Case of the Pilfered Pooches

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  Surprised, the girl blinked a few times before turning to look at her fellow student, “Uh, okay, I guess. Why?”

  I turned to look at the boy, who grinned and shrugged nonchalantly.

  Satisfied, I looked back at the girl and nodded, “You’ll see.” Ignoring the kids, I then turned to Caden and pointed at the tiny glass of wine. “If you think I’m trying that without a can of soda here, pal, then you’re full of shit. There’s no way I’m tasting that nasty-ass crap without some way to remove the taste.”

  Both kids were laughing at me by now.

  “Zack isn’t a fan of wine,” Caden explained to the two students. “As such, he’s the perfect guinea pig whenever I’m working on a new recipe.”

  By this time, my arms were across my chest, a scowl was plastered on my face, and I was grumbling. Not only had Caden lured me out of the house and up into the winery under false pretenses (couldn’t get his key to unlock the front door), but then he wanted me to put on my guinea pig hat and try some new-fangled concoction he just revealed he’d been working on. I mentally vowed to install a hidden refrigerator and keep it well stocked with soda. This would mark the fourth time my winemaster had cornered me in my own winery.

  I was also fairly certain that, for every time it happened, I promised to install a mini-fridge. And yet, here we are. For the fourth time. Me… soda-less.

  “For Pete’s sake, Zack,” Caden complained as he held a small taster glass with several ounces of a dark, ruby-colored liquid out in front of him. “I’m not trying to dupe you into thinking I’m giving you shark blood, okay? This is just a small sample of a pinot noir I’ve got in the works.”

  “There’s no soda in here,” I flatly pointed out. “If you think that I’m willingly taking a sip of that wine – any type of wine – then you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “What’s got you so worried?” Caden asked. I could hear the exasperation creeping into his voice.

  “You,” I answered. “Don’t you remember what you said once I asked what it tasted like? Do you remember what you asked me?”

  Caden’s face broke out into a huge grin, “Er, something about country living?”

  “Not even close. You know damn well what you said. When I asked what it tasted like, you wanted to know if I had ever been to a farm. My answer, you will recall, was a very guarded ‘yes’. Then I asked why, only you changed the subject on me.”

  “What smells do you associate with a farm?” Caden asked as he winked at the two kids.

  “Smells? I always remember smelling hay. Animal poo. What’s your point? What does that have to do with wine?”

  “I think you’ll know once you try the wine.”

  “You think I want to try something that reminds me of animal crap? Are you freakin’ insane??”

  “It doesn’t taste like animal manure,” Caden assured me. “It just has a rustic smell to it, and that it reminded me of a barn.”

  “Oh, hell no.”

  “I’ll try it,” Doug volunteered, raising a hand.

  Kimberly shrugged and raised her hand, too.

  “How old are you two?” I asked.

  “I’m 17,” Kimberly answered.

  “Same here,” Doug added.

  “Nice try,” Caden told them, shaking his head. “You’re both underage. You have at least four years to wait before you’ll ever taste test the wine here. Besides, I know how much Zack loves the title of Official Test Subject. I’m constantly trying to find a recipe that he’ll drink. Something besides a dessert wine, that is.”

  “You don’t like wine?” Kimberly asked, amazed, as she turned to look at me. “Why would you buy a winery?”

  “I can’t stand wine,” I confirmed as I looked at Kimberly, “and I didn’t buy this winery. I inherited it. Thankfully, I don’t have to like the wine, although Caden here sure as hell does his damnedest to make me an oenophile. As such, he takes care of the place for me.”

  “A what?” Kimberly asked, confused.

  Caden was grinning at me.

  “Nice, Zack! You remembered the word. Even got the pronunciation right, too.”

  “Didn’t believe me when I told you my other job is a writer, did you?” I joked. I turned to Kimberly. “An oenophile is a connoisseur of wine.”

  “You’re a writer?” the girl asked, impressed. “Would I have read any of your books?”

  Caden’s smile threatened to split his face in two, “It’s a distinct possibility, especially if you read romance novels.”

