Case of the Great Cranberry Caper

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “No way,” Vance breathed. He snapped on his own pair of gloves and hurriedly unzipped the bag. Sure enough, it was filled to the brim with various bottles of pills. They had to be the ones stolen from Vicki’s pharmacy. But, why dispose of them here? I mean, didn’t these things have some type of street value to them?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  “I told you something was off here,” Vance muttered.

  He zipped the bag up and pointed back the way we had come.

  “Let’s get out of here. I need some fresh air.”

  “What do you think it means?” I asked my friend, as we returned to Vicki’s store. “Why go through all the trouble of stealing the pills in the first place, only to throw them away in some dumpster nearly half a mile away? Does that make sense to you?”

  Vance shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “You said something felt ‘off’ about this whole mess. Care to share?”

  “I don’t know, buddy,” Vance said, as we approached the bustling activity in front of the store. “There’s something we’re missing here. Check it out. The smashed glass of the front window here? See for yourself. There’s more chunks of broken glass on the outside of the store than the inside. What does that tell you?”

  “That whoever broke it did so from the inside the store,” I decided. “But, that doesn’t make any sense either, does it? I mean, you’re trying to get in, not out.”

  “It makes sense if you’re trying to cover something up,” Vance argued. “If I didn’t know any better, then I’d say the hit on the pharmacy was to draw our attention away, but away from what? That’s what I want to know.”

  The store owner came hurrying out the front door of her store.

  “There you are. Detective Samuelson, what is the meaning of wandering away for a leisurely walk? Why aren’t you looking for this burglar? I was told your police department had a high success rate of closed cases, yet I haven’t seen anything that could closely resemble a … what’s that?”

  Vance pulled the duffel bag from his shoulder, unzipped it, and nonchalantly tossed it onto the ground. The bag immediately split open, revealing hundreds of bottles inside.

  “Those are the pills that were stolen from your store. We found them in a dumpster nearly half a mile away. You’re welcome.”

  The three police officers representing the GPPD gawked at the bag before turning to look back at us. As one, all three officers then dropped their gaze to Sherlock and Watson, who were panting contentedly on the sidewalk. Sherlock’s jaws opened and his long tongue flopped out.

  “How in the world …” one officer began.

  “Don’t ask,” I interrupted, giving the friendly officer a smile. “I’ve yet to figure out how they do it.”

  “Man, we need to petition the captain for our own K-9 unit,” I heard one officer say, as we walked away.

  I felt the leashes go taut and automatically looked down. Both dogs were back on their feet and both, I might add, were straining to pull me through the front door of the grocery store. Was there something in there they wanted me to see?

  “Now what?” Vance asked, from somewhere behind me.

  “Who the hell knows?” I grumbled. “You’d think I’d be familiar enough with these types of practices to not be surprised, but nooo. Come on, guys. Show me what’s gotten you riled up, okay?”

  We carefully made our way back through the store. Sensing movement from behind me, I could see that not only was Vance following us, but so were the three GP cops, as well as several of their crime scene techs and Ms. Doyle herself. Noticing we were angling for the far corner of the store once more, I suddenly knew where we were headed.

  “Why do I get a feeling I should have paid attention to you the first time?” I muttered.

  “What’s that?” Vance wanted to know.

  I pointed at the doors leading to the back storeroom. “The dogs wanted to go in there before. We all poked our heads in, and when it became apparent that the burglar must’ve avoided that area, I ignored it. Sherlock, if memory serves, wasn’t happy about it.”

  “Let’s see where he wants to go this time around,” Vance suggested.

  “You got it. All right, Mr. Know-it-all. Let’s see what you can find back here, okay?”

  I heard Sherlock snort, as if to say, challenge accepted.

  We pushed our way through the swinging doors and gathered just inside the stock room. I could see a small counter on the right, which had several shipping invoices lying about. I assumed (correctly) that this was where they handled all the store’s deliveries. Further exploration revealed the presence of a machine that was present in quite a few grocery stores, seeing how the vast majority of deliveries into the store came in boxes.

