi lisa,
Many thanks for your comments. I hope you enjoy the story.
KD
I like the book details.
Hi Stephanie,
Thank you for your kind comment. Hope you enjoy the novel.
KD
Historical mystery romance is an exciting combination of genres! The cover is very appealing!
Hi Jeanra,
]Thanks for your lovely comments. Historical mystery and romance is my favourite genre, and I hope this shows in my writing. I love the cover too which was created by the very talented Martine Jardin.
KD
Sounds fun.
Hi Danielle,
The novel was such fun to write. The story has several fun scenes with crisp witty dialogue, which helps lighten the mood somewhat.
KD