  Kimberly sighed wistfully, “I love romance novels. They’re the only books worth reading.”

  “Psssht,” Doug scoffed. “Horror novels are the best. No one can compare to Stephen King.”

  “Which books have you written?” Kimberly wanted to know.

  I sighed. Ordinarily, I would have shied away from this particular topic. However, last Christmas, my mother let it slip to my friends here in PV just what type of books I write. Ever since, I’ve decided not to be ashamed of telling people that, when I’m not running a winery, I’m a romance writer. Still, it didn’t stop my face from turning as red as a Coke can. Damn that Caden!

  “The vast majority of the books I’ve released have been under a pseudonym. And that name is… hoo boy, you’re gone love this. Do you want to know the name that you might know me as? It’s ‘Chastity Wadsworth’.”

  Doug snickered, but Kimberly gasped aloud.

  “Chastity Wadsworth? The Chastity Wadsworth? No way! I’m a huge fan of your books! I have copies of everything you’ve ever released!”

  I grinned at the girl and gave a mock bow in her direction, “Why thank you, milady. Your patronage is greatly appreciated.”

  “I always thought ‘Chastity Wadsworth’ was a woman,” Kimberly continued. “Then again, I can understand why you’d want to keep your identity hidden. If I bring some of them here, would you sign them for me?”

  I nodded, “Sure! I’d love to.”

  Kimberly beamed her appreciation at me and then fell silent. I also couldn’t help but notice Doug’s snickers died off the moment he saw how infatuated Kimberly had suddenly become with Yours Truly. In fact, I could see that he wanted to ask me something, but was hesitant to bring it up.

  “What’s on your mind, Doug?”

  “You’ve written all these successful books. You must be making a ton of money with them. Why bother with this winery? I would have sold it and let someone else worry about it.”

  “How did you know the books were successful?” I asked. “I never mentioned that part.”

  It was Doug’s turn to blush.

  “Omigod!” Kimberly squealed. “You read romance novels, too!”

  “Do not,” Doug mumbled, clearly uncomfortable with the recent turn of events.

  “Which ones have you read?” Kimberly wanted to know. “Which series is your favorite? I absolutely love the Misty Plains series. Her latest book, Misty Moors, is fan-tabulous! Oh, I guess that’d be his latest book, not her. I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson.”

  “Call me Zack. And don’t worry about it.”

  “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” Doug grumbled. He looked around the sparkling clean storefront we were standing in and walked over to the display case, showcasing a selection of Lentari Cellars’ finest. “Talk about a sweet job,” Doug continued, in what I recognized as a desperate ploy to change the subject, “I mean, you’ve got your own winery and can charge whatever you want for a bottle.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Caden began, as he pulled the two teenagers away. “You have to factor in cost of production, demand, and…”

  As Caden led the two students into the heart of the winery, through the door marked “Staff Only”, I decided to make a break for the house. Sooner or later, Caden was going to realize I had managed to avoid trying his latest creation and would no doubt come looking for me. I had just unlocked my front door, and stepped inside, when my cell rang. The volume, unfortunately, was set loud enough to wake up both dogs
on the couch. Sherlock was spooked enough to fire off a warning woof at me.

  “Zack! I’m damn glad I caught you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere today, pal. It’s Wednesday, which means it’s a writing day. In fact, you couldn’t have timed it better. Caden is currently here, and I’m trying my best to avoid him. He’s got some new…”

  “Zack!” Vance all but shouted into the phone. The detective had timed my pauses well, because as soon as I had taken a breath, he interrupted me. “I hope you’re not busy, buddy.”

  The note of alarm in my friend’s voice spooked me.

  “No, not really. What is it? What’s happened?”

  “There’s been another dognapping.”

  “Son of a bitch!” I swore. “Just tell me it’s not another kid’s pet.”

  “I wish I could. Get down to the park. I’ll fill you in once you’re here.”

  “Which park? The one off of Oregon or the one on 8th?”

  “Oregon. Make it quick, Zack. And bring the dogs.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  “Whose pet do you suppose it is?” I quietly asked the dogs, as soon as I had stepped out of my Jeep and placed both of them on the ground.

