“I personally love that Sting sword,” I said, as I grinned at the guy. “I love anything from Middle Earth.”
Stephen’s face lit up. His hesitation was gone, as was the cold shoulder he had been giving us.
“If you think that’s cool, then you should check out that display case over there. Recognize what’s in it?”
I glanced in the direction Stephen had been pointing. “It looks like Bilbo’s ring. Or Frodo’s, if you want to get technical.”
“It’s an authentic replica,” Stephen proudly declared. “Cost me $149.95.”
“What a nerd,” I heard Vance softly grumble. I elbowed him in the stomach to shut him up.
Vance began to wander around the living room. Catching sight of the kitchen, he started in that direction when a loud clatter had both of us turning around. Stephen was there, on his hands and knees, hastily scraping a spilled stack of some type of cards back into a case.
“Sorry. I’m a bit clumsy.”
“What are those?” I curiously asked. “Baseball cards?”
“Oh, heavens no. These are the serial killer cards that were used in the Addams Family movie, particularly by Wednesday Addams’ little friend, Joel.”
“You certainly know your movies,” I observed, amazed. “And are these the actual cards used on screen?”
“Well, no, they’re replicas,” Stephen admitted. “Hey! You don’t need to go in there. The kitchen is a mess.”
It was too late. Vance was standing in the kitchen and slowly turning in a circle. He looked over at Stephen and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Are you baking something, Mr. Carlson? Perhaps, something with cranberries?”
“Cranberries?” I repeated, as I frowned. “Where’d you manage to find those? My fiancée needs some and I can’t find a bag of those berries to save my soul.”
“Er, maybe I have a bag you could have?” Stephen anxiously told me. “I, er, have a tendency to buy more than I can use. Let me check my freezer.”
I walked through the open archway and entered the kitchen. My eyes widened with surprise as I took in no fewer than five empty bags of cranberries. Three were scattered across the counter and two were in the sink. Vance caught my eye. That’s when I noticed he was holding his phone. Right then, my phone chirped like a cricket. It’s a strange tone to have assigned to incoming texts, I know, but I kinda like it.
CHECK TRASH OUTSIDE
I nodded. “Stephen? I’ll be right back. I have my dogs in the car and I just need to be certain they’re okay.”
“Uh, sure. No problem.”
To maintain the illusion, Vance tossed me the keys as I hurried outside. I checked the sides of the house for a trash can, but naturally, I came up short. Maybe they were stored in the garage? There was one way to find out.
I let the dogs out of Vance’s car and was immediately pulled to the garage. Yep, the trash cans had to be in there, and what were the chances they’d be full of discarded cranberry bags? About to text Vance that there were no trash cans outside, I paused. Damned if I didn’t just tilt my head, like a dog who had heard a curious noise.
I had just heard a window sliding open, and from the sounds of it, it was close. A clattering followed, suggesting that whoever had opened it just pushed the screen loose and let it fall to the ground. Flattening myself against the side of the house, I waited to see who, or what, had made the noise. Then, I heard a soft thud, as if someone had jumped from the window and landed just around the corner from me. Stepping away from the garage door, I came face-to-face with a surprised young guy who was dressed in a dark brown shirt that had a bandolier printed across the chest, stretching from the left shoulder down to the right hip, and a pair of khakis. An odd mix, I remember thinking, but the geeky-looking kid managed to pull it off. He took one look at me, let out a squawk of surprise, and immediately sprinted down the driveway and out onto the street.
Remembering I had Vance’s keys, I tossed them by the sedan’s front driver’s wheel and took off after the kid. It had to be Peter Grant. Who else would have run away like that? Especially coming from this house?
Since I had been on several foot pursuits before, I already knew that my ability to carry on a conversation dwindled rapidly the longer I was running. Quickly dialing Vance, I gave Sherlock and Watson as much slack on their leash as I could, and started running.
“Zack? What are you …”
“Vance! I’m in pursuit! Peter Grant was there, and he snuck out of the house while I was outside!”
“You rock, Zack! I … you’ve got my keys!”
