Case of the Shady Shamrock

by Jeffrey Poole

  So, why would that mean so many people would flock to PV? It’s easy. Free wine. Yes, you heard that right. In an effort to attract more customers, the local wineries were encouraged to give away free samples of their wares. Let me tell you, nothing will attract a crowd more than free drinks.

  “Swell,” I grumbled, as I navigated my way through the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

  Just as I had surmised, there was no parking to be found anywhere. However, I had an ace up my sleeve. There was a small alley that ran between Main and C Street, and next to the dumpster allotted for Cookbook Nook’s use was just enough room to park a couple of vehicles. It was where Jillian typically parked when she was there. Granted, her employees could be parked back there, too, and there might not be any room left, but at least it was worth a try.

  “And … we’re in luck, guys. Look, there next to Jillian’s car? I can fit the Jeep there.”

  Gathering up the dogs’ leashes, we approached the back door. Before I could fire off a text message, the door opened and I was looking at Cassie’s smiling face. The high school teenager grinned at me and held the door open.

  “Ms. Cooper suspected you might try to park back here.”

  “She suspecteth correctly, milady,” I drawled, which elicited a giggle from Jillian’s employee. “The parking doth sucketh rocks out yonder.”

  Cassie laughed again. “Well, come on in. Ms. Cooper is currently dealing with an irate customer.”

  “Irate? How irate?”

  “One of the espresso machines had been moved to a different spot on the shelves. The person who brought it to her attention is insisting she honor the price that was below it, even though the price tag clearly shows it isn’t for the same product.”

  I followed the girl through Cookbook Nook’s backroom as we headed to the main floor.

  “How much of a price difference is it?”

  “Less than half.”

  “I hope she doesn’t cave.”

  Cassie turned to look at me. “Trust me, she won’t.”

  “Have you guys been busy?”

  The teenager paused at the staff door to look back at me. “Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s crazy. I mean, it’s a good-crazy, but wow, do these festivals bring out the kooks.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I grinned, as I followed her out, into the store.

  Crazy was an understatement. It was standing room only. No matter where I looked, all I could see was a veritable sea of faces. I worriedly looked down at the dogs. I couldn’t navigate through that, could I? What if Sherlock and Watson were hurt? What if someone accidentally stepped on them?

  The guesswork was taken out of my hands. Sherlock’s ears jumped straight up. His nose lifted and I could see that he was sniffing the air, as though he had caught a whiff of something tantalizing. Watson looked up at me, her stump of a tail wiggled, and then she looked straight ahead, at the crowds of people milling about.

  “Woof.”

  I looked back at Sherlock. He was now looking at the crowds of people, too, and just like that, I felt a tug on their leashes.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I cautioned. “Do you have any idea what the odds are that someone would step on you out there? It’s wall-to-wall people. There’s no way I’m going to let two small …”

  Sherlock and Watson surged forward, which had the effect of yanking me off balance. Just like that, I had to start apologizing.

  “Pardon me. I didn’t mean to … I’m so sorry. It’s the dogs, really. Do you see them down there? No, I guess you wouldn’t. They’re already off. I’m so sorry, ma’am. Yes, I know the dogs just went through your legs. I’m not sure how to … all right, that works. Sherlock? Would you stop? I … hey there, Mayor Campbell. How are you? Huh? Why is there a leash wrapped around your legs? Sherlock and Watson are down there somewhere, and they’re trying their hardest to get me in trouble, I swear.”

  Several dozen apologies later, we made it to the front of the store. There was a steady stream of people entering, but I didn’t see anyone leaving. No wonder there was hardly any room to breathe.

  I felt the leashes go taut once more. Sherlock and Watson still weren’t visible, but I did see a line of people suddenly look down, which made me think the corgis had to be up there, somewhere.

  “Here we go again. Hi! Terribly sorry. Don’t mind me. Dog owner coming through. You know how it is, ma’am, don’t you? No? Just me? Of course. Pardon me, coming through.”

