Case of the Shady Shamrock

by Jeffrey Poole

  “Did you find something?”

  Vance suddenly grinned at me and offered a shrug. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  A young woman in her early twenties appeared at the door.

  “Detective? You called?”

  “Yes, thanks. Zack, not a word. Brigette? Your eyes are much better than mine. Can you make out what it says right here?”

  I snorted with laughter, which earned me a beaming smile from the girl, and a glower from Vance.

  “Printed in Chesterfield,” Brigette read, as she looked at the paper.

  Vance sat up straight. “What? Where does it say that?”

  Brigette tapped the bottom right corner of the paper. “Here, next to the shipping date.”

  “It has a shipping date?” Vance asked, incredulous. “I didn’t see that, either.”

  “Where do you see that?” I asked, as I hurriedly stood. “I must’ve stared at that paper for the better part of two hours last night.”

  Brigette handed me the slip. “It’s right here. February 3rd. It is rather small.”

  “Small? All I see is a thin, black line. Looks like a signature line.”

  “That’s what I thought it was,” Vance admitted, as he leaned over my shoulder to see for himself where the date was allegedly printed.

  I turned to look up at my friend and gave him a grin. “So, is it safe to assume your eyes are just as lousy as mine?”

  Vance looked at the paper, back at Brigette, then back at the paper. “Obviously. And no, I won’t tell Jillian if you won’t tell Tori.”

  “I find those terms acceptable,” I decided, with a chuckle.

  “Is there anything else that’s useful on there?” Vance wanted to know, as he looked back at the young woman. “We’re trying to find out who might have shipped this box to Zack.”

  Brigette took the seat next to mine and studied the paper. “Well, I can make out a circular stamp right here. It’s faint, and hard to see, but it’s there.”

  Both Vance and I leaned over the desk, at precisely the same time. What was the result? You guessed it. We knocked heads.

  “Ow!”

  “Ouch!”

  “You two are funny,” Brigette decided. “Perhaps one at a time?”

  I rubbed my forehead. “You’re up, pal. You first.”

  Vance scrutinized the paper for close to a minute before giving up.

  “If it’s there, I can’t see it.”

  “Let me try,” I said, as I held out a hand. “Chances are, I’m going to have just as much luck as you in trying to see this mark.”

  “Stamp,” Brigette corrected.

  “Whatever. Nuh-uh, I don’t see it, either. What, is it invisible ink and you just happen to be able to see it without a UV light?”

  Brigette giggled. “I’ve always had really good eyesight. I can’t help it.”

  Vance pushed a notebook and a pencil over to the girl.

  “Could you draw what you see? So those of us who are visually-impaired can see what you’re looking at?”

  “Sure. Let’s see. It says this along the top. There’s a curve coming down, like this. Then, this word is here. And finally, there are some letters along the bottom curve. There you go. What do you think?”

  Vance took one look at the sketch Brigette had made and whistled. “I have no idea how to pronounce that, let alone know what it is.”

  “Spell it,” I suggested.

  “All right. Uh, C-w-m-b-r-a-n. Any ideas what it could be?”

  I pulled my phone out and searched for the word online. “It’s a town in Wales.” I looked up. “Wales? This is Welsh?”

  Vance tapped the top of the diagram, where Brigette had written International Delivery. “There you have it. Your box is from Wales. Thanks for your help, Brigette.”

  “My pleasure, Detective.”

  “What now?” Vance inquired, after the girl had departed. “Have you shown Jillian yet?”

  “That’s next,” I admitted. “She’s one wickedly smart woman. Perhaps she will recognize it?”

  Vance shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. Keep me posted, pal.”

  “You got it.”

  Ten minutes later, I was parking the Jeep in front of Jillian’s store. Gathering the dog’s leashes tightly in my hand, the three of us, with me holding the wooden crate under my arm, stepped inside Jillian’s specialty kitchen store. A girl wearing a purple apron approached, having heard the entry chime the door made after it opened. She caught sight of me, waved, and was about to turn on her heel when she noticed the dogs.

  “Sherlock and Watson! Oh, it’s good to see you two!”