“N-no … threw th-them by th-the front wheel …”
“Don’t have a heart attack, buddy. I’m heading outside now. Yes! I see my keys! Where are you?”
“H-h-heading u-up G …”
“Roger that. Have you passed Pinetop yet?”
“J-just d-did.”
It felt like my lungs were on fire. I couldn’t catch my breath, my legs felt like lead, and I’m honestly surprised I didn’t keel over and collapse. Seriously, what was the point of putting all that time and energy on my stupid tread-climber when I sounded like a chain-smoking asthmatic after only thirty seconds of running? It was embarrassing.
I heard an engine approach. Thankful that Vance had been able to catch up to me in a matter of moments, I turned to wave him down, only the car I was staring at did not belong to my friend. I was looking at a very familiar Corvette Stingray. Behind the wheel, and looking at me with a wide-eyed expression, was Dottie.
The ’Vette skidded to a stop and Dottie leapt out of the driver’s seat.
“Zack? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“C-can I g-get a r-ride? Ch-chasing s-suspect.”
“You’re chasing someone? And you want me to drive? Omigod! This is the best day ever! Sure, hop in! Sherlock? Watson? Get in the back, guys! Hurry!”
As if riding inside a retro sports car was something they did on a daily basis, the corgis leapt onto the passenger seat and immediately took the small ‘cargo’ space behind the two primary seats. Locking my seatbelt in place as I closed the door, I was about to thank Dottie for her timely intervention when she shifted into first and popped the clutch. With nearly 400 horses under the hood, the ’Vette leapt forward as though it had been shot out of a cannon.
Dottie, it would seem, had become an expert at driving her late mother’s sports car.
“Where is he?” Dottie wanted to know. “Do you see him? What does he look like?”
“There he is!” I cried, as I wildly gestured to the right. “Do you see him? He’s … watch out! He’s doubled back!”
Sure enough, our perp had discovered he was being followed, and had switched directions. Instead of veering off and changing directions, Peter simply reversed course and was now running south on G Street, seemingly straight toward us. After a few moments, I realized what else was in that direction besides the house he had been hiding in. I hastily dialed Vance.
“He’s headed for the park!”
“You sound better. Get your second wind?”
“I’m with Dottie. She’s driving!”
“Dottie Hanson? That’ll work. I’m just approaching Pinetop, and I don’t see him. Where is he? Whoa! What the hell? Jeez, someone was in a hurry.”
“Dude, that was us! We’re in the blue ’Vette!”
“Oh. Are you telling me that he made it by me? How?”
“Who knows? If he makes it to that park, then there’s a really good chance he’ll get away. That park is huge, and backs up to the forest on the eastern side.”
“I’m turning around. Find him, Zack!” The phone went dead.
“Dottie? Stop here. We need to get out.”
“Do you see him?” Dottie asked, as she anxiously peered left, then right.
“No, I don’t know where he is, but those two? They can find him.”
“Ah. Want me to stay close? I can help!”
“Vance is on the way. I owe you lunc
h, Dottie!”
“I’ll be sure to collect! Good luck!”
Unloading the dogs, I was about to tell them what we were here for, but Sherlock and Watson surprised me by immediately pulling me east, deeper into the park. I gave the dogs plenty of slack and encouraged them to run, only they didn’t. What was this? What were they doing?
“Come on,” I urged. “You can’t tell me you don’t know where he is. Dogs have a great sense of smell. Sniff him out!”
Both dogs remained motionless, resembling two furry statues. I could barely tell they were breathing. This was new.
A twig snapped loudly nearby. I looked down at the dogs, expecting them to go tearing off in the direction the noise had come from, only they didn’t. Then it became clear what they were doing. They knew Peter was close and neither corgi wanted to alert him that we were nearby.
Hearing a car’s engine grow steadily louder, I quickly typed out a message to Vance, telling him to keep driving and don’t stop. Peter was hiding nearby and the last thing we wanted was to spook him.
