“Shipping invoices,” I announced, as I showed the picture to the group. “Why, or how, that’s important is beyond me, I’m sorry to say.”
“Shipping invoices,” Vance repeated, as he took my phone to study the images for himself. “This was, what, two days ago, wasn’t it?”
“Right. I figure the dogs perked up because it was yet another reference to a shipment of cranberries, and Gary told us that his entire order of the berries had been taken.”
Some soft ooohs and aaahs echoed throughout the room. After a few moments, when no more questions were forthcoming, I moved on to the next set. Looking down at the display, I broke out in a grin. They were the pictures I had taken of our excursion to pick out a Christmas tree yesterday. Surprisingly, the nighttime pictures had turned out quite well!
“Jillian and I headed out yesterday to …” I trailed off as I realized the amount of crap I was probably going to be given, especially by this particular group of friends, if I revealed what we had been doing. Steeling myself, I took a deep breath and just spit it out. “… pick out a Christmas tree.”
Harry snorted with surprise. “It’s not even Thanksgiving, bro.”
“I know, Harry. Jillian’s family is used to decorating early.”
“Now, that is a good idea,” Tori decided, as she looked over at her husband. A knowing smile appeared on her face, which had Vance groaning with dismay. Tori looked back at my fiancée and nodded. “Where did you guys go?”
“To the Mansons,” Jillian said, by way of explanation.
“I haven’t purchased a tree from them in a few years,” Tori said. “Neither of us have anything planned for Saturday. I think we’ll head up there and pick out a tree, too. Thanks for the idea, Jillian!”
“You’re more than welcome,” Jillian said.
“Yeah, thanks, pal,” Vance quietly grumbled.
I grinned at my detective friend and gave him a mock salute. I then held up my phone and waggled it.
“This last set of pictures are obviously from yesterday,” I said, as I rotated my phone so that the display was facing out. “I …”
“Are those shooting stars?” Tori asked, incredulous. “Zack, you should submit those to a magazine, or something. Those look really cool!”
“We lucked out, that’s for sure,” I recalled, as I gave Jillian’s hand a squeeze. “This happened near the end of the trip. We had selected a tree, arranged for the delivery, and then stepped back outside. Both dogs then stopped and looked up at the stars. When they didn’t budge, I decided to humor them, like I usually do, and took a picture, only I took it just as soon as the first shooting star appeared.”
Victoria held out her hand, hoping I’d give her the phone so she could have a better look. Once I did, and she and her sister fawned over them for a few minutes, she passed it back.
“How did you get so many shots of the shooting stars?” Tiffany quietly asked me.
“Those pictures don’t do it justice,” I told the girl. “There were so many stars shooting by us that it was rather hard to miss. It lasted about five minutes, and there had probably been at least a couple hundred shooting stars altogether.”
“Meteoroids,” Victoria proudly announced. “They’re not really shooting stars, but meteoroids.”
“Don’t you mean meteorites?” Vance hesitantly asked his oldest daughter.
“No, dad. Meteoroids are what you call objects falling through space. A meteorite is what they’re called if they strike the Earth.”
I had to admit, I had heard the term before, but I never thought I would have it explained to me by a 13-year-old teenager.
“Nicely done,” Tori praised. “Someone has been paying attention to her science class. I’m proud of you, Vicki.”
The teenager flushed with embarrassment. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Do you like astronomy?” Jillian asked the girl.
Victoria nodded. My fiancée then pointed at me. “So do I. So does Zachary. In fact, Zachary has a big, fancy telescope in his garage that he’s going to have reassembled. Once he does, I’m sure he’d love to show it to you.”
The girl brightened with interest.
“The telescope,” I quietly mused. “That reminds me of something.”
“What?” Jillian asked.
“I obviously go through the garage whenever I’m getting in or out of the Jeep,” I began. “On several occasions, I’ve noticed Sherlock and Watson staring at something in the garage, and I’m quite certain it’s the trunk where I’m storing that telescope. Coincidence?”