  Now I could see what was happening. Jillian had wisely opened up her store’s second door. Cookbook Nook had long ago expanded to the shop next door, which meant that particular door was usually locked and would display a sign on the door that instructed customers to use the other door. Well, on this particular day, Jillian had put a big Exit sign on the door and had it propped open, outside. The dogs were angling straight for the exit.

  What was going on? Who were the dogs following? And where was Jillian? I really needed to let her know I was here.

  I made it outside and, once I had the corgis in sight, took up the slack in the leashes. Irritated, both dogs turned to look back at me, as though I had no business asking them to slow down. Sherlock woofed once and headed left, toward the east.

  “What the blazes are you after?”

  My phone began ringing. One look at the display showed that it was Jillian. “Hey, are you okay? I’m sorry. I got pulled out of …”

  “Zachary!” Jillian all but shouted into the phone. It also sounded as though she was near tears. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know how it happened!”

  “What’s the matter?” I worriedly asked.

  I gave a quick tug on the leash, indicating we were stopping. However, the dogs wouldn’t have any of it. I was forcefully pulled along the sidewalk, amidst the crowd of festival-goers. Yes, I was stronger than the dogs, and could have physically pulled them to a stop. However, there was something about their behavior that had me continuing to walk forward.

  “It’s gone, Zachary!” Jillian sobbed. “The ch— … milkshake! It’s gone!”

  “It was at the store?” I asked, more surprised than angry.

  “It was in my backroom. I had it sitting in a toaster box, stacked with the rest of my inventory. I thought it would be a good hiding place. I don’t understand! No one knew it was there!”

  “Someone must’ve planted a bug somewhere near you,” I theorized. “That’s the only way they could’ve known.”

  “Where are you?” Jillian asked. “Cassie told me that she let you in the back door, but I don’t see you anywhere.”

  “The dogs pulled me out the door. Of course! That must be what they’re after! Somehow, Sherlock and Watson zeroed in on someone who aroused their suspicion. That particular someone, whoever it is, has left the store. That must be why I was pulled outside!”

  “You’re telling me you’re following the person responsible for stealing the … milkshake?”

  “There’s no need to use the milkshake moniker anymore. They have it. We have to get it back.”

  “I’m calling Vance,” Jillian decided.

  “Good. Tell him I’m currently on Main Street, heading east.”

  “I’m on it, Zachary. Stay safe. I don’t want you confronting anyone, is that understood?”

  “Hey, I’m only …”

  “Promise me,” Jillian insisted.

  “Fine. I won’t put myself in any danger.”

  “Good. Keep your phone close.”

  “Always do, my dear.”

  We continued east on Main Street for the next ten minutes. Yes, you read that right. This had to be the slowest chase I think I have ever participated in. Either the dogs were chasing someone who was down on all fours and crawling over the ground, or else we were following someone who was unconcerned about being caught. I just wish I could tell who we were chasing. There were still too many people on the sidewalk with me to determine who we were after.

  My cell rang again. This time, it was Vance. Putting
the call on speakerphone, I held it out in front of me as I continued to let the dogs lead the way.

  “Vance?”

  “Where’re you at, buddy? Jillian just told me the, um, er, it was stolen. Are you really following the thief?”

  “I think so. I’m letting Sherlock and Watson do the leading. Thus far, we’ve made it less than two blocks. We’re still on Main Street, about halfway between 4th and 5th Street.”

  “I know where you’re at. And you really don’t know who you’re chasing?”

  “The only thing I can tell you is that we are going really slow. There are still tons of people everywhere, so I don’t have a description for you. Sorry. I’m hoping that … hold on, Vance. Sherlock? Watson? Look, guys. It may be easy for you two to navigate through this many people, but for me? A little more difficult. I’m tired of apologizing to people. Let’s show a little … I’m so sorry, ma’am. I had no idea my dogs were going to do that. Here, let me lower the leashes, and you can step over. I’m so sorry. You, er, have yourself a good day. Sherlock? Do that again, you little booger, and you’re gonna lose your treat privileges tonight, is that understood?”

