The leashes went taut. Glancing down, I could see that both Sherlock and Watson wanted to head toward the produce department. Looking behind me to verify Vance was there, which he was, we moved to the right and headed toward El Gato’s selection of fruit and vegetables. Sherlock stopped at a display of plastic boxes of strawberries, like the kind you find at any other store, and stared for a few moments.
I pulled out my cell and was ready to take a picture when Sherlock was off again. This time, he stopped at a display of small, orange peppers whose points tapered to a tip. I picked one up to give it a cursory sniff.
My eyes widened with surprise and I’m pretty sure I lost all the skin cells on the inside of my nose. Holy cow. Why did I get the impression that, if I strayed too close to these peppers, that I was going to melt my eyebrows off? There was a snowball’s chance in hell I would be able to eat that. I thought of Harry, and a huge grin appeared on my face.
Oh, I was going to have some fun in this store.
Convinced there was nothing worthy of their attention, the dogs pulled me over to another section of the produce area. This one had berries. Strawberries, to be exact. Carton after carton of strawberries were neatly stacked on a table, with a sign offering a price of $2 per carton.
“They look good, don’t they?” I quietly told the dogs. “I think we’re going to have to go shopping here once we’re all done. Now, what are we looking at?”
The dogs sidled closer to the strawberries, but damned if they didn’t look as if they were trying to see up and into the display. Maybe they wanted to know what was next to them? Approaching the display stand, I leaned over the lip of the table to see for myself what was there. And the answer?
Nothing.
By that, I meant there was an empty, narrow space to the left of the strawberries. Peering closely at the price tag beneath the empty bin, I could make out a few words.
“What is ‘arándano rojo’?” I asked.
Vance thought for a moment. “Well, ‘rojo’ is ‘red’, and ‘arándano’? I’m not sure. It’s some type of berry, I think. Officer Montoyo? Could you come here a second? What does that say?”
The young Hispanic officer squatted next to the price tag and scanned the print. “Cranberry. Well, it’d be ‘red cranberry’, if you want to get technical.”
That’s just my luck. They’re out of cranberries, too? I was really hoping I could find some in here and surprise Jillian with a bag or two. What the hell was going on lately, anyway? Was there a shortage of these things?
The dogs and I skirted an assortment of canned vegetables on the ground. The more I looked, the more I noticed the disarray left behind by the perp. Or perps, I guess. Maybe the Medford cops were right. Maybe these two incidents weren’t related after all?
Sherlock and Watson now led us to the right, which was where we could see a narrow door with the word Emergencia stenciled in red across the front. You didn’t need to be fluent in the language to figure out the purpose of that door. I nudged Vance and pointed at the exit.
“Can you tell if that door is alarmed? If that’s where the perp entered, wouldn’t he have set off an alarm in doing so?”
Vance stepped up to the door and ran his fingertips along the edges. “There was no mention of an alarm being tripped. Hey, Officer Montoyo? Can you ask the Olvideras if this door has an alarm on it?”
The officer nodded and hurried outside.
“Think it does?” I quietly asked.
“What, have an alarm? It doesn’t look like it. Otherwise, if it does, and since no alarm was reported, I’d have to upgrade our perp from novice to someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“That’s a no,” Officer Montoyo called from the front door.
“Thank you,” Vance called back. “No alarm, that’s good. Let’s take a look at the lock.” My detective friend pushed open the door and then squatted low to inspect the exterior door handle. After a few moments, he pulled out a pen and tapped the keyhole. “Yep, you can see it right here. See these scratches? Those are made from picks. This lock was picked, all right, but it was definitely done by an amateur.”
I’d encountered this before, along with the ways you can tell a pro job from an amateur, on a previous case. I nodded. “Got it. All right, this is our entry-point. Sherlock? Watson? Did you want to …”
I trailed off as the dogs made for the other side of the store. Where did we end up? At a hardware/houseware aisle. This store has a small section of products for DIY’ers: screws, nails, a few extension cords, and the like. The corgis pulled me over to a small section of hanging letters and numbers. These, I noted, were what you’d use if you wanted to put your address on your mailbox, or maybe on the side of your house. Oddly enough, there must have been a run on this particular section, because nearly half the choices were gone. Whatever. As for the dogs? Well, they were staring at the numbers, specifically the lone numeral 7, hanging by itself on its peg.
“What are we looking at?” Vance wanted to know, as he came up behind me.
I pointed at the dangling number. “You tell me. Does 7 mean anything to you?”
“Nope.”
I pulled out my cell and took a picture. “Roger that. I’m right there with you. Guys? Care to indicate what we’re supposed to do with this?”
Sherlock snorted once, looked at his packmate, and promptly headed back.
“Didn’t we just come from this way?” Vance quietly asked.
I was about ready to agree, only we veered at the last minute and headed to a set of swinging doors, which led to the produce department’s back room. Once the four of us were standing in the quiet workroom, Vance and I shared a look. Neither of us could see anything out of place back here.
Counters were clean. Floors were swept and spotless. Knives and tools were hanging on their respective hooks. Several dozen boxes (of varying sizes) were stacked against the far wall, waiting to be flattened.