“That word doesn’t belong in your vocabulary,” Vance informed me. “At least, not where your dogs are concerned. They were interested in a telescope? That’s not too surprising. After all, we’re talking about an extraterrestrial diamond.”
I made a point of placing my cell back in my pocket. Because I knew it’d garner a few laughs, I adopted my ‘old British dude’ persona. “There you have it, ladies and gents. The evidence has been placed before you. What do you make of it?”
Vance snorted with laughter. “Well, we can easily see the references to the cranberries. And the telescope? Obviously meant to refer to outer space.”
“Colin’s backpack?” I pressed. “The gardener’s kid? Or, more specifically, his game?”
“That game is set in outer space,” Vance pointed out. “No big surprise there.” His cell started to ring. “Hang on a sec. Hello? Yes, this is Detective Vance Samuelson. I … what’s that? You found what? Well, it’s a start, I guess. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll run it by my consultants and see what … yes, those consultants. Yes, I’ll give Sherlock and Watson a pat for you. Thank you. You have yourself a good evening.”
“A fan of the dogs?” I guessed.
“That was Brigitte,” Vance explained. “She’s new, and has only been manning the front desk for a few weeks now. She was told to pass on a message to me. Zack? They dug into Peter Grant’s life and found what they’re calling a ‘faint’ connection to PV.”
This got everyone’s attention, including myself.
“Oh? Whatcha got, buddy?”
“Peter Grant has a former classmate who is currently living here, in Pomme Valley.”
“Where?” Harry wanted to know.
“On G Street,” Vance reported.
Right about then, I noticed my fiancée reach for my phone. Having long since programmed one of her fingerprints into my phone’s memory, she unlocked it and brought up the pictures. Silently, she flipped through the last two dozen or so before she stopped. Studying the image intently, she then moved to a different image. After a few moments of silence, Jillian excitedly turned to me, and then reached across the table to tap Vance’s hand.
“Vance? I think you’d better get out to that former classmate’s house, on the double. You are probably going to want to hurry!”
Vance stared at her for a few seconds. “Why?”
“Because Zachary is right. Peter Grant is still in PV, and I’m pretty sure he’s currently hiding at his classmate’s house!”
TEN
“You are going to have to explain yourself,” Vance calmly told Jillian. “You think Peter is hiding out at his former classmate’s place? Sure, there’s a mathematical chance that could happen, but what I want to know is, why do you sound so certain Peter Grant is there?”
Still holding my phone, Jillian spun it around to show me what she was looking at, which was, surprisingly enough, the mylar flower balloon. The Happy 7th Birthday balloon, if you want to get technical. I took my phone back and stared at the picture. Vance rose to his feet and stood behind me so that he, too, could study the photograph.
“What are we looking at besides a balloon?” he wanted to know.
I gave him my phone. “Not a clue. Maybe someone is celebrating their seventh birthday? I don’t know.”
Jillian stretched out a hand. She wanted the phone back.
“And then there’s this one.”
We were now
looking at the picture I took of the hardware aisle at El Gato, in Medford. I looked at the hanging numbers and letters and then looked back at her with a healthy dose of skepticism on my face.
“I think you’re gonna have to throw us a lifeline, my dear.”
“The number seven,” Jillian explained. “I think that’s what the dogs were looking at in this picture.”
“The number seven,” Vance slowly repeated, “and a balloon with Happy 7th Birthday on it. What about it?”
Just then, Tori gave a visible start. She then smiled at Jillian and then back at me. “You have yourself one smart cookie there.”
“Don’t I know it. Jillian? What’s so special about the seven?”
“What is the seventh letter of the alphabet?” Jillian asked, as though she was addressing a classroom full of students.
Vance, Harry, and I immediately started ticking off letters on our fingers as we worked our way up.
“G,” Julie reported. “Oh! Didn’t you say that Peter’s classmate lived off of G Street?”
