“No good, punk-ass juvenile delinquents,” we heard a voice grumbling. “That’s what’s wrong with society nowadays.”
“What?” I heard a much younger voice ask.
“Corporal punishment. If the threat of physical punishment was on the table, then I guaran-damn-tee you crap like this wouldn’t happen.”
Vance and I rounded the corner and saw Gary, huddled over his receiving desk, poring through what was presumably the shipping invoice for his latest delivery. Two teenage stock boys were lingering nearby, each with a fearful expression on their face.
“Answer me this,” Gary was saying, as he skimmed through the multi-page invoice, “would either of you break into a business knowing that, should you be caught, you’d be whipped? Or caned, like they do in Singapore or Malaysia?”
Both kids vehemently shook their heads no.
“It needs to happen here,” Gary muttered, as he irritably flipped the page of his invoice.
Vance cleared his throat. Gary looked up at us. I could see one very exasperated store owner glare at us for a few moments before his eyes dropped to stare at the dogs. Just like that, his shipping invoice was forgotten and he knelt down on the ground, bringing him down to the dogs’ level. Both Sherlock and Watson knew this, which was why they switched to their Clydesdale personas and physically yanked me over to Gary’s side.
“Sherlock and Watson! Oh, you brighten my day, guys. Tell me you’ll make an old man happy and say that you’ve found something?”
With this, Gary looked hopefully up at me. I ended up shrugging.
“We’re still looking, but we do believe we’ve found out how the perp got in here.”
“That’s no surprise,” Gary grumbled. He turned to point back toward the front entrance. “Did you see what those little jerks did to my front door?”
“Believe it or not, Mr. Gardner,” Vance began, “we believe that was just a diversion. We’ve found another point of entry, and we think it’s how the perp gained entry.”
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
“Your compactor,” I answered.
“My compactor?” Gary repeated, confused. “There’s no way someone could make it inside through my compactor. Sure, there’s a chute leading from the building to the machine, but … are you saying someone found a way to get inside?”
“There wasn’t much to it,” Vance sighed. “I don’t know if you’ve ever looked inside that thing before, but if you did, you’d see that there’s a flap inside, which is typically closed. Now, the only thing keeping that chute closed is a single spring. Get yourself a flat-head screwdriver and you’ll be able to pry the flap open and, if you’re small enough, you can crawl back through the chute and make it inside.”
“Your theory is that the person who did this is small,” Gary began, sounding skeptical, “and instead of breaking down the front door, which is currently broken, I might add, you think he snuck in through our cardboard baler. Did I hear you right?”
Vance nodded. “You did. As you are probably aware, stores were hit in Grants Pass and Medford. The MO is the same: discreet entry, a very obvious attempt at a diversion, and then—oddly enough—the theft of cranberries is discovered. How am I doing so far?”
“Cranberries,” Gary breathed. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
“Your cranberries were already sold out.” I reminded the store owner.
Gary tapped his shipping invoice. “I’ve got a buddy who works at the distribution center. He was able to get me every freakin’ thing I ordered. I feel I should tell you something. In all the years I’ve been in this business, never once have I seen a bare shelf in one of the stores I’ve worked, let alone the one I have owned and operated. So, I made incredibly certain I would be able to plug those holes.”
“You had more cranberries on order,” I breathed. “Tell me you have a bag or two left. Jillian needs some for a few of her recipes.”
Gary turned to regard me with a neutral expression. “Jillian? As in, Jillian Cooper, owner of Cookbook Nook?”
I nodded, and held up my left hand. “That’s the one. She’s my fiancée.”
“I would have given her a few bags, on the house,” Gary sadly informed me, “seeing how she’s such a good customer. If only …”
“… they wouldn’t have been stolen,” Vance finished, after Gary trailed off.
