The Copycat Caper

by John V. Madormo

  “Yes? Come in,” a voice inside called out.

  I opened the door slowly and found Mr. Miles standing on his desk chair looking for something on one of the upper shelves of his bookcase.

  “Oh, hi, Charlie, come on in,” he said. “I’m just looking for a textbook.” He fumbled for a few more seconds. “Ah, here it is.”

  And at the same moment, the chair he was standing on began to slide. I scooted over to steady it before the aging director came crashing to the ground.

  “Oh my,” he said. He held tightly onto each shelf as he negotiated his way down. “Boy, am I glad you stopped in. No telling what might have happened.” He plopped into his chair and sighed. “So what brings you here today?” he asked.

  “Well, it’s about play practice, sir.”

  “What about play practice?”

  I wanted to build my case and to explain my reasons in detail, but I decided to just blurt it out.

  “Mr. Miles, something’s come up and I’m going to have to miss practice.”

  The aging teacher ran his fingers through his silver hair. “It must be pretty important,” he said. “Why else would your leading man abandon his fellow actors?”

  I didn’t like where this was going. I already was starting to feel guilty.

  “You see, sir, there’s this new case that I’m involved in. And the only time I can confer with my associate is after school. But it won’t happen a lot, I promise.”

  Mr. Miles stood up, walked around, and stood behind his high-backed desk chair. He leaned forward with narrowing eyes.

  “Charlie, let me tell you something about the theater. In this profession, you are either all in or all out. There’s nothing in between. You can’t be a casual participant. It’s not fair to your director, to your cast, and most of all, to your audience. They expect a total commitment at all times.” He walked around and sat on the front of his desk. “Now if you were sick or there was some kind of family emergency, then we’d have to deal with it. But a conflict of this nature is unacceptable. You’re going to have to decide, right now, where your loyalties lie. Is it to this production or to your little business?”

  The last thing I had expected was an ultimatum. And to be perfectly honest, I didn’t like the way he referred to the Charlie Collier, Snoop for Hire Agency as a little business. That little business was the reason he had recruited me. It was also responsible for the recent convictions of Rupert Olsen and Colonel Harvard Culpepper. How could he minimize the importance of my life’s passion? I knew that he was devoted to the theater, and I had agreed to this role, but what was the big deal with missing one practice? Would he really can me for this one absence?

  “So, what’s it going to be, Charlie? If you choose your business, then I will be forced to recast the role of Nick Dakota. Is that what you want?”

  I wasn’t sure what I wanted. When I thought about giving up the chance to work alongside Scarlett for the next few weeks, it made me sick to my stomach. But when I considered walking away from the agency at such a critical time, I knew that I might be turning my back on my community, not to mention the victims of this latest crime spree. If my theory was correct, and if it might lead to solving this case, then the decision seemed easy. And then there were my parents to think about. I could just imagine how disappointed they’d be if I decided to give up my role, especially my mom.

  As always, whenever I came upon a fork in the road, my thoughts turned to Sam Solomon and, in particular, Episode #52—The Wurst Case Scenario Caper. In this story, Sam had been hired by the US government to investigate a company that imported sausage products from Germany. These were the days leading up to World War II, when Adolf Hitler was commanding more and more attention on the world stage. Government officials were certain that the Nazi Party was somehow passing sensitive information to German nationals living in the US through the sausage company but were unsure how it was being carried out. Sam soon discovered that coded messages from the Führer had been embedded onto, believe it or not, the sausage casings.

  It was during this investigation that Sam met Anna Mueller, a German double agent working for the CIA. She was instrumental in helping crack the case. As one might guess, the two spent a significant amount of time together and before long, they fell in love. Anna, who traveled around the world for the government, wanted Sam to give up his life as a Chicago private eye and join her on each assignment. Sam countered with the idea of a long-distance relationship. And like Mr. Miles just a few moments ago, Anna issued an ultimatum—he either leave the agency to accompany her or end the relationship. As much as Sam wanted to make a life with her, he knew that he’d never be happy living out of a suitcase and not being able to continue his career as a private investigator. Once again, Sam had traded in love and marriage for the agency. I knew what I had to do.