“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Vance muttered. He checked his watch, and then looked apologetically at his wife, who promptly pointed at Vance’s plate.
“Finish your food, then you can go play.”
You would have thought Vance was eating the last meal he was ever going to have. He scarfed his dinner down and looked over at me. For the record, I’m a quick eater. I’d been done for a few minutes.
“Go,” Tori laughed. “Go catch the bad guy.”
In response, Vance looked over at Jillian, who wore the same expression on her face. “It’s okay. Take Zack. Be safe.”
I gave my sweetie a quick kiss before I hastily pushed away from the table and hurried to catch up to Vance.
“I think we should pick up the dogs,” my detective friend announced, as we left the restaurant’s parking lot. “Just in case.”
“That’s fine by me. Sherlock and Watson would love to spread some of their DNA in here.”
Vance swept an arm around the insides of his car. “This is a 1984 Cutlass Supreme. It’s the finest vehicle Oldsmobile made with a diesel engine.”
“But, it’s beige!” I protested. “You really ought to trade this thing in.”
“I love this car,” Vance argued.
“What kind of gas mileage do you get?”
“In its prime, it got a whopping 19 miles per gallon.”
“And now?” I cautiously asked, knowing there was no way in hell it could be maintaining that level of efficiency.
“I don’t know. Maybe 10?”
“Listen to that engine. You said this beast is a diesel?”
Vance shrugged. “So?”
“How many horses does this thing have?”
“A record-shattering 105. So, do you really think I’m concerned with what happens to this car?”
“Then, why not get rid of it and get something newer?” I asked.
“There’s no car payment on this baby,” Vance proudly informed me.
“There’s no car payment on my Jeep, either,” I pointed out. “And it’s, what, thirty years newer?”
“Yeah, yeah. You sound like Tori.”
Twenty minutes later, we were speeding toward G Street, with the dogs happily lounging in the back seat. According to my navigation app on my phone, the address we were headed to was on the northeastern side of town. In fact, the dogs and I frequent this part of town, usually two to three times a week. Why? Well, G Street happens to be the western border of PV’s second largest park. Being the closest park to the winery, this is where we typically end up when the dogs need to burn off some energy.
We pulled up to a single-story rambler, which was directly across the street from some type of daycare center. The house was neat, tidy, and had a freshly mown lawn. The first thing I thought of, after studying the house for a few moments, was that whoever lived there must’ve been a responsible homeowner, since the house looked like it had been well-cared for.
Vance briefly glanced at the house with the low-pitched roof before he beckoned me to join him.
“What about the dogs?” I quietly asked.
“We don’t need them yet. Will they be okay in the car?”
I looked through the windows into the sedan’s back seat. Both corgis were sprawled out, awake for the time being, but I’d say only moments away from falling asleep.
“They’re fine. But, I don’t want to leave them out here by themselves for too long.”
“Gotcha. Let’s go.”
“Are we really allowed to do this? I mean, don’t we need a warrant?”
“Already phoned it in. Captain Nelson is trying to get a judge to sign off on it.”
“Just because of the clues Sherlock and Watson found?”
“If the captain manages to reach Judge Warren first, then we’ll have that warrant in no time.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because the judge is a fan of the dogs. She’s an ardent admirer. Are you ready? Let’s do this.”
Together, we approached the front door. Vance readied his police ID and, with his hand resting on the butt of his revolver, knocked on the door.
“Stephen Carlson, my name is Vance Samuelson. I’m a detective with the Pomme Valley police department. Are you home?”
No answer.
Not to be deterred, Vance tried again, and this time, he knocked harder. Right then, I detected movement in my peripheral vision. Something had moved, and it was on my right. Glancing that way, I saw that the curtains covering the front window were slightly swaying. Someone had just peeked through!
“There’s someone here,” I urgently whispered. “I think our friend Mr. Carlson just looked out the window.”
“How do you know?” Vance quietly asked.