  It was a cardboard baler. Throw the boxes in there, press that button there and then keep your arms and fingers way the hell out of harm’s way. In fact, there was a bale of cardboard, already smooshed and trussed up, sitting on a palette by one of two loading doors.

  “Where do you want to go, guys?” I asked the dogs, as the crowd of people behind us continued to grow.

  Sherlock sniffed along the ground, looked up briefly to study the baler, and then turned left. Glancing that way, I could see a large walk-in freezer, with a heavy winter coat hanging on a peg beside it. This time, both dogs sat by the freezer’s door, as if they were waiting for me to open it and allow them in.

  “Nuh-uh,” I said, frowning. “That’s not gonna happen, your Royal Canineships.” I heard several snickers from behind me. “That’s the freezer. Inside there, you’ll find some seriously inhospitable conditions, and for a little dog like you, you wouldn’t last very long. I’d rather not turn you two into corgi-sicles, so … no. Not happening.”

  Watson whined.

  I shook my head. “Not happening, Watson.”

  “Awwwwoooooowwoooowwwoooowooo.”

  Practically everyone behind me burst out laughing. Sherlock had let out one of his argumentative howls, as if he was telling me how things were going to play out. Squatting beside the feisty corgi, I draped an arm over his back and tousled his fur.

  “Sherlock, it’s cold in there. Really freakin’ cold. You don’t want to go in there.”

  Sherlock was adamant. He apparently believed the freezer needed to earn his corgi Stamp of Approval and wasn’t prepared to let the matter drop. I sighed, glanced back at the group of people behind us, and then hooked a thumb at the door.

  “Tell me I’m wrong. It’s just a freezer, right?”

  Vicki nodded. “That’s right. What’s the matter? Is Sherlock saying there’s something wrong with my freezer?”

  “Well, he’s sitting, and he typically does that after a search, whenever he finds what he’s searching for. He truly believes something is in there and it needs our attention.”

  Vicki turned and motioned to a tall, heavyset guy I hadn’t noticed before.

  “This is my assistant manager, Brian. He’s been with me for several years now. Brian, would you do the honors?”

  “What am I looking for, ma’am?”

  Vicki looked back at me and gave me a questioning look. I ended up shrugging and looking down at the dogs, as though I expected them to field the question. After a few moments, I shrugged again.

  “I really don’t know how to answer that. You obviously have been in there before, right?”

  Brian nodded. “Many times, sir.”

  “Perfect. You’re just the one to do this. Since you’ve been in there so many times, then I would suggest you look for something out of the ordinary. Is there something there that doesn’t belong? Maybe check the freezer itself? I’d check to make sure someone hasn’t tampered with the controls, so that it would fail at a future date. Just make sure everything is working okay, I guess. That’s where I’d start.”

  Vicki was nodding. “Yes, I like that. Do that, please.”

  Brian nodded. “Yes ma’am. If you’d all like to wait here, then I’ll take care of th
is.”

  The assistant manager took the coat off the peg, slipped it on, and zipped it up. Looking like he should now be handling a team of sled dogs in the midst of a race through Alaska, Brian slipped inside the freezer. Within moments, we heard boxes being slid along the floor.

  “Think he’ll find anything in there?” I quietly asked.

  “You know your dogs better than anyone,” Vance replied. “If there’s something there that needs to be seen, then something tells me our new pal Brian will be the one to find it.”

  “Do you have any idea what that could be?” the store owner asked us, as she looked over at Vance, and then me.

  Vance shrugged. “You don’t keep anything of value in there, do you?”

  “In our freezer? Heavens no.”

  “You weren’t storing anything in there that shouldn’t be there, were you?” I asked, already knowing what the answer was going to be.

  “Of course not. What are you suggesting?”