  Sherlock and Watson stared up at me, ears fully raised.

  “Come on. Let’s go see if we can help out.”

  I noticed Vance and several other cops the moment we entered the park, so I had parked my car as close to him as possible. Upon hearing my Jeep, Vance had spun around and began moving toward me. Both Sherlock and Watson recognized the extended member of their pack and whined with anticipation.

  “Hey, you two,” Vance said, as he squatted down to pat the dogs on the head. “I sure do hope you can find something.”

  “So, what’s going on?” I asked my detective friend. “Whose dog was stolen? You indicated you knew the owner?”

  Vance nodded, “I did. This couldn’t have happened to a worse person. Do you see Captain Nelson over there, next to the water fountains?”

  I shielded my eyes from the sun and squinted, “Yes. You’re telling me someone was stupid enough to steal Captain Nelson’s dog?”

  “No, although you’re close. Do you see the woman and the girl he’s standing next to?”

  I looked where he indicated and noticed a woman with a protective arm around a young girl. The two of them were gently rocking back and forth.

  “I do. Who are they?”

  “The woman is Valerie, and the girl is Sydney. They’re the captain’s daughter and granddaughter.”

  “Oh, snap.”

  “It gets worse,” Vance quietly confided. “Sydney, who you can see is no more than 9 or 10, is autistic. Her dog is a specially trained therapy dog.”

  I groaned, “That sick son of a bitch stole a kid’s therapy dog? Man alive, how low can you go? Hey, what kind of dog are we looking for?”

  “We’re looking for a one year-old beagle,” Vance informed me. “Snoopy was just over a year old and was fresh out of obedience school that all therapy dogs in training are required to go through. From what the captain has told me, Sydney and Snoopy bonded almost instantly. The family needs to get this dog back, Zack. Words cannot express how important it is that we get this dog back.”

  “It’s important we get all these dogs back,” I countered, “not just the one. Don’t worry, we’ll see what we can find.”

  “Hold up. Let me finish taking these statements and I’ll go with you.”

  While Vance interviewed several anxious-looking bystanders, I saw Captain Nelson suddenly glance my way. A look of grim resolve appeared on his face. He broke away from the group of people and started walking in my direction. I had to check behind me to see if there was someone else he might be angling for. Unfortunately, there wasn’t.

  “Mr. Anderson.”

  I nodded at the police captain, “Captain.”

  My two dogs promptly sat in unison, as though they had been given a strict order. Sherlock whined as he looked upon the newcomer. Captain Nelson squatted down next to the corgis and gave each of them an affectionate pat on the head. He silently regarded my dogs for a few moments and then slowly stood up. Then he cast a quick glance around us, as if checking for eavesdroppers.

  “Mr. Anderson,” the captain said again as he dropped his voice, “I’m hoping you’ve already talked to Detective Samuelson? I assume that’s why you’re here?”

  “Unofficially,” I assured the captain. “We’ll try not to get in anyone’s way.”

  Captain Nelson grit his teeth, “Well, let’s make it official, and keep it quiet. I’d like you and your, uh, companions, on the case. Help Vance locate my granddaughter’s dog. Will you do that for me?”

  Surprised, I could only nod.

  “Standard pay for police consultants is…”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” I interrupted. “I’m not worried about money.”

  “Standard pay for consultants,” Captain Nelson continued, ignoring my protest, “is two hundred a day, plus any expenses incurred while on the case. Be sure to keep all your receipts and turn them in to Becky once this infernal dognapper has been located.”

  Becky – as you have probably guessed – handled all of the department’s finances. She also helped Julie man the phones and handle all the department’s media relations. I told you PV was a small town.

  I nodded, still amazed that I was now on the payroll of the PVPD.

  “Good. Find Sydney’s dog. We need… oh. I guess I should be talking to you two. Sherlock, Watson, find that beagle. I’m counting on you both. Don’t let me down.”

