Case of the Great Cranberry Caper

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  Sherlock and Watson were even invited to go, which meant that, wherever we went, one of us were going to have to be with them at all times, since neither of us would dream about leaving the dogs in the car, alone, this time of year. It was simply too cold outside. Sure, the daytime was nice, but mornings and nights were downright chilly.

  Where were we going? Turns out we were going to do some shopping. For what? Well, it turns out we were in the market for a tree. Before you ask, yes, we’re looking for a Christmas tree.

  I remember pointing at the closest calendar and mentioning it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet. After all, who would want to decorate for Christmas before we had even celebrated Turkey Day? As it turns out, quite a few people enjoy putting up a tree the month before Christmas. High on that list would be one Jillian Cooper.

  I’ve helped her set up her decorations before, but usually those particular boxes wouldn’t see the light of day until after I had eaten my weight in turkey. But, for whatever reason, this particular year has inspired Jillian to pull out all the stops. Just this morning, when the dogs and I stopped by Cookbook Nook, armed with her favorite chai drink and my bucket of soda, I found her busy pulling out boxes from a storage closet I hadn’t even known existed.

  I learned something about Jillian that day. If my fiancée was busy working on decorations for someplace other than her home, in this case, her business, then the chances were extremely high it would get her thinking about what decorations she’d like to see at her aforementioned home. I hadn’t taken more than three or four boxes to the front counter when Jillian suddenly looked at me with a twinkle in her eye and announced she needed help with a new project. Little did I know that would mean we would be going on a day trip to a farm located 40 miles north of Medford, up in the hills.

  Hours later, I didn’t realize how high we were until I started seeing snow piled up along either side of the road, which was unpaved, by the way. And the road? It twisted and turned, and had hairpin turns so tight that you couldn’t go faster than 10 mph or else you’d run off the edge. I should also mention that I have never been car sick in my life. Ever. However, with all the swaying of the car, from left, to right, back left, hard right, for the first time ever, I found myself getting queasy.

  “Are you all right?” Jillian asked, as she watched me roll the window down and take a couple of gulps of cool, crisp air. “Feeling nauseous?”

  “Just a little,” I admitted. “I’m trying as hard as I can to keep from tasting my breakfast again. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this unsettled in a car. I’ve tried so hard to ignore it.”

  “Well, getting out and stretching your legs will be good. You’re in luck. We’re here.”

  Directly in front of us was a large, metal arch. Stretching from one end of the sign to the other were the words, Manson Family Christmas Tree Farm. With skepticism written all over my face, I turned to Jillian and pointed at the sign.

  “Manson Family? We’re at the Manson Family Farm? Seriously?”

  “My family and I have purchased our trees from the Mansons every year since I can remember,” Jillian protested. “They have the best trees, and we get to support a local, small business. You’re okay with that, aren’t you?”

  “If I get shot and killed up here, then I’m coming back as a ghost to haunt you,” I chuckled.

  Thirty minutes later, Jillian and I were trekking through the open countryside, inspecting a variety of fir trees: Douglas, grand, noble, red, and Fraser. Jillian, I was surprised to learn, took the selection of her Christmas tree very seriously. After all, she wasn’t about to pick the first one she encountered. Absolutely not. I mean, I couldn’t possibly be that lucky, could I? Oh, no. Serious thought had to go into this decision. This one had an open spot on the back, while that one had branches that were curving in the wrong direction. And the one I thought would be perfect? Not conical enough.

  I should also mention I was doing my absolute damnedest not to laugh at poor Sherlock and Watson. Why? Well, Jillian must’ve had this little excursion planned out well in advance, because the corgis were wearing little booties so their feet would be protected in the snow. They were a gift from my fiancée.

  Now, if you’ve never seen a dog wearing booties before, prepare yourself for some gut-wrenching laughter, and we’re talking pain-in-your-side, can’t-breathe hilarity. Because the corgis had such short legs, whenever the booties were pulled onto their feet, their new footwear unintentionally covered their knees. What ended up happening?