“Looks fine to me,” Vance decided.
Sherlock dropped his nose to the floor, sniffed a few times, and then headed for the closest cabinet. There, on the ground, just under the lip of the counter, was some type of fruit. Something small, and something round. Blueberry? Cherry?
I squatted down and gingerly slid my hand into the space between the counter and the floor. It was a berry, all right, only—you guessed it—it was a cranberry!
Rising to my feet, I held my find out for Vance’s approval.
“What do you have there? Is that a cranberry?”
“Remember what was stolen from the freezer back in Grants Pass?”
Vance was silent as he considered. “Boxes of these things, right?”
I hooked a thumb at the displays on the other side of the store. “Remember that cranberry section? They were out, too. Coincidence?”
“Zack, I sincerely doubt that particular cranberry is related to this break-in.”
“Oh, come on! Of course it is! Think about it. No cranberries at Gary’s Grocery. That store in Grants Pass was out, and now this one? It’s too coincidental.”
“I’m guessing that thing has been under the counter for at least two weeks or so.”
I stared at the red berry in my hand. “How could you possibly know that?”
“I’m going off the green mold that’s on the backside of that berry.”
My hand sprang open, as though I had suddenly discovered I was holding a live spider.
“Oh, eww! That’s nasty! Why didn’t you say something?”
“I did say something, pal. Hey, I could’ve left you holding it, but did I? No. I was nice enough to … don’t even think about wiping that hand on me.”
It must have been the tone of our voices. The dogs sensed that Vance and I were horsing around, so naturally, they wanted to be included. Sherlock let out an eardrum-shattering bark. The only thing Watson did was whine but to be honest, I’m guessing. The ringing in my ears was so bad that I only thought I could hear her.
“Wow. That was lou
d, pal. Here. We’re okay. Have a biscuit.”
Once both corgis had devoured their second treat of the day, they were off. Again. This time, we were following a narrow hallway which, I’m guessing, would connect us to the main storeroom in the back. A few moments later, my suspicions were confirmed.
“Do all grocery stores have these hidden passageways?” Vance curiously asked, as we emerged into the large storeroom.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t call ’em ‘hidden’. I would imagine the employees need a way to get around without being seen, or getting in the way of the customers.”
We heard a loud clatter from somewhere to the left, out of sight. Both corgis woofed a warning, and Vance’s hand automatically dropped to his hip, to land on the butt of his gun.
“Vance Samuelson, Pomme Valley PD. Who’s there? Identify yourself.”
“This is a Mexican store,” I quietly reminded my friend.
“Oh, that’s right. Uh, let me think. Este es Vance Samuelson, de la policia. ¿Quién está ahí?”
A young boy, whom I was guessing was in his mid-teens, wearing a bright green apron, appeared. The boy held his hands high in the air as he cautiously edged out into the open.
“Don’t shoot!” the young clerk cried, in perfect English. “I work here!”
“What are you doing in here, kid?” Vance wanted to know. “This is a crime scene. Didn’t you know this place was burglarized?”
The teenager nodded. “I did, yes. That’s why I’m here. I’m trying to clean up. It’s my job to keep this area free of debris at all times. I was just trying to help.”
I heard a whine and immediately glanced at the dogs. Both corgis were looking at the large swinging doors, leading out into the store.
Vance looked angrily around at the backroom and then locked eyes on the nervous teen.
“You’ve tampered with a crime scene. Damn! We needed to see what it looked like in here. I should charge you with …”
I nudged my friend’s shoulder. “He’s about to pee himself, pal. Getting angry with him isn’t gonna solve anything.” Looking at the frightened kid, I raised my voice. “What’s your name?”
“Enrique. Enrique Corona. Am I going to be arrested?”
I looked over at Vance, who had an expression on his face which said he was seriously considering it.
I snapped my fingers a few times to get the kid’s attention. “Enrique? Listen to me very carefully. This is important. We need to know what type of mess you discovered back here? What have you had to clean up?”
Enrique pointed at a stack of boxes near the door.
“Those were tipped over. And fruit. There was some fruit on the ground.”
“From the break-in?” Vance asked, as his eyes dropped to the floor. “Do you usually find discarded fruit on the floor in here?”
I pointed back at the way we had come. “Produce is that way. What would … forget about that. Let me ask this: what fruit did you find?”
Enrique shrugged and pointed at an open trash receptacle, the kind which are normally found at the end of the street on trash days. I would also like to point out that the large green trash bin was situated just inside the backroom, next to the doors. It would seem the dogs had been staring at the trash can rather than the door.
Vance pulled out a small flashlight and shone it into the bin. He grunted, pulled out his cell, and snapped a few pics. Then, he motioned me over.
“What is it?” I wanted to know.
“See for yourself.”
Leaning over, I glanced in the bin. There, visible amidst the rather large dust bunnies and small piles of dust, were several round objects. Surprised, I looked back at my friend.
“Are those …?”
“Cranberries,” Vance confirmed.
We both looked down at the dogs. Sherlock’s smirk was back, while Watson wriggled with excitement. How could they have known to look in there? I pulled out my own cell and took a few pictures.