Thankfully, my detective friend got the message and didn’t stop his car. The dogs and I watched Vance’s beige-colored piece of crap pass and then, noticing how quiet the dogs still were, I dropped to a crouch next to them. Together, we waited to see what Peter was going to do.
I will give the astronomy intern credit. He waited a full ten minutes before he moved. Sherlock and Watson didn’t move a muscle the entire time. As for me? Well, I had to maintain that crouch for ten minutes. To say that I was sore was an understatement. I’m surprised my legs and I were still on speaking terms after giving them the order to resume pursuit. Peter had moved off, and I could tell he was trying to be as quiet as possible, but I could still hear him. After all, we were in a forest setting, with needles, broken branches, and acorns strewn about the ground. It was fundamentally impossible to move in any direction without stepping on something that would snap underfoot.
Hearing the footsteps start to fade, I gave the leashes a gentle tug, signaling it was time to go. Sherlock and Watson moved off, but I couldn’t help but notice we weren’t headed east, but north. Wasn’t that the way we had come?
“What the hell is he up to?” I softly wondered aloud. “He’s doubled back again?”
Sherlock let out a soft snort, as though he was trying to tell me I was making too much noise. Shrugging, we continued on, choosing our steps with care. And, I must say the dogs led me through the woods without producing so much as a sound. We didn’t step on any branches, or dried leaves, or anything..
For the next ten minutes, the dogs and I silently pursued our perp. Yes, Peter stuck to the woods, but it wasn’t as bad as you might think. We stayed within sight of G Street the entire time. In fact, I caught sight of Peter several times, squatting next to bushes and fearfully peering out from behind trees. If he was checking to see if he was being followed, and I’m sure he was, then he was totally looking in the wrong direction. Peter, it would seem, thought for certain he was still being pursued by someone in a car.
I watched Peter hide behind yet another tree and, after checking to be certain the coast was clear, he emerged triumphantly from his hiding place. After all, it had been nearly 15 minutes since Vance had driven by. Speaking of Vance, I was honestly surprised he hadn’t called. Then again, he also knew I was pursuing Peter, so I’m sure my detective friend didn’t want to give me away.
Progress was slow, and I got the impression Peter was making sure no one happened to be following on foot. The dogs and I tracked him north for another few minutes when I realized what he was doing. Pulling out my cell, I fired off a text to Vance.
STILL PURSUING. HE’S HEADING BACK TO G ST HOUSE.
Vance must’ve been waiting, because I had a response back in less than five seconds.
GOT IT. HEADED BACK NOW. FIGURED HE’D RETURN. PARKED NEARBY.
By the time I made it back to Stephen Carlson’s house, Vance was already there. Peter was there, too, and had his hands cuffed behind his back.
“Nicely done!” I praised, as Stephen sullenly let me through the door. I glanced at the homeowner and hooked a thumb in his direction. “What about him?”
“We’ll let Captain Nelson decide what to do with him,” Vance informed me, as he pulled Peter to his feet. “For the record, Mr. Carlson has been cooperating, so I’m thinking charges will probably not be levied against him.”
“What do you think the captain will do?” I asked.
“Ask him yourself. He’s on his way here.”
“He is? Did he say why?”
“He wants to be certain ET is found and returned to his alma mater. At least, that’s my guess.”
“Did Peter give you much trouble?”
We both looked at the former intern, who was hanging his head and refused to look either of us in the eye.
“Caught him just as he was coming in the back door. Gave up without a fight.”
I looked at the young, twenty-something guy wearing the brown Wookie shirt. He was as skinny as Stephen, had impeccably-styled brown hair, and was still out of breath. The guy did not look healthy at all. I could only assume he spent just as much time outside as his former classmate. And by that, I mean none.
“Do I need to call you an ambulance?” Vance cautiously asked. “You’re still wheezing pretty bad.”
“I’m fine,” Peter grumped.
“When was the last time you got some exercise?” I asked.
Peter glared at me for a few moments before dropping his eyes down to the ground again. I watched him look at the dogs and smile briefly.
“I want a lawyer.”
“You’re going to need it,” Vance said. “You stole a nine carat extraterrestrial diamond, sport. Then, you hid the thing in a bag of cranberries.”