  The dogs couldn’t bend their front legs.

  Both Sherlock and Watson now appeared to be goose-stepping their way across the snow and ice. If you’re not familiar with the term, think of it as a special marching step performed in ceremonial military parades. The goose step is most often associated with Nazi Germany, but its use in militaries has been fairly widespread since the late 19th century. Take that high-stepping march and imagine a short-legged dog performing it, and I can guarantee you’ll end up snotting whatever drink you may be enjoying.

  “I didn’t think they’d look like that,” Jillian was saying, as she dabbed a tissue at the corner of her eyes. “Those poor dogs.”

  “It keeps their feet protected,” I pointed out. “You don’t want them walking over the snow and ice without something to protect them. Their pads could get cut up. With that being said, I haven’t laughed this hard in a while, so thanks for that!”

  “I feel horrible,” Jillian confessed.

  “But you’re laughing,” I pointed out.

  “Hush, Zachary.”

  The weather was crisp, the outside temperature was a balmy 40°F, and as I had previously pointed out, a thin layer of snow was on the ground. Plus, seeing how the dogs rarely got to encounter snow, I enjoyed watching how each of the dogs interacted with the foreign white material. Sherlock had promptly shoved his snout deep into the closest pile, as if he was an ostrich with his head in the sand. When the tri-colored corgi emerged, he had flecks of snow all across his snout and face.

  Watson had taken a tentative step on the fresh snow and, unfortunately for her, managed to find a section of powder. She promptly sank several inches down, resulting in her belly dragging along the ground. She simply looked at me with an imploring look and waited for Daddy to come to her rescue, which I did. Gently lifting my little girl out of the fresh snow, I moved her back to the path we had been following, which had a firm, packed surface.

  “If you don’t want to get snow on your belly,” I told the corgi, “then you’d best stay over here, with us.”

  Watson shook herself, sniffed again at the snow, and then happily followed me and Jillian deeper into the hills.

  “All we gotta do is find the right tree and then let them know which one?” I skeptically asked.

  Jillian held up a red pouch. “Yes. Once we find the right tree, then I’ll wrap this flag around the trunk. That will let the staff know a tree has been selected. They’ll cut it down and package it up for us.”

  “Are there cameras out here?” I asked, as I looked around. “How are they supposed to find it? There are trees everywhere.”

  “There’s a tiny GPS chip sewn into the flag,” Jillian explained. “Trust me, they’ve thought of everything.”

  “Tell me something,” I said, after another ten minutes had passed, without us finding the tree, I might add, “does your family typically decorate before Thanksgiving?”

  Jillian shrugged. “Our family usually put the tree up the weekend after Thanksgiving.”

  “But, it’s not even December,” I protested.

  “When did your family put your tree up?” Jillian wanted to know.

  “I don’t know. I guess it’d be the first or second week of December.”

  “That’s not nearly enough time to enjoy the decorations,” Jillian said, in mock horror. “Aside from the tree, did you put up many decorations?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Stockings, some candles, and a few wreaths. Oh! My dad always put thi
s little contraption on the coffee table where, once you light the candles, it spins the top of it around, like … like … a top, I suppose.”

  “Did it have a couple of brass bells, so that when it spun, little angels were striking the bell?”

  I snapped my fingers and looked at her with amazement. “Yes! Exactly! Did you guys have one of them, too?”

  “Swedish angel chimes.”

  “Hmm?”

  “That’s what it was called: Swedish angel chimes. It was very popular. Still is, I believe.”

  “We gotta get one,” I decided.

  “Consider it done,” Jillian said, giving me a warm smile. “Does your family have any other traditions you’d like to uphold?”

  “Hmm. Can I get back to you on that? I’ll have to think about that one.”

  “Of course.”

  “What about you?” I countered. “What did your family like to do?”

  Jillian paused at the base of a 15’ noble fir and carefully scrutinized it. After a few moments, she shook her head and moved off.

  “My brother and I would always watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas on Christmas Eve. Then, we’d get to open a few presents, but only the ones from aunts, uncles, or grandparents. We’d then sing some carols while Joshua played the piano.”