  “Charlie,” Mr. Miles said, “we need to get to practice. Are you coming or not?”

  I swallowed hard. “As much as I’d like to show you what I can do onstage, sir, I’m afraid that I have to choose the agency over the limelight.”

  Mr. Miles folded his arms and frowned. “I’m disappointed, but I respect your decision. I know that you feel you must answer to some higher calling, but I hope you don’t live to regret it. There’s nothing on earth quite like performing in front of a live audience. It’s simply magical.”

  “I realize what I’m giving up,” I said. “It’s just that I feel like I can accomplish more in my other line of work.”

  Mr. Miles seemed to think for a minute. “I’ll tell you what, Charlie. I’ll make you a deal.” He smiled. “If you try to attend as many practices as you possibly can, I’ll allow you to be the understudy for the role of Nick Dakota. How’s that sound?”

  “What exactly does an understudy do?”

  “Oh, it’s very important,” Mr. Miles said. “In the event that our new leading man is unable to perform his duties, for whatever reason, the understudy would jump back in and assume that role. So, you still need to learn everything you can about the character of Nick Dakota. Is it a deal?”

  I shook hands with Mr. Miles. “Thanks for understanding,” I said.

  “Maybe this’ll actually work out best for both of us—you’ll get a chance to continue your agency work and I’ll have a quality backup for one of the main parts.” Mr. Miles glanced at his watch. “Oh dear, I’m late for practice. Gotta go. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  This wasn’t what I had hoped for when I entered Mr. Miles’s office moments ago, but it was probably all for the best. I now had the ability to pursue my dream of running the agency and was still able to participate in the production as a member of the cast, well, sort of. I didn’t like the thought of someone else with a chance to woo the fair Rebecca . . . er, Scarlett. But I had made a decision and I was prepared to live with it. I could see now why Sam Solomon had remained a bachelor all of his life. It wasn’t just a matter of following your dream, but rather having to decide what you were willing to give up to realize it.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Hair, There, and Everywhere Caper

  During the bus ride home, all I could think about was heading over to Eugene’s office and sharing my theory about last night’s Sam Solomon radio mystery and the pet shop break-in. If anyone would appreciate a scenario whereby a present-day perpetrator plans out his next crime based on a seventy-five-year-old radio program, it was Eugene. He loved that sort of drama. It didn’t even bother me that I was sitting alone on the bus. Normally, Henry was by my side. But he was back at school at play practice. He didn’t even know that I had made a decision to reopen the agency and give up my leading man role to another actor. He wouldn’t be happy when he found out. I knew that his motive for accepting the role of the police investigator was to make Scarlett’s life miserable. But it was doubtful that he would have ever auditioned for the part if I hadn’t joined the cast first. He’d no doubt
accuse me of high treason. I would just have to deal with it at another time.

  When I got home, the place was empty. Both my mom and grandmother were out. Where? I hadn’t a clue. It killed me that I was about to leave for Eugene’s. This would have been the perfect opportunity to open up the agency for a little while. I ran upstairs to my room, threw my backpack on the bed, changed clothes, and was back downstairs in minutes. I went into the garage, hopped on my bike, and was off.

  As I pedaled furiously, I thought about play practice. I wondered who would end up with my role. It bothered me to think that someone else would have a chance to give Scarlett a hug in the final scene, but what else could I do? I had thought at one time that I’d be fine with taking a brief hiatus from the agency, but I now knew that was impossible. I could never walk away from this—not even for a few weeks. And if it affected my love life, well, that was simply one of the hazards of the job.