  Both corgis were staring up at the captain, not moving a muscle. Sherlock snorted once, stood up, and gave himself a vigorous shake. After a few seconds, Watson mimicked her packmate.

  “Do you have anything that belongs to Snoopy that might smell like him?” I asked, before the captain could walk away.

  Captain Nelson stared at me for a few moments.

  “Come on,” I insisted. “I’ve seen the shows. I’ve got the dogs here. They may not be bloodhounds, but it might help them follow a trail if they know what scent they’re looking for.”

  “Just a moment. Sydney was throwing a ball around. I’ll see if she still has it.”

  A few minutes later, I was handed a purple tennis ball. The captain nodded once at me and then hurried back to his family. I saw him lay a sympathetic hand on his granddaughter’s shoulder. I spotted Vance, nodded towards the open woods, and headed off. The detective met me at the wood’s edge, and, without saying a word, passed him Watson’s leash. Together, the two of us headed towards the same path I had been on a few days ago.

  “What was that all about?” Vance wanted to know, once we were inside the woods and away from prying eyes.

  “The captain just hired me as a consultant.”

  Surprised, Vance turned to me and pulled me to a stop.

  “Are you sure? He hasn’t used a consultant in years, let alone offered to pay them.”

  “I tried to tell him not to worry about the money, but he ignored me. He wants us to find his granddaughter’s dog as soon as possible.”

  Vance nodded glumly, “Understandable. From what I hear, that little beagle has worked miracles on his granddaughter. Having a pet is oftentimes the best therapy you can give an autistic child. I wasn’t kidding when I said Snoopy was a therapy dog.”

  “We’ll find him,” I vowed. “Sherlock, Watson, go do your thing. We need to find this dog as quickly as possible, okay? Wait a moment. Here, you two. Take a whiff of this. This… no, this isn’t for you. It’s not a toy.”

  Both corgis stared at me as though I was the dumbest thing on two legs.

  “Well, okay, fine. This is a toy, but it’s not for you. Can you smell the other dog on this thing? That’s who we need to find.”

  Sherlock sniffed once, turned on his heel, and tugged on his leash. Encouraged, I gave him some slack and started to follow. Vance stepped aside to let us take the lea
d. I couldn’t help but notice that his right hand was resting on the butt of his service revolver on his right hip. Here’s hoping he wouldn’t have to use it.

  Just as we rounded the first bend, which consequently blocked all views of the park behind us, Vance and I paused as we heard voices chatting animatedly about something I couldn’t make out. The voices grew louder, which prompted Sherlock to let out a warning woof. Watson’s ears jumped straight up and she added her own soft growls to that of her packmate’s.

  Nearly a dozen senior citizens, out for a walk in the park, appeared on the path. Every single one of them was wearing fanny packs with a bottle of water on each hip. Two of the women were pushing strollers. Also worth noting was each of the elderly ladies had on a big, floppy, purple hat. These women must’ve belonged to some type of club.

  “Top of the morning,” Vance offered, as he gave the women a smile. “Have any of you ladies noticed anything out of the ordinary today?”

  All ten women looked up at Vance at the same time, as if they were just now noticing that they weren’t alone. Conversations were abruptly silenced as the women stared at Vance, mouths agape. One by one, the small group of seniors looked over at me. The woman at the head of the group, who happened to be pushing a stroller, cleared her throat and approached Vance.

  “Well, hello there, young man. Isn’t it a glorious day? And what do you mean, out of the ordinary? This is Pomme Valley. We pride ourselves on good, clean living. You won’t find anything amiss here.”

  Vance’s face reddened, “Er, I wasn’t insinuating that you were doing anything illegal, only that…”

  My tongue-tied friend trailed off as he looked at me. I could see he was flustered. By a group of old ladies? Come on, buddy. You’re a cop. You shouldn’t be intimidated by a bunch of geriatrics.

  “We’re looking for a beagle,” I told the women. “One was reported missing from around here. He was a little girl’s companion and she desperately needs him back.”

  “You’re looking for a missing dog?” another woman gasped as she placed a hand over her heart. “Oh, heavens no! Not another one! That poor little girl.”