  An empty threat, to be sure. When it came to Sherlock and Watson’s comfort, I have been known to sacrifice my own needs so those two could have a better life. What did that actually translate to? Me, refusing to budge, when both dogs were draped across my lap and I had long ago lost feeling in both legs.

  Dogs.

  “Vance? I’ll call you back.”

  After the blonde woman had carefully stepped over the leash, and given me a rather stern look, I decided it was time to figure out who we were chasing. Pulling the corgis to a stop, and stepping out of the line of traffic, I discovered we were presently in front of 4th Street Gallery, Zora Lumen’s business. Those familiar with my history will know how much I don’t care for this particular store, and thankfully, I didn’t have to go inside. In fact, I could see Ms. Lumen herself, looking just as gaunt as I remembered, and dressed exactly how I would expect Gomez Addams to look if encountered in real life. She was tending to something at her desk, but just as soon as I mentally implored her to keep her head down, she naturally looked up at that time and locked eyes with me.

  Right-o. It was time to move on. Wrapping the leashes tightly around my hand, we moved off. I halfway expected the corgis to pull like crazy, since by this time, our adversary should have gained a considerable advantage. However, based on how slowly the dogs were moving, either we were following a group of snails, or else this person wasn’t trying to flee at all.

  Who in their right mind, I thought angrily, would choose to flee at such a slow speed? They clearly managed to locate and steal the one thing everyone seemed to want. They had to know they would be pursued, and yet, here we were, going no faster than the group of seniors who had been allowed to venture outside for the first time in years!

  Seniors? Seniors were slow. Seniors couldn’t move that fast. And, thinking back to the encounter outside Vance’s house, wasn’t that couple on the older side, too? They were easily in their seventies.

  We increased our pace until we were less than a dozen feet away from the front of the herd, so to speak. And, out front, dictating what pace the rest of us would be taking, were four seniors shuffling harmlessly along. Well, let me amend that by specifying two were using canes and the other two were in small, motorized carts. They were chatting, laughing, and pointing at various things as they passed by.

  Frowning, I looked at the dogs and shook my head.

  “This can’t be right, guys. Look at them. They look harmless. Are you sure?”

  The dogs only had eyes for the group of seniors. In fact, I could narrow that down and say they only had eyes for the two people driving the little scooters. And, as I slowly walked back and forth across the sidewalk, weaving from the left to the right, we were able to triangulate even further. The little old lady with the white frizzy hair, driving the scooter closest to us, had captured the dogs’ attention. So, while the seniors chatted frivolously away, I was able to hang back and study the cart.

  This scooter had a small basket up front, below the handlebars, and a larger, flat cargo area behind the seat. Since there were only a few small shopping bags in the basket, I concentrated on the cargo area. There was a cardboard box there, loosely covered by a shawl, bungee-corded in place. Plus, I do seem to recall Jillian saying that she had hidden the chest in a toaster box. So, the question was, is the box on the back of that scooter a toaster’s box?

  We made it to the intersection of Main and 5th Street. While we waited for the opportunity to safely cross the street, I fired off a text to Vance, to let him know I’m pretty sure I identified the suspects: seniors. And, what’s more, I was certain a little old lady had the chest strapped to the back of her scooter. Vance’s response?

  SERIOUSLY?

  It may have been a text message, but I could easily hear the skepticism in that response. I snapped a photo and sent it to him, just so he could see what I was looking at. About to argue my point, one of the men in the group suddenly pointed across the street at Bartlett House, which was one of PV’s ten historic houses. Presumably, they wanted to take a closer look. The group of four broke off from the rest of the crowd and patiently waited to cross Main Street. I was able to duck behind a large family while we waited.