  I could see the barbershop in the distance. I knew that I was in the homestretch. I thought about saying hi to Mr. Dolan, the barber and Eugene’s landlord, who also just happened to be Scarlett’s grandfather, but I wasn’t sure how long I’d be at Eugene’s and I didn’t want to get home late for dinner. The last thing I needed right now was to get grounded by my parents. I had a feeling that I was on the verge of something big and couldn’t jeopardize it. I pulled up in front of the building, hopped off my bike, and walked to the rear entrance. I ran up the back stairs to the second floor and down the hallway to Eugene’s office. I proceeded to knock twice, scrape my fingernails on the face of the door, and then knock three more times.

  “Come in,” a voice called out.

  I put my shoulder into the door and pushed it open. I found Eugene sitting behind his desk.

  “Charlie, my man, what brings you here today?”

  I hustled up to Eugene’s desk and sat down opposite him. “It’s big, very big.”

  Eugene leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands on the desk.

  “Well, let’s have it, then,” he said. “You working on a new case or something?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “It has to do with the Sam Solomon program that was on last night.”

  Eugene smiled. “Did you stay up and listen to it?”

  I nodded.

  “So, what’d you think?” Eugene asked. “Didn’t Peter Wentworth do a great job as Sam? What a set of pipes. I always loved that guy. Had a short career, unfortunately. I don’t remember why. Those things happen in show business, I guess.”

  I stood up and leaned over the desk. “Eugene, have you noticed that each of the crimes that have been committed here in Oak Grove in the past two weeks all happened early on a Tuesday morning?”

  “I think I heard a reporter make a reference to that. What about it?”

  “Is it just a coincidence that each one occurred just hours after the Sam Solomon program aired?” I asked.

  Eugene stared forward. He was deep in thought. “I guess I never realized that,” he said.

  “Did you also notice that in each of the crimes, the suspect left behind a business card with the letters SS crossed out?”

  Eugene seemed more interested now. “I did read that . . . yes.”

  I strolled over to the window and looked out momentarily. And then for dramatic effect, I spun around.

  “Eugene, I have a theory. I believe that the SS stands for ‘Sam Solomon.’ The fact that it’s crossed out may suggest that the perp has a beef with Sam. I haven’t figured that part out yet. I also think that our suspect listens to each of the Sam Solomon radio shows, plots out his crime, and then acts on it.”

  “That’s quite a theory, Charlie. Where’s your proof?”

  I smiled. “Still working on it.”

  “Let’s say you’re right,” Eugene said. “Let’s say that the SS on the card does stand for ‘Sam Solomon.’ And let’s say that the suspect listens to each episode and then plans out his crime. Let’s say you’re right about all of it . . . but what information do we have that’ll help us identify this individual? It’s an interesting theory, but it doesn’t get us any closer to solving these crimes.”

  I walked back and sat down opposite Eugene’s desk. “I don’t know why,” I said, “but I have this feeling that he’s playing a game with us. I think that each crime has something to do with the Sam Solomon programs. But it’s not obvious. It’s not direct. It’s kind of like a brainteaser. He’s making us work to figure it out.”

  Eugene sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “All right, counselor, make your case.”

  “Do you remember the plot in the first Sam Solomon show two weeks ago?”

  Eugene placed his finger to his lips and concentrated. “Let’s see.” His lips were moving, but he wasn’t speaking at first. “Oh yes . . . yes . . . it was ‘The Hair, There, and Everywhere Caper.’ It was about a male nurse in a local hospital who used to sedate his patients, and then while they slept, he would shave their heads and sell their hair to a local wig and toupee shop. Sam had been hired by one of the patients who woke up bald.”

  “Okay,” I said. “And the first crime two weeks ago was the burglary of a Persian rug store. If my theory is correct, then there has to be a connection between the two. There’s gotta be a common thread that links the plot to the crime.”

  I thought for a moment. I then began reciting words that might be associated with each event.

  “Let’s see . . . nurse . . . hospital . . . shave . . . wig . . . toupee. And then there’s . . . Persian . . . carpeting . . . store . . . rug . . .”