“There’s something about these cranberries,” Vance grumbled. “What the hell am I missing? Who would steal cranberries, especially at this time of year?” Vance’s cell chose that time to ring. Glancing down, he cringed. “It’s the captain. I’ve gotta take this. Are you good here? I’ll be just outside.”
“We’re fine. Go.”
Once Vance was gone, I returned my gaze to the trash can and focused on the discarded berries. Why would someone be stealing all the cranberries? Did someone hate them that badly?
I looked over at the teenager. “Enrique? By any chance, do you have any more cranberries in stock? Fresh or frozen, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“I do not think so, but I will check for you.”
The clerk ducked into the long, narrow hallway leading to the produce department.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to surprise Jillian with some cranberries?” I asked the dogs. “She’s worried she won’t be able to find any, and I have to say, I’m starting to worry a little, too. I mean, have you guys ever heard about anything as bizarre as this?”
Sherlock and Watson ignored me. In fact, Sherlock slid into a ‘down’ position, but before he could nod off, Enrique was back. He looked at me and shook his head.
“There are no fresh cranberries, it would seem.”
“Oh, man,” I sighed. “Well, what about frozen?”
Enrique nodded, and stepped up to the thick metal door leading into the walk-in freezer. Steeling himself, the teenager yanked the door open and ducked inside. Frosty, super-chilled air spilled out, causing the dogs to both shake their coats and retreat to my side.
“It’s a wee bit chilly in there, isn’t it?” I told the dogs. “That’s why I wouldn’t let you go in the other freezer in Grants Pass. It’s not for corgis, I’m sorry to say.”
Enrique emerged and hastily closed the freezer door. He rubbed his hands together and then blew on them, presumably to warm them up.
“Any luck?” I asked.
Enrique shook his head. “I don’t understand. There were two cases of frozen berries in there from last night’s delivery. We rarely go through them, but for this time of year, we do stock up.”
Vance returned just then, in time to hear the part about the missing holiday favorites.
“We have another store with stolen cranberries? What are the odds of that?”
“Do you think that’s what the perp was after?” I asked.
“Someone went to all this effort just to steal a few boxes of cranberries? Come on, Zack. That’s a stretch, even for you.”
“The facts fit the crime,” I pointed out.
“Nobody steals cranberries,” Vance insisted.
“Well, it sure seems that way,” I argued. “There are none in PV, the store we were at in Grants Pass was out, and now this one. What other conclusions are we supposed to come to?”
“There’s a logical explanation. There has to be. What, do you think our perp is going to hold these cranberries for ransom?”
“He could,” I scoffed.
To help prove my point, Sherlock chose that time to let out a snort. A loud one. Grinning, I ruffled his fur.
“All right, let’s go. Has either of the dogs stopped at anything else?”
I shrugged. “Let’s find out.”
And the answer to that would be a resounding no. We walked up and down every single aisle in that store. We then headed outside and checked the perimeter of the building. Twice. Did the dogs smell anything? Did they show any signs of interest?
Nope.
Whatever we were meant to learn was confined to the inside, with the exception of the side door. Sherlock and Watson both glanced up at it as we passed. Both times. I can only assume that, since they already alerted us to the door the one time, a second inspection was unnecessary.
It wasn’t until thirty minutes later, when the both of us decided to head back to Pomme Valley, that I got word from Vance: the stolen booze had been located in an abandoned car, located less than a mile away.
&n
bsp; “What do you think it means?” I asked.
“Personally? I think these burglaries are just diversionary tactics. Someone thinks they’re throwing us off the scent by perpetuating these other crimes.”
“And doing a terrible job at it,” I added. “If you’re going to just dump the loot you’ve stolen, then you’d think they’d find a better location.”
“Right? Thus far, I think the real target has been the freezers.”
“You’re referring to the cranberries, aren’t you? So, you believe me now?”
“It feels strange as hell to say this, but I think someone wants all the cranberries. So, yes, you’re making a believer out of me. We just have to figure out why. Why aren’t the other stores being targeted? Why only these two? How are these two facilities linked?”
FIVE
“Didn’t we already do this? I mean, you and I both fought back the crowds a few days ago. Now, here we are—again—at the grocery store. From the looks of things, it’s even worse now than it was then.”
Jillian nodded. “I know, right? But, what choice have we? I don’t want to wait for the last possible moment to get the supplies we need. I’m still missing a few things, so here we are.”
“Would you like a cart?”
“Yes, please.”
“Where to first?”
“Let’s see if they have any cranberries first. That’s what I’d like to get my hands on the most.”
“Roger that. Wow, I can’t believe how many people are in here. Granted, Thanksgiving is less than a week away, but … Jillian? I’m sorry to tell you this, but it looks like they’re still out of fresh cranberries.”
“Oh, rats. Well, maybe they were able to restock the frozen variety?”
I hurried over to the freezers and stared at the empty spot on the shelf. Nope. If Gary’s had received another shipment, then we were shi … er, make that completely out of luck. Jillian was going to have to figure out something else she could use.
Case of the Great Cranberry Caper Page 7