“The curtain just moved. Someone had to have just looked out.”
“We know you’re in there. Please open up, Mr. Carlson.”
We heard someone fumbling on the other side of the door, and then heard a chain rattle a few times, as though it had been unhooked and was now swinging back and forth, striking the door as it did so. The front door cracked open and a tall, thin guy in his mid-twenties peered out at us. He was wearing a cherry red shirt with a white circle on the chest. Inside the circle was what looked like a rectangle with a spike driven through it, resulting in a skewed rectangle. I knew it was a logo for something, but for what, I didn’t know.
“Yes?”
“Didn’t you hear me knocking before?” Vance pleasantly asked the homeowner. I couldn’t help but notice a tiny bit of frustration had crept into his voice.
“Uh, no, sorry. I was playing a video game. Had my headphones on.”
“Uh-huh. Listen, as I said, my name is Detective Vance Samuelson. This is Zack Anderson, a consultant for the police. We’re here investigating the possibility that a former acquaintance of yours, one Peter Grant, could be here.”
“Wh-who?”
Vance’s eyes narrowed. My friend clearly wasn’t buying Stephen’s performance.
“Peter Grant. He was a former classmate of yours.”
“Peter. Yeah, I knew him in high school, but not well. What’s the matter? Has he done something wrong?”
“He’s wanted for questioning in the disappearance of a valuable artifact, stolen from Jacobsen Observatory in Washington State.”
“And you think he’s here?” Stephen scoffed. “Please. I haven’t seen or heard from Peter in years. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time.”
Stephen started to duck back inside and shut the door, but before he could, Vance jammed his foot forward, which kept the door from closing.
“Mind if we come in to look around?”
“Got a warrant?” Stephen asked, although if you were to ask me, it was a little defensive.
“Not yet,” Vance stated. “And I stress the word yet. If you’re hiding something, Mr. Carlson, now would be a good time to get in front of it. If you turn us away, when we just wa
nt to look around, then we’re going to be back with every cop in the city. Is that what you want?”
“But, I haven’t done anything wrong!” Stephen protested. His voice had risen to a whine, and he was fidgeting from one leg to the other. “What are you looking for?”
“Evidence someone else has been here,” Vance answered. “How many people live here?”
“Well …” Stephen slowly began.
“And I should point out that I already know the answer to this one,” Vance dryly added.
“… just me,” the homeowner hastily finished.
“Good answer. Now, may we come inside?”
Stephen Carlson reluctantly stepped away from the door. Without waiting to see if he’d have a change of heart, Vance strode inside. Not wanting to be excluded, I hastily followed my detective friend into the house.
The inside of the house was just as impeccable as the outside. Yes, the house was neat, it didn’t smell, and I couldn’t find a speck of dust anywhere. However, the décor of the place was something else.
This was the home of someone who was a fan of comic books and movies. And by fan, I mean superfan. I saw glass display cases with strange, costumed figurines inside. I saw several comic books, sealed in protective acrylic sleeves. There was even a collection of swords on the far wall, and because I was a sci-fi fan, I could easily pick out Bilbo Baggins’ sword, Sting; the sword wielded by Aragorn in the Lord of the Rings trilogy; and there was a life-sized replica of a Scottish Claymore, undoubtedly from the movie Braveheart. Models of spaceships sat on shelves, and I could see several signed pictures hanging on the wall.
No wonder the house looked so neat. Whatever this guy did for a living, he clearly made enough money to pay for a housekeeper and a gardener. Judging from the pale skin this guy had, I don’t think he spent any time outdoors at all.
“What do you do for a living?” Vance asked. I could tell my friend was trying to keep things casual and, hopefully, put this nerdy-looking guy at ease. “I like some of your collectibles in here.”
“Like you know what this stuff is,” Stephen scoffed. “These pieces are for serious collectors. And I’m an accountant.”
Case of the Great Cranberry Caper Page 16