  The dogs were writhing with excitement.

  “Can I watch them for you, Mr. Anderson?”

  I gave Jillian’s day manager, Cassie, a smile, dropped the leashes, and waited for the dogs to appear by her side. Knowing the dogs were in good hands, I started to look for Jillian. Cassie cleared her throat and pointed upstairs.

  “Zachary!” Jillian exclaimed, as she rose from the table she was sitting at in her store’s tiny café. “What a pleasant surprise! I’m glad you stopped by. What do you have there?”

  “Something I want you to look at,” I told her, as I set the wooden crate down on a nearby table. I reached inside and gingerly lifted the silver box free of its crate. “What do you make of this?”

  “Oooo, it’s pretty. Where did it come from?”

  “It was waiting for me when I made it home last night.”

  “Someone sent this to you? Do you know who?”

  “Someone from Wales,” I answered, as I pulled out a chair and sat down. “That’s all I know.”

  “Do you have friends in Wales? I didn’t know that.”

  “I don’t,” I clarified. “At least, I don’t think I do. So, tell me. Does that thing look familiar to you?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Jillian said, after spending a few moments looking over the chest. “I know someone who you ought to ask.”

  “Who?” I wanted to know.

  “Burt. Burt Johnson? Do you think we can ask him?”

  “I don’t see why not. He’s a nice enough guy, if a touch intimidating. Do you think he’d know what this is?”

  “It couldn’t hurt to ask him. Hold on. I’ll give him a call, just as soon as I find his number. Now, do I have it listed under his name or the name of his business? Ah, here it is. Hidden Relic Antiques. There’s the number. Let’s hope he … Hello, Burt? It’s Jillian Cooper. Are you available? Zachary is here, and he has something here I’d like you to take a look at. Neither of us know what it is, and we’re hoping you might. Yes, that’s right. You will? Thank you. I owe you a favor.”

  “You mean, I owe him a favor,” I slyly corrected, as my fiancée terminated the call.

  “It doesn’t matter. I … is this silver?”

  “It sure looks like it, doesn’t it? And look at this. There are pieces that move on the box. I noticed that last night. This round dial-looking thing rotates, and this square can be pushed in, like a button. The more I look, the more I notice. I just wish I knew what it all meant.”

  Several minutes later, we heard the entrance chime announce the arrival of another person. Jillian pushed away from the table and looked down the stairs.

  “Burt? Is that you?”

  “It’s me, Ms. Cooper,” a deep voice rumbled.

  “We’re up here.”

  Moments later, PV’s largest, most daunting citizen was standing before us. Standing at six and a half feet tall, and weighing in around 350 pounds, Burt Johnson had to be the biggest, most muscular person I have ever clapped eyes on. I’ve never known how old he is, but if I had to guess, then I’d say late fifties, or early sixties. He wore his short, gray hair in a military-style buzz cut, had huge sideburns on either side of his face, and had a variety of tattoos on his arms, making him appear as though he would be more suited on a motorcycle.

  I know what you’re thinking. I really shouldn’t be this judgmental, and what’s
more, I would be the first to admit it. In fact, I have actually apologized to Burt, himself, for having a preconceived notion what he must be like. Thankfully, Burt took my comments in stride and laughed off my concerns.

  Pomme Valley’s expert in antiques strode over to our table, but before anyone could say anything, we saw his eyes latch onto the silver box. Without asking permission, he slowly sank down onto one of the table’s chairs and started to reach for it. A split second later, he hesitated and looked over at me. I nodded permission, to which he nodded once in return, and slid the box over to him.

  “Where did you get this?” Burt asked, clearly awed.

  “Based on the shipping invoice, someone in Wales sent this to me.”

  “Makes sense,” Bart said, as he nodded. “After all, this is British. Do you see this shamrock? It’s obviously Irish. And this cross, on the back? English. There’s also a thistle back here, which is …”

  The huge man trailed off and gave Jillian a side-long glance, who smiled and nodded.

  “Scottish.”

  “Correct. Three various themes, and all point to Great Britain.”