  “Rug! That’s it,” Eugene said. “A slang term for a toupee is a rug. It’s a stretch, but it just might be the connection you’re looking for.”

  “That’s gotta be it,” I said. “Okay, now, what was the plot for the second program?”

  Eugene smiled. “That one I remember. It was ‘The Budding Florist Caper.’ It was the story of a florist whose business was failing. And he was just about to file for bankruptcy when he discovered a flower with a scent that was an aphrodisiac.”

  “What’s that?”

  “An aphrodisiac is something that can make someone fall in love with someone else. Think of it as a love potion,” he said. “So this florist began delivering bouquets of this particular flower to wealthy widows. One whiff later and they were in love with him. And more than willing to part with their fortunes. Sam was brought in by the family members of one of the widows.”

  I jumped up and began pacing. It was time to put our thinking caps back on.

  “And the second crime was a theft at a bakery. What connects a florist to a bakery?” I walked back to the window and looked out for inspiration. It took less than a minute to figure this one out. “Eugene, I got it. What does a florist sell?”

  He shrugged. “Flowers?”

  “And what does a baker use to make breads and pastries and everything else?”

  “Dough?”

  “Before it’s dough,” I said.

  Eugene thought for a second. He grinned. “Flour,” he said triumphantly.

  “Flour, exactly,” I said. “Okay, now, the third show—a crooked fight promoter. And the third crime—a burglary at a pet shop.”

  “I have a feeling this one’s gonna be tougher,” Eugene said.

  I closed my eyes and tried to picture a ring with fighters and trainers and managers and referees and rowdy fans. Then I envisioned a pet shop with animals and food and supplies. Nothing was coming at first. But then the lightbulb moment occurred.

  “Eugene, do you have a copy of today’s newspaper?”

  “Sure, right here,” he said as he picked it up off his desk and handed it to me.

  I flipped through the pages looking for one particular article. When I found it, I skimmed it quickly. It had to be here. It just had to. If not, my entire theory was for naught. Seconds l
ater, I let out a sigh. I had found it. I set the paper down on his desk and pointed to a paragraph. It was part of the story from the pet shop burglary.

  “Read that,” I said.

  Eugene opened his desk drawer, fumbled for a moment, pulled out a pair of reading glasses, and slid them on. He read verbatim from the article.

  “‘When the owners of Pet World inventoried their animals, they discovered that four dogs were missing—a cocker spaniel, a beagle, a basset hound, and a boxer.’” Eugene looked up. “A boxer.”

  “Eugene, we did it. We figured this thing out. All we have to do is go to the police and lay it out for them.”

  Eugene scowled. “Not so fast, Charlie. It’s an interesting theory, but it all could be purely coincidental. We need more before we take it to the authorities.”

  I was all ready to bring in the heavy artillery. It seemed to me that we had all the evidence necessary to convince the police that the Sam Solomon dramas and the recent crimes were connected. And as difficult as it was to wait, I knew that Eugene was probably right. Unless we were absolutely sure and could prove it, we couldn’t expect the police to believe what on the surface appeared to be a pretty wild story.

  “So you think we should wait at least one more week and see if our theory still holds up?” I asked.

  Eugene nodded.

  “Boy, if there was only a way to get the details of the next program before it aired, then we’d have the time to figure out the perp’s next move and be there to catch him red-handed.”

  Eugene got to his feet, began pacing for a few seconds, and stopped. “You know, Charlie, there might just be a way. Hand me that phone book over there.”

  I made a beeline for the far wall, grabbed a phone book from the top shelf of a tall bookcase, and ran it over to Eugene. On the same shelf, I had noticed other reference books—an almanac, a dictionary, a thesaurus, an atlas, a book of quotations, and a set of World Book encyclopedias. Eugene was still all about hard copies. He hadn’t yet made the transition to computer. And considering his advanced age, it was unlikely he ever would.