  Vance scratched the side of his head. “Well, we may …”

  At that point, the freezer door opened and Brian hurried out. Sealing off the door, and pulling the jacket off, the assistant manager took Vicki by the arm and pulled her away. Once they were safely out of earshot, I could hear some type of hushed conversation between the two of them, but they were too far away to make it out.

  “He did find something,” I breathed, as I lowered my voice to a whisper. I squatted next to Sherlock and motioned Watson over. “Good job, you two. What do you guys think? Some type of smuggling operation? Or, more likely, you’ve tracked down that elusive steak you think you two deserve?”

  I heard someone snicker behind me.

  Sherlock gave me such a look of derision that I suddenly became worried. Not for retaliation, mind you, but for what had been found. Keeping an eye on the hushed conversation happening between store owner and assistant manager, I strained my hearing in an attempt to hear what the two were talking about.

  “Can you make anything out?” Vance wanted to know.

  I shook my head no. “The only word I’ve caught is ‘box.’ Maybe Brian found an extra box or two in there?”

  “Someone broke in here,” Vance reminded me. “I doubt very much someone broke in to stash something in there. No, I’d put my money on something being stolen.”

  Vance was right. It turned out that not one, nor two, but three boxes were missing. Even though it’s possible to misplace a box or two, especially in a freezer of that size, I was assured that Brian personally signed for the delivery last night. He had placed the three boxes in the freezer, along with the rest of the shipment, and promptly locked everything up for the night.

  Now, however, the boxes were missing, and as far as anyone could tell, no one had even known those boxes existed. But, Brian showed us where he had left the boxes (inside that frigid freezer), and now, that particular corner of the huge icebox was empty.

  “What was in the boxes?” Vance wanted to know.

  “Let’s see. Those were boxes MDC2146, MDC2147, and MDC2148.”

  “MDC?” I curiously repeated. “Does that mean something?”

  “Medford Distribution Center,” Brian translated. “It’s where we get all of our shipments. Those three boxes? Well, it stinks to have to admit this, especially at this time of the year, but those boxes contained something we were desperately needing. Ms. Doyle, I’m sorry to announce this, but those missing boxes will mean we will continue to be short of cranberries.”

  Vicki Doyle sighed and uttered a very unladylike curse.

  THREE

  There are pros and cons to everything you do in life. If something is deemed too good to be true, then rest assured, it probably is. For instance, if you’re given a fantastic ‘new’ automobile, only it happens to be a 90-year-old classic, you can’t possibly expect automotive machinery to run every time you twist the key.

  I’m referring, of course, to my 1930 Ruxton sedan, given to me by my fiancée after she discovered the classic roadster had been included with the purchase of Highland House last year. This was the very same car driven by Dame Hilda Highland, and had sat in storage for nearly 70 years. Thankfully, Dame Highland had enlisted the services of a local gas station to keep the car in pristine condition, and arranged for its maintenance even after she was gone. That doesn’t account for much when the current owner, yours truly, has, er, difficulty driving that mechanical beast.

  Let me explain.

  The art of driving a stick-shift vehicle is rapidly disappearing throughout this country. Most people prefer ‘automatic’ vehicles versus those with manual transmissions. If you want to be honest, I was the same way. However, I did learn how to drive on a Subaru with a manual transmission, with my grandmother in the passenger seat.

  What an eye-opening experience that turned out to be. Fast forward to the present day, and even though I haven’t driven a stick for what seems like eons, I have never forgotten how. At least, I thought I still knew.

  Enter the Ruxton. This beauty was also a manual transmission, but instead of the standard six gears, which means first gear is in the top left position, and fifth gear is in top right, with reverse directly below that and … Let me show you what I mean. The referral diagram on the shifting knob looks like this:

  ├┼┤

  For the Ruxton, however, it has only three gears, plus reverse. The problem was how it was laid out. First was not in the top left corner, but directly below that, in the bottom left corner, which was where I’m used to seeing second gear. Then, second and third gear were on the right, in their respective locations. The diagram for it, as many of you have already guessed, looks something like this:

  ├┤

  So, every time I brought the car to a stop, and then tried to ease it forward, I ended up jamming it into reverse, and going the opposite direction. Right. That explains the small dents on the bumper. And first gear? Psssht. I keep shifting into second by mistake, since it was in the ‘up’ position which explains the need for a new starter (I kept stalling it out). Finally, seeing how I keep forgetting the locations for the correct gears, the Ruxton sounded as though it needed a new clutch assembly, and probably a new transmission. But, do you think there are that many mechanics who are willing to look at an example of automotive technology that’s older than their grandparents?