“Yes,” Gary sighed. He straightened, and then headed for the swinging doors leading back to the store. He then pointed at the closest shelf. “These break-ins have caused the people to hoard their supplies and incited excess panic-buying. That’s why the shelves are so bare. Nothing is happening to my deliveries. I still get the same amount of supplies, in the same timely fashion as I always have. However, will any of that make a difference to the dimwitted, easy-to-frighten public? Do either of you know what this particular break-in is going to do to the people of PV?”
“It’s not gonna be good,” I surmised.
Gary shook his head. “No, it is not. If you thought you saw people frivolously make purchases before, then you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet. It’s gonna get so much worse before it gets better.”
“Let’s hope you’re wrong on that count,” Vance informed the business owner. “Mr. Gardner, let me ask you something. You obviously received this shipment tonight, right?”
Gary nodded. “That’s right.”
“And the store was closed?”
“We closed at 9 p.m. tonight,” Gary confirmed. “The shipment arrived at around 10 p.m. The driver was nice enough to send me a text when he was close. That way, I could arrange for someone to be here to open the store.”
“Makes sense,” I murmured.
Sherlock and Watson settled to the ground and were content to watch us bipeds talk.
“How soon after the shipment was received did your alarm go off?” Vance asked. His notebook was open and he was busy taking notes.
Gary sighed. “What, you want me to say it? Fine. It’s too convenient.”
“What is?” I inquired. “When did the burglars hit?”
“Fifteen minutes later,” Gary acknowledged.
“The perp was already in the store, wasn’t he?” Vance guessed. “Or, at the very least, he was concealed outside as he was staking out the store. He—or she, I suppose—waited a quarter of an hour to make certain the coast was clear. That’s when they made their move, wasn’t it?”
Gary nodded. “That’s it, as far as I can tell.”
“So, what was stolen?” I asked. “Was it really some baby formula? I’d think there’d be many more things a burglar would want than baby formula.”
“Why do you think it’s kept under lock and key?” Gary countered. “Formula is a hot commodity, I’m sorry to say. Damn, thieving hooligans.”
Vance snapped his fingers. “That reminds me … Officer Jones? Are you out there? Could you come here a second?”
A tall, lean officer with hair long enough to be considered a mullet and eyebrows that looked as though two spiders had taken up residence on his face, appeared in the doorway.
“Detective? You called?”
“I need you to do something for me, pal.”
“Name it, Detective.”
“Take Simpson and head out. Look for nearby dumpsters, or abandoned cars, or anywhere someone would stash a large quantity of stolen merchandise. I kid you not, if the same person who perpetrated the last two robberies is responsible for this one, then he’s already ditched the merchandise.”
“Then, why steal it in the first place?” Officer Jones asked.
“To throw us off the scent,” I supplied. “And, for the record, I’d like to point out it’s not working.”
“What are we looking for here?” Jones asked.
“Baby formula,” Vance answered. “Instant and liquid, from the looks of thing. Canisters, cartons, bottles of liquid, if it has the word ‘formula’ on it, be on the lookout for it. The merchandise might be in boxes, or it might be in duffel bags. You won
’t know until you find it.”
“If it’s out there, then we’ll find it,” Officer Jones promised.
Once Jones had left, Vance turned to Gary and gestured at the thick shipping invoice that was still on the receiving desk.
“Was there anything else missing besides the cranberries?”
“Weirdest theft I’ve ever seen,” Gary muttered. He motioned for one of his clerks to hand him the invoice. Once he had it, he started flipping through the pages. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Three boxes of frozen cranberries. That’s it. That’s all that’s missing. I guess I should be thankful, because this could have been a whole lot worse. The stink of this is seeing how people are going to freak out. I can only hope that, once you apprehend whoever did this, you allow the dogs to bite them. Right on the keister.”
Bemused, I glanced down at the dogs. Sensing we had been talking about them, both Sherlock and Watson had risen to a sitting position and were watching Gary like a pair of hawks. In fact, it looked as though Sherlock had nodded and was now anxious to be on the move again. However, try as we might, none of us could find anything else that sparked Sherlock and Watson’s interest. We walked up and down the aisles. Nothing. We strolled by the pharmacy and then the liquor section. Both dogs kept their eyes (and noses) on the floor.