  “What about this?” I asked, as I leaned forward and twisted the circle encompassing the cross. Burt’s eyes lifted with surprise as he noticed the ring of metal shift a quarter of an inch clockwise. “And there’s also this.” I then pressed a square of metal to the right of the thistle. It clicked loudly as it recessed into the surface.

  Anxious to see if there were other movable parts, Burt began to gently poke and prod at the chest.

  “This lion that I didn’t notice before? Its tail is movable, like a lever. Can either of you tell if anything happens when I do this?”

  Jillian and I stared intently at the chest while Burt maneuvered the tiny tail up and down.

  “I don’t see anything,” I reported. “Then again, I don’t know what I was expecting to happen.”

  Burt looked at Jillian. “Ms. Cooper? How about you?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t see anything, either.”

  “What does it mean?” I wondered aloud.

  “The craftmanship is unbelievable,” Burt was saying, his voice so soft that he was practically whispering. “There has to be a reason why the lion’s tail moves, or the circle spins, or a shamrock leaf rotates the way it does.”

  “The shamrock rotates?” I repeated. “Did I hear that right?”

  In response, Burt turned the chest around so that Jillian and I could see the Celtic shamrock on the front. Using two fingers, he gently gripped the right-most leaf and twisted. Sure enough, the leaf rotated just enough to make it stand apart from the other two. On a Celtic knot shamrock, it became quite obvious the leaf had been moved, seeing how the entire design was comprised of a single line weaving in and around itself, as most Celtic knots happened to be.

  “Himitsu-Bako,” Jillian announced.

  Burt nodded, as his face lit up. “Precisely!”

  “What’s that?” I asked, when no further explanations were forthcoming.

  “Himitsu-Bako,” Jillian repeated. “Japanese personal secret boxes.”

  “And those are …?” I gently inquired.

  “I’m sure you’ve seen them before,” Burt began. “They range in size, but most are small, about the size of this chest. Each surface of the wooden box is finished with seamless wooden texture. Some have geometric designs, and others are plain.”

  “Exactly,” Jillian confirmed. “They look like ordinary boxes, but they don’t have lids. The only way to open a Himitsu-Bako box is to solve the puzzle.”

  “How is a simple box also a puzzle?” I wanted to know.

  “Because certain parts move,” Burt explained. “A narrow strip here, or a side panel there.”

  “They call them steps,” Jillian added. “Each box has its own number of steps to solve.”

  “The most complex Himitsu-Bako I’ve ever solved had twenty-one steps,” Burt said.

  Jillian nodded. “Thirty-five for me.”

  “Makes me think I need to try one of these puzzle boxes,” I mused.

  “I still have mine at home,” Jillian announced. “I’ll let you borrow it so you can see what I mean.”

  I pointed at the chest. “So, you think the same principle used for these whatchamacallits are at play here?”

  Burt and Jillian both regarded me with a piteous expression.

  “What? It’s a legitimate question.”

  “If you’re referring to the internal mechanics of Himitsu-Bako,” Burt began, as if he was standing behind a podium with an audience of students, “and are applying them here, to this chest, then yes, I think that’s a possibility.”

  I looked at Jillian and held up my hands. “Meaning what?”

  “We think it might be a puzzle box.”

  “Oh. Why didn’t you just say so?”

  Burt grinned at me. “We did. Listen, if you ever want to sell this, Mr. Anderson, then I do hope you’ll come to me. I would love to take this off your hands.”

  I tapped the chest. “If there’s something in here worth hiding, and we manage to get it out, then sure, I’ll be willing to entertain the notion.”

  Satisfied, Burt nodded. “That reminds me. About your Ruxton …”

  “Hey, didn’t I apologize for bumping your sign?” I protested. “I thought we were past that.”

  “Which time?” Jillian teased.

  Burt’s eyebrows shot up. I immediately held up my hands in a time-out gesture.

  “Now, wait a minute. I only hit it the one time, and I did apologize for that. Besides, you straightened the sign yourself, didn’t you?”

  “Take a breath, Mr. Anderson,” Burt soothed. “I don’t care about the sign. I’m more concerned about your car.”