  That was why I was currently back at Rupert’s Gas & Auto, trying to explain to Vince Rupert himself, why the car he and his predecessors had taken care of for decades now sounded like the Clampett’s jalopy from that campy TV show with the catchy theme song.

  “Holy crap, Zack. What in the Sam Hill did you do to the old gal? She was in cherry condition when we gave her back to you!”

  “Umm …”

  “Having troubles driving it?”

  “Well, the gears take some getting used to.”

  “The gears? You talkin’ ’bout the transmission? It’s a standard H. It’s a piece of cake. Don’t you know how to drive a stick?”

  My face flamed up. “Yeah, I do, only it didn’t drive like that. Look, I know I screwed it up. That’s why I’m here. I’m hoping you can fix it back up for me.”

  “Just the transmission?”

  “Umm …”

  “You did something else to the poor girl, didn’t you?” Vince accused. “Spill. What happened?”

  “I, er, might’ve backed into a few things by mistake, seeing how Reverse is in the wrong freakin’ spot.”

  Vince walked around the car to look at the bumper. He whistled.

  “Is it bad?” I hesitantly asked.

  “I’ve seen worse. I can get those hammered out for you.”

  “And …”

  “There’s more?” He sounded incredulous. “What else?”

  “Umm, you might need to look at the starter. But, that’s it. I swear.”

  “It’ll probably take a couple of weeks,” Vince told me, as he ran a hand through his slick-backed hair. “Finding parts is becoming difficult. The last
time I worked on this transmission, I had to have several parts fabricated, since they weren’t being made any more.”

  “Just do the best you can. You know I’m good for the repairs, pal.”

  “I know you are, Mr. Anderson. Me and my boys will take care of it. She’ll be as good as new before you know it. Maybe then, I can show you the tricks I’ve learned in keeping the old girl happy.”

  I grinned and held out a hand. “Deal.”

  “Do you need a ride back anywhere?”

  “Could you give me a lift to Jillian’s place? Er, I mean, Cookbook Nook? That’s where I left the dogs.”

  “You got it. Let me find Dean. He’ll give you a lift wherever you need to go.”

  “Thanks. How’s he doing?”

  Young Mr. Dean Rupert got his hands royally slapped when he and his friend, who happened to be Captain Nelson’s grandson, committed a theft a couple of years ago.

  “Who, Dean? Surprisingly, he’s keeping himself out of trouble.” Vince chuckled as he took the Ruxton’s keys and hung them on a peg behind the counter. “Then again, I’m sure it had something to do with an agreement he and I made.”

  “Which was?” I prompted.

  “If he screws up in the slightest, and that includes anything he’s doing, then his sorry butt will be joining the military.”

  Right on cue, a tall, lanky teenager appeared and caught the keys his father had tossed in his direction.

  “Take Mr. Anderson to 3rd and Main. He’s going to Ms. Cooper’s place.”

  The kid nodded sullenly and, without bothering to see if I was following, headed for the door. Whether or not the kid recognized me, I couldn’t say, as he didn’t utter a single word to me for the entire drive. Offering him a thanks as I exited the small truck, I headed for Cookbook Nook, where I was greeted by two over-enthusiastic corgis.

  “Hi, guys. Did you miss me?”

  Sherlock crouched low, stretched, and licked my hand. Watson shoved her way past Sherlock and presented herself for her own fair share of scratches. I looked up as I noticed Jillian headed my way.