  “I didn’t know Josh played the piano.”

  Jillian let out an uncharacteristic sigh. “Joshua is the type of person who could pick up any instrument he wanted and begin playing it in less than ten minutes. Ever since he learned how to play the French horn, he’s mastered the ability to sight read music.”

  “I’m picking up a wee bit of bitterness there,” I joked.

  Jillian smiled and swatted my arm. “Everything always came so easy to him. I guess I am a little jealous.”

  “One of these days, I’m sure I’ll meet him,” I vowed.

  “Oh, you will. He talks about you all the time.”

  This brought me up short. “He does?”

  “Sure! He knows you’re a famous author, and has started calling you his brother-in-law, the writer.”

  “Does he, uh, know what kind of books I write?”

  “Of course. That’s how he learned about what you do. He was dating a girl who was a big fan of yours.”

  “Seriously, how do people keep figuring out who Chastity Wadsworth really is?” I demanded. “I clearly suck at keeping secrets.”

  Jillian laughed again and then stopped short. She pointed at a nearby tree and clapped excitedly. “That’s it! That’s the one! Oh, Zachary, isn’t it beautiful?”

  We were standing at the base of a 15’ noble fir. It had a diameter (at its thickest point) of about seven feet, had slightly twisted, upcurved shoots, and tapered to a narrow, conical point. I will admit, it was a gorgeous tree.

  “Umm, that one looks huge. Where are you gonna put something that big?” I wanted to know.

  “My living room, where else? It has vaulted ceilings, and I happen to know that, at its apex, there’s nearly twenty feet of space in there. Here, would you do the honors?”

  I took the red pouch, unzipped it, and pulled out a glorified cable tie. Wrapping it around the trunk, I caught sight of a clear, plastic tab on the opposite side of the cable tie’s head, and pulled it out. Just like that, a tiny red light started flashing.

  “I think we’re good to go.”

  “Excellent. I think we’re done here. Zachary, let me ask you something.”

  “Fire away, my dear.”

  “This diamond that you say was stolen from the University of Washington? Do you think the person who stole it was a professional?”

  I didn’t have to think about the answer. “Nope. There’s nothing this person has done which has made me think the heist was pulled off by a pro.”

  “Are you sure? What makes you say that?”

  I started ticking points off on my fingers. “Well, first, the perp is an amateur when it comes to picking a lock. Vance said he, or she, left scratches all over the thing, which is a sure sign it was picked by an amateur. Second, they tried to throw us off their trail by pretending they were interested in something else in the store, like booze, or drugs, or baby formula, and then proceeded to exit the store from the front door. And finally, the stolen loot was dumped, usually at a nearby dumpster, indicating it was never a target at all.”

  “Maybe they had a change of heart?” Jillian suggested.

  “For all three? No, I doubt it. Plus, they chose a dump site which was less than a mile from the burglarized store. Either pack the stolen merchandise with you, or dispose of it in another town.”

  “What about the actual heist itself?” Jillian wanted to know. “Do we know how the diamond was stolen in the first place? By that, I mean, was the diamond in a vault? Were there guards nearby?”

  “Oh, I get it. You know what? I really don’t know. I’ll have to ask Vance.”

  “It’s my belief,” Jillian continued, “that diamond thieves employ high-tech equipment to … Zachary? What are the dogs doing?”

  At that exact moment, both leashes went taut, but that was because both dogs had stopped walking. As I looked back to see what they were doing, I noticed they were both staring up at the open sky. It was then that I noticed we had been out here much longer than I had thought. The sun had set not that long ago, and the sky was getting noticeably darker. Thankfully, the farm’s parking lot was just around the corner, so we were in no danger of becoming lost.

  That’s one thing to be said for being out in the middle of nowhere at night: no light pollution. If you think you’ve seen it dark before, then I challenge you to drive out to the countryside and see for yourself. It becomes pitch black outside. There are no streetlamps, barely any passing cars, and most houses sit so far back from the road that they’re obscured by trees.