For kicks and giggles, we returned to the back storerooms to see if there was anything we missed. And, for the record, there wasn’t. But, it wasn’t a total loss. It gave Vance and me some time to confer amongst ourselves.
“Seriously, pal,” Vance was saying, “we need to nip this in the bud as soon as possible. Have you ever tried to go grocery shopping when the store is full of idiots stuck in a panic-buying mode?”
I was already nodding and then I was pointing straight down.
“Not only have I done that, but I did so right here. Today. Earlier, in fact. So, some cranberries are stolen and it makes everyone freak out? Where’s the logic in that?”
“All I was trying to do was buy some flippin’ toilet paper,” Vance said, as we pushed our way through the swinging double doors and back into the main store. “You’d think the whole stinking town developed a case of the trots.”
“At the same time,” I added. “People are just weird.”
“The public is weird,” Vance clarified. “People are smart, but if you put enough of ’em together, then the collective I.Q. drops to subterranean levels.”
I snorted with amusement and continued to follow Vance outside.
“I just can’t figure out why only small stores are targeted,” Vance complained, as we walked toward our cars. “Both Grants Pass and Medford are larger than we are, and each town has several large franchise stores, but did they get hit?”
“I have a pretty good idea I know the answer to this,” I said. “I’m guessing the answer is no, they didn’t. There must be some other connection.”
“And what the hell is the deal with only taking cranberries?” Vance griped. “Sure, I like cranberry sauce with my turkey, just as much as the next person, but come on. All cranberries? Everywhere? What’s the deal with that?”
“What about the diversions?” I continued. Hey, as long as we were taking the time to air our grievances, we might as well cover all the bases, right? “Who, in their right mind, would willingly steal all those drugs from the first store, only to dump them less than a mile away? As if they were afraid to be found with them?”
“Don’t forget the booze from the second store,” Vance reminded me.
“Drugs and booze, both of which were recovered. And this one? Any chance they’ll find the stolen baby formula?”
“I’m really hoping they do,” Vance confided, as he lowered his voice. “I know Gary is not going to want to replace it all.”
“Doesn’t he have insurance?” I quietly asked.
My detective friend nodded. “Yes, he does, but there’s still a deductible to be considered.”
I loaded the dogs into my Jeep and looked at my friend. “Tell me something. Are we dealing with the stupidest criminal to ever walk the earth?”
Vance chuckled. “I’m starting to think so. Whoever is doing this is …” He trailed off as his cell began to ring. “Detective Samuelson. Hey, Jones-y, what’s goin’ on? You what? Hold on.” My friend muted the call and looked at me. “They found the formula. It was apparently loaded into several of those disposable Styrofoam coolers which I’m guessing they stole from Gary’s, and promptly dumped.”
“In a dumpster?” I guessed.
“You guessed it. This dumpster was behind Rupert’s Gas & Auto.”
“Were they heading out of town?” I wondered aloud. “Rupert’s is on the north side of town, as though you were heading to Grants Pass.”
Vance unmuted the call. “Jones? Look, I know it’s late, but see if you can locate any witnesses. I’d like to know where this person was headed, or if it’s just a fluke. Thanks, pal.”
Just then, before either of us could get in our vehicles, Gary came hurrying out of his store, holding something in each hand.
“Detective? Mr. Anderson? I have something for you.”
“Whatcha got there, Mr. Gardner?” Vance wanted to know. Then he caught sight of the item Gary was holding. “Oh, I think you just made Zack’s day. Hey, buddy, check it out.”
I stepped around Vance to see for myself what the store owner was holding. Catching sight of the bag, my eyes lit up. Somehow, and I don’t know how, he had found a bag of cranberries!
“Oh, I owe you a bottle of wine.”