“You then broke into six different grocery stores,” I added, “and did a lot of damage. If you want to help yourself out, then you’d best be letting us know where ET is.”
Peter remained tight-lipped and refused to look up from the floor.
“Look, kid,” Vance began, “I can’t begin to imagine what possessed you to pull this off. Financial troubles or bragging rights, whatever the case may be, you’re not good at it.”
I noticed Peter’s eyes had narrowed. Oh, he was listening, all right.
“Keep going!” I silently mouthed to Vance, who nodded.
My friend began ticking off points on his fingers. “You are a terrible lock picker, your diversions were atrocious, and you chose to ditch the merchandise you stole less than a mile from the place where you stole it. What does that tell us? You’re no professional, but an amateur.”
“I told you,” Stephen accused, as he looked at his former classmate. “Didn’t I tell you that you hadn’t thought this through?”
“Shut up,” Peter grumbled.
“He’s not wrong,” Vance pointed out. He pushed Peter down onto one of the chairs circling the dinner table. “Come on, kid, ’fess up. Where’d you stash the diamond?”
“I’m not saying anything else without a lawyer being present,” Peter insisted.
Right about that time, we heard sirens in the distance. From the sounds of things, the entire PV police force was on their way here. As the wailing of the sirens grew to a level where I had to cover my ears, the dogs stretched out on the linoleum floor, as though they didn’t have a care in the world.
“Where is he?” Captain Nelson demanded, as he strode through the door. He and a steady stream of police officers barged through the open door. The captain caught sight of Stephen Carlson, who was about to open his mouth to protest, when a pair of handcuffs were produced. “Do you like jewelry, Mr. Carlson? I’m giving you leniency at the moment. Continue to cooperate, and these might not be in your future.”
Stephen hastily nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Please, er, make yourselves comfortable.”
The captain approached the dinner table, pulled out a chair, and spun it around. Captain Nelson never brok
e eye contact as he straddled the chair and clasped his hands in front of him.
“Mr. Peter Grant. We’ve been looking for you. I hear you have something that doesn’t belong to you. Produce this space diamond, the one you stole from the observatory, and I’ll try to put in a good word with the district attorney.”
“I don’t have it,” Peter quietly murmured.
“Who does?” Vance asked.
“No one.”
“Which means you’ve hidden it,” Vance decided.
Peter shrugged. “It means that I’ve lost it. I have no idea where ET is. I thought I could track down the right bag, but evidently, I was wrong. I can only assume someone must have bought the bag before I could get to it.”
“And what would you have us believe you’ve been doing these past couple of days?” Captain Nelson politely inquired. Based on his tone, I could tell the captain wasn’t buying any of Peter’s explanations.
“I knew I was a person of interest,” Peter admitted, using a soft-spoken voice. “I was just trying to lay low, and stay out of the spotlight. I had to figure out what I needed to do next.”
“Have you?” Vance demanded.
“Have I what?” Peter wanted to know.
“Figured out what you’re going to do? That’s assuming I believe your story which, for the record, I don’t.”
Peter shrugged again. “Believe it, don’t believe it, I don’t care.”
I stared at Peter’s shirt and suddenly I was smiling. I knew! I actually knew what significance Colin’s backpack and those greeting cards at Gary’s Grocery had with regard to the case. What could it be, you ask? Well, Colin’s backpack had a picture of a very familiar space fighter on it. An X-Wing fighter, if you must know. As most people do know, and myself included, since I’m a huge fan, an X-Wing fighter belongs to the world of Star Wars. And the greeting cards? Sherlock and Watson had stopped to stare at them while we were in Gary’s Grocery. They were all Star Wars themed. And finally, the gardener’s boy, the one playing the video game? Well, it just so happened that particular game was an old-fashioned vector game, where you pilot your very own X-Wing fighter as you try to blow up as many TIE-fighters as you can. And finally, our friend Peter, here, is wearing a Chewbacca shirt.
Case of the Great Cranberry Caper Page 17