  Of course, my phone decided that now would be a good time to chirp like a cricket, which signified I had an incoming text message. However, I was too close to the seniors to respond. With the traffic on Main coming to a halt, our group headed off, across the street. While the seniors chatted among themselves, and consulted some tourist pamphlets, I stepped off to the side and texted Vance.

  AM SURE THEY’RE INVOLVED. CURRENTLY IN FRONT OF BARTLETT HOUSE.

  A stiff breeze appeared, and promptly blew up a corner of the shawl-covered box. A picture of a shiny toaster was revealed. Surprising myself, and not really sure how I wasn’t in control of my own body, I stepped forward, hastily unhooked the bungee cords, and reclaimed the box. Tucking the ‘toaster’ securely under my arm, I took a few steps back.

  Two of the seniors, the ones who were not driving little scooters, turned to look at me with the sheerest look of disbelief on their face. I held up the box and gave them a little bow.

  “I do appreciate you guys watching this thing for me. I’d hate to think what would happen if it were to fall into the wrong hands, don’t you?”

  “What do you think you’re doing, young man?” an elderly woman exclaimed, throwing a decent amount of outrage into her voice.

  The owner of the scooter, who had been carrying the box, executed a perfect 180-degree turn in her little vehicle and was now facing me. The moment I locked eyes with the woman, they widened with surprise. It was the same lady who had greeted Watson outside Vance’s home, only she was now wearing a frumpy yellow sun dress and a white wide-brimmed hat. She was also wearing a frizzy white wig under that hat.

  “Nice hair,” I told the woman. “If you haven’t already figured it out, we found the bug you planted on Watson’s collar. Hey, does anyone else hear that? Is someone’s cell ringing? Oh, wait. My bad. I think that’s me.”

  Pretending I was receiving a call, I pulled out my phone and quickly snapped pictures of the speechless group. Then, right before my eyes, the seniors scattered. Canes were discarded, as were the two scooters. They each took a separate direction and, before I even knew what was happening, they disappeared. I’d also like to point out that those seniors moved as though they were thirty years younger than they appeared. Then again, that could very well be the case.

  I heard a wailing siren approach. Granted, it couldn’t move that fast, since the traffic was nearly bumper to bumper, but at least the cars tried to move out of the way. I watched my friend’s Oldsmobile sedan pass us, heading westbound, on Main Street. Vance locked eyes with me from across the street, executed an immediate U-turn, and pulled up alongside me. He was out of the car even before it c
ame to a stop.

  “Where are they, Zack? Tell me you know where they … that box. It’s about the right size for … tell me it’s …”

  “You really ought to start finishing your sentences, pal,” I laughed. “I haven’t checked yet, but I think we’re both going to be pleasantly pleased with what is in here.”

  “Did you get a look at who did this? And what’s this? They left their scooters behind?”

  I pointed at a label on the back of the scooter, near one of the brake lights.

  “It’s rented.”

  Vance retrieved one of the two canes currently leaning up against the white picket fence surrounding Bartlett House.

  “And these? I can’t imagine someone who needed a cane to walk around would willingly leave them here.”

  “They didn’t need them,” I clarified. “Cane or scooter. As soon as I snagged the box off the back of that scooter there, the driver of this one turned around. Vance, it was the same lady who had placed that bug on Watson’s collar.”

  “The very same?”

  “She was wearing a white wig this time, but yeah.”

  “I just wish you could have gotten their pictures.”

  I held up my phone and waggled it. “I did. That was when they scattered, and I do mean scattered. The two using canes abandoned them and took off, as did the two drivers of the scooters. The four of them headed off in different directions.”

  Vance pointed at the box. “Let’s see if our luck will hold. Care to do the honors?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, as I dropped the shawl that had been covering the box onto the storage rack on the scooter.

  The box was opened and the two of us peered inside. There, looking just how I remembered seeing it, was the silver chest with the shamrock symbol.