  Granted, it wasn’t that dark yet, but I did notice that some of the brighter stars were starting to appear. Planets, too, for that matter, after spotting Jupiter on the southern horizon, and Venus hanging low in the east. The dogs, however, were staring almost straight up, facing north. What was up there? Well, unless I was very much mistaken, it was the constellation Leo. Had they spotted something? Perhaps they had heard a passing jet?

  Jillian stared at the three of us with a bemused expression. “Can you tell what they’re looking at?”

  “The stars? I don’t really see anything else. Guys? Come on. It’s getting dark, and we need to go.”

  The dogs refused to budge. Actually, I don’t even think they blinked. Looking back up at the darkening sky, I shrugged. I’m ashamed to say that it’s gotten to the point where I don’t even question it anymore. If the dogs showed interest in something, then my auto-pilot kicked on and I’d take a few pictures of whatever they were facing. Somehow, and it didn’t matter what it was, the pictures would always tie into the case we were working on in some fashion. In this case, they were staring up, at the sky. I didn’t know how well my phone could take a picture of the stars, but I figured if it would get the dogs moving, then so be it.

  I had just activated my camera app and snapped a picture when a blip of light emerged from the east and streaked west. It was a shooting star! And, I might have even caught that on my phone!

  “A shooting star!” Jillian observed. “Look, Zachary. There goes another one!”

  Before I knew what was happening, shooting stars were everywhere! They were zinging in from every direction, and occurring every couple of seconds. The burst lasted about five minutes, and resulted in the four of us staring up at the sky with absolute wonder. Still armed with my phone, I started taking photo after photo, with the hopes of getting a few good shots.

  “Why would Sherlock and Watson care about shooting stars?” Jillian wondered aloud.

  I shrugged. “It has to do with that freakin’ diamond, I’m sure. After all, shooting stars are nothing but meteoroids entering our atmosphere. ET was found inside one of those meteorites. It all makes sense, I suppose.”

 
“Seems fairly straightforward,” Jillian decided. “Has either of them noticed anything out of the ordinary during this case?”

  “Please,” I scoffed. “Just about everything is, when it comes to those two. Let’s see, off the top of my head, there was the dumpster, but I think that was when we found the stolen pills.”

  “What else?” Jillian pressed.

  “Well, I remember one of the grocery stores had a mylar balloon in it. Sherlock was absolutely fascinated with it. I knew it was connected to the case when I snapped a picture of it and he promptly lost interest.”

  “Simply amazing,” Jillian said.

  “The list goes on and on, I’m afraid. Just once, I’d like to solve a case without their help.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you can do it,” Jillian assured me.

  Right on cue, both dogs snorted, in unison.

  “Thanks for the support, guys. It means the world. Snots.”

  Jillian laughed, Sherlock gave me his famous stink-eye look, and Watson? She wriggled with delight when I stopped to give her ears a good scratching. Sherlock’s scornful look at his packmate had me extending Watson’s ear scratching by a few more seconds.

  “Are you a fan of astronomy?” I eagerly asked.

  Jillian nodded. “I am. It’s probably why I like sci-fi as much as I do. I love watching the stars. I could lose myself for hours.”

  “This confirms it,” I said, after noticing the amount of meteors appeared to be slowing. “I’m going to get my telescope reassembled.”

  “You have a telescope?” Jillian asked, impressed. “Do you know what kind?”

  I nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s an 8” Schmidt—Cassegrain, on a computerized mount. If I could ever figure it out, I could get my tablet to interface with it and control what I was looking at with it.”

  “I’m not sure what ‘Cassegrain’ means,” Jillian said, “but I do know the larger the aperture, the farther it can see. It sounds like you have a powerful telescope.”

  “The best part is the mount. It’s all computerized.”

  “Which means what, exactly?”

  “Once aligned, I can use my tablet to see what the sky looks like from my present location, and automatically tell my telescope to look for a certain object. Planets, nebulae, galaxies; anything that’s in the Star Register, it should be able to find it. But, that’s not the best part.”