  “Oh. It’s fine. I ended up taking it back to Rupert’s Gas & Auto, and they were able to get it all fixed up for me. Took out the dents, replaced the starter, and gave the transmission a clean bill of health.”

  “Are you interested in selling it?” Burt politely inquired.

  “Oh. You want to buy the Ruxton? Thanks, but I’ll have to decline. Jillian gave me that car, and I have every intention of keeping it. But, I’ll tell you what. If, like the chest, I ever decide to sell it, then you’ll be the first person I call.”

  Mollified, Burt nodded. “I understand. Ms. Cooper? Mr. Anderson? I take my leave of you.”

  He stood, shook my hand, smiled at Jillian, and headed down the stairs, presumably back to his store. I had to flex my right hand for a few minutes in order to restore circulation. Man alive, that dude is strong. It felt as if all my fingers had fused together.

  “So, the chest is British,” Jillian began, “and was shipped to you from Wales. How does that help us?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think it does. The only helpful thing we learned here is that we’re pretty sure it’s a puzzle box. I, for one, would love to know what it’s hiding.”

  Jillian suddenly snapped her fingers and her million dollar smile was back.

  “I have an idea. If you really want to know what’s inside, perhaps you could get it x-rayed?”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” I inquired. “It’s not like we all have x-ray machines in our homes.”

  “No, but airports do. Medford County Airport is less than twenty minutes away. They have an x-ray machine, which they use to check luggage. Perhaps you could get the box examined there?”

  Suddenly, I was grinning like a schoolboy. What a wonderful idea! Why didn’t I think of that?

  I glanced at the large, analog clock on the wall next to the menu board in Jillian’s café. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet. I had time!

  “Thanks. That’s a terrific idea. I think the dogs and I will go for a drive.”

  “Let me know what you find out,” Jillian called, as I trooped down the stairs.

  I found the corgis draped across Cassie’s lap in one of the recliners in the plush reading area at the back of Cookbook Nook. Sherlock’s head lif
ted as I approached. He watched me for a few moments before reluctantly rousing himself enough to jump down to the floor. Watson followed several moments later.

  “The next time you need someone to puppysit,” the high-schooler began, “please give me a call. I love your two dogs!”

  “You’re on,” I promised, as I took the leashes. “Sherlock? Watson? Let’s go.”

  As we headed east on Main Street, on the route I usually take when driving to the neighboring city of Medford, the dogs started woofing. Surprised, I ended up almost getting into an accident as I rapidly checked mirrors, checked my blind spots as I was driving, and checked the surrounding area for strange happenings. So, what had caught their attention? I was about to say that I didn’t know, when I made a left turn off of Main Street and noticed I was being followed. The car doing the following was a late model black Mercedes-Benz sedan, with heavily tinted windows. Seriously, they might as well have been driving a windowless panel van. Nothing screams suspicion like those two examples of vehicles.

  “Who do you think they are?” I quietly asked the dogs, as though I was afraid we’d be overheard.

  Sherlock propped himself up on his squat hind legs and looked over the Jeep’s backseat at the cars behind us. After a few seconds of indecision, Watson joined him. Now, more than ever, I had to be careful of my driving. One simple tap on the brakes, and the dogs would go flying.

  “Guys? I don’t supposed you’d like to get down from there, would you? If someone cuts me off, then you two are gonna be in for a rough ride.” I was ignored. “Are you sure that black car is following us? What do you say we find out?”

  I hit the signal and made another left, which had me now heading south once more, which was back the way we had come. Approaching Main Street once more, we made a right and, for all intents and purposes, it would appear to any outside observer that we were headed back to Jillian’s store. I gave it another few moments when I noticed the traffic light in front of me start to change colors. I stomped on the gas and waited to see what the sedan would do.

  Sure enough, the dark automobile jetted through the intersection just as the light turned red. It came to a stop several cars behind me and, together, we waited for the next light to turn green. As we drove by Jillian’s telltale purple building, home of her store and a few others, I decided that it was time to introduce my detective friend to my new admirers. I tapped a few buttons on my stereo and waited for the call to connect.