“I remember you mentioning you were in the market for some cranberries. Well, I have Todd and Jason going through the freezer, looking for anything else that might have been missing. Nothing is, mind you, but they did find several bags of cranberries in another box, as though they had been unpacked and ended up falling into the box below theirs. Whatever the reason, I wanted you to have this. And you, Detective. Cherish these. I don’t think there are any more in our area.”
“I appreciate it, Mr. Gardner,” I said, as I turned to place the bag inside my Jeep. That’s when I noticed both dogs were plastered to the windows, watching the store owner. Well, he was still holding Vance’s bag. “What are you two looking at? Vance, would you take that bag? I want to see if they’re watching … no, they’re still watching you, Mr. Gardner.”
“I can see that,” Gary admitted. “May I ask why?”
“I’d like to know, too,” Vance admitted, as he placed his bag of the red berries inside his sedan. “Zack? What are they doing?”
I motioned Gary over. “Come here, would you? If it’s truly you they are watching, then … yep, it’s you, Mr. Gardner. Look how they’re watching you. Do you have something else on you?”
Gary reached behind his back and produced the shipping invoice. “I had this in my back pocket, if that helps.”
I held out a hand. “May I?”
Gary passed the wad of papers to me. I started to walk around the circumference of my car. The corgis, I might add, were staring at me as though I had sprouted a tail. Vance approached and held out his own hand. Passing the papers to him, I stepped back, out of the way. Vance repeated the steps I had just done and watched with amazement as the dogs tracked his progress around my Jeep.
“It’s the shipping invoice,” Vance said, amazed. He looked down at the papers and then over at me. “Any idea why?”
I pulled out my cell. “Let’s do this. Hold that up, would you?”
Vance held the invoice up and looked on as I snapped a few pictures of the shipping manifest. Once I was done, and my cell was back in my pocket, I caught sight of Vance flipping through the pages. Shrugging, Vance turned to hand Gary back his invoice when he paused, hand outstretched. Slowly, he brought the invoice up to his face and gripped it with both hands. Had he noticed something?
“What is it?” I wanted to know.
Vance tapped something on the invoice and turned excitedly to Gary. “This right here. I’ve seen
this identifier before. At least, I think I have. What does this stand for?”
Gary leaned over Vance’s shoulder and studied the small box Vance was tapping. “That? That’s our distributor.”
“What are you looking at?” I asked my friend.
Vance motioned me over and showed me the code he was referring to: MDC.
“Do you remember Vicki’s Grab & Go and the boxes she reported stolen? Do you remember that funky code that was on each of the boxes?”
“Sure,” I said, nodding.
Vance hastily pulled his notebook out from his pocket and flipped through a few pages before grinning triumphantly and holding the small book up.
“This … this right here. ‘MDC2146, MDC2147, and MDC2148’.”
“Those were the identifiers on the boxes that were taken,” I recalled. “Are those the same numbers here?”
Vance gave me a grin before he turned to Gary.
“Answer something for me, pal. Your distributor? MDC? Is that an acronym?”
“Medford Distribution Center,” Gary supplied. “Not very original, I know.”
“Do they supply all the grocery stores in this area with their products?” Vance wanted to know.
Gary shook his head. “No, MDC is just one of several small suppliers. There’s three distribution centers in Bend; Medford has MDC and one other, I believe.”
“And Grants Pass?” I asked.
“The same as us,” Gary told us. “We’re too small, so we need to have our products shipped in. But, I will say, I’m glad we don’t qualify as a ‘big boy’.”
“Why?” Vance curiously asked.
“Well, all the name brand stores get their supplies from Bend,” Gary explained. “Obviously, they have farther to go, so they typically get their shipments once a week. As for us? Well, since MDC is so close, we can usually place another order and have it here within 24 hours.”
“That’s what you did for this delivery, wasn’t it?” I asked.
Gary nodded. “Yep. Fat load of good it did me.”
“Imagine getting your orders all the way from Bend,” Vance breathed, amazed. “You’d think there’d be a closer distribution center.”
Case of the Great Cranberry Caper Page 10
