“Excellent. Mr. Olson, what do you know about the other dog clubs here in Pomme Valley?”
“What do you want to know about them?” the post master returned. “And please call me ‘Willard’.”
Vance shook his head, “Not when I’m on duty, Mr. Olson. Now, are you familiar with any of them? Can you tell us who runs them?”
Willard nodded, “Of course.”
After a prolonged moment of silence, I sighed, as did Vance. We both were waiting to see if Willard was merely collecting his thoughts or else was painfully shy. Once it became obvious he was done talking, Vance scowled. Right away, however, I recognized what the uncommunicative Post Master was doing. He was behaving just like a computer. He wasn’t going to do (or say) a damn thing until he was asked. Hell, I wrote a character just like that into my last book.
I laid a hand on Vance’s shoulder, “Relax, pal. I’ve got this. Mr. Willard, is it?”
“I am Willard Olson, Post Master General of Pomme Valley.”
Leave it to me and my memory to goof the name.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Olson, er, Willard. Listen, this is a small town, right? You obviously know everyone in it, correct?”
Willard nodded.
“Therefore, if we were to ask you about the different dog clubs you’re aware of, you’d be able to tell us all about them, right?”
Willard nodded again, looking bored.
“Okay, Mr. Olson. Er, Willard. Sorry, force of habit. Please tell us what you know about any Pomme Valley dog clubs, including who runs them. Provided you know, of course.”
Willard began to speak, as if reciting lines of text on a teleprompter.
“Four dog clubs call Pomme Valley home,” the Post Master began. “Each of the four clubs belong to a separate AKC recognized group. Those groups are as follows: non-sporting, hound, toy, and herding. The first on the list, the non-sporting group, is officiated by Ruth Reezen.”
“Reezen,” I repeated, as Willard took a breath. I looked at Vance. “That name sounds familiar. Why?”
“You’re thinking of Don Reezen,” Vance answered. “He’s the principal of the high school. Ruth is his wife.”
“Ah. Got it.”
“They call themselves Paws & Effects,” Willard added.
“Clever,” Vance admitted.
“The hound group, otherwise known as the Savvy Sniffers, is presided over by Darryl Peniweather.”
Vance shook his head, “I’m not familiar with him.”
“He’s a registered nurse who works at Apple of My Eye Clinic,” Willard explained. “Would you mind telling me something, Lieutenant?”
“Detective,” Vance gently corrected. “And certainly. What would you like to know?”
Willard nodded his head in my direction, “I would like to know if you were planning on introducing me to your companion. I am not overly fond of a lack of proper formalities.”
I grinned sheepishly and stepped forward, at the same time Vance turned to me and waved me over.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Olson. Zack here has been uncharacteristically quiet, and I quite honestly forgot he was there.”
My smile vanished in the blink of an eye, “Bite me, dude.”
Thankfully, I saw a smile briefly appear on the elderly post master’s face.
“Mr. Olson, meet Zachary Anderson, owner of the finest winery this side of the Rascal River, Lentari Cellars.”
Willard’s eyes widened with surprise. I stepped forward and extended a hand. After a few moments of awkward silence, Willard shook it.
“Are you a fan of the winery?” I asked, hoping to get the old man talking.
Willard shook his head, “I’ve never cared for your wine, I’m sorry to say. However, I am a fan of your dogs. You are the owner of two corgis, are you not?”
I nodded, “That’s right. Sherlock and Watson. You’ve heard of them?”
“This whole town has heard of them,” Willard acknowledged. “I do believe I’ve extended the invitation to you several times to join the Nippers. However, I have yet to receive a response. As you may or may not be aware, Pembroke Welsh Corgis belong in the herding group.”
So that’s why I knew the name. He was right. I had seen several flyers appear in my mailbox, talking about enrolling the dogs in a local club. Truth be told, I thought they were advertisements for some type of dog show, and I had tossed them in trash. They were invitations to join a dog club? Good grief, I don’t have time for that. In addition, now that I’ve met the club president, I wasn’t convinced that it was something I wanted to participate in. The dogs were well loved, sure enough. As for me? Even though I’m certain Sherlock and Watson were better known than I will ever be, I still see an occasional finger point in my direction as I pass by. It’s an inevitable side effect of being charged with murder. It tends to make people remember you. So, for now, I’d just as soon keep to myself.
Besides, if I wanted to hang out with other dog owners, then there are easier ways to do it. Harry & Julie recently became new puppy parents when they recently picked up an 8 week old Australian Shepherd puppy. And, of course, Vance & Tori have a German Shepherd. Anubis was currently missing, but somehow I got the impression we would have the Samuelson family dog back safe and sound in just a few days. I finally felt like we were making progress on the case. Now, with regards to Willard here, I think I was in trouble. Something was telling me that he wasn’t going to let me off the hook. So, how do I play this? Feign ignorance?
“Umm, sorry? I didn’t realize what they were.”
“Did you even bother to read the flyer?” Willard asked me matter-of-factly, unwilling to let the matter drop.
“Er, no.”
“We, at the Nippers, are quite fond of Sherlock and Watson. Everyone talks about their exploits. I personally think those two would make a great addition to the club. What do you say, Mr. Anderson? Can we count on your support? May I enroll you and your dogs in the club?”
Son of a bitch. This dude had the bull by its horns and wasn’t about to let go until he got what he wanted. What was I supposed to do?
“Fine,” I sighed. “You can enroll Sherlock and Watson, provided…” I trailed off, hoping the insinuation was clear.
“Provided what?” Willard suspiciously asked.
“Provided you tell us what you can about the other dog clubs. It’s important, Mr. Olson.”
Willard shrugged, “Very well. Seeing how I’m already doing that, I will gladly accept the terms of your deal. You know about three of the four clubs, since we’ve covered Paws & Effects, Savvy Sniffers, and our own Northwest Nippers. The fourth is the Mini Me’s.”
“Let me guess,” Vance interjected. “The Toy Group. Now we’re talking. What can you tell us about them?”
Willard blinked his eyes a few times as a confused expression appeared on his face, “Why would you say that? What do you have against the Mini Me’s?”
I took a breath, intent on telling Willard that they were people of interest in an investigation. However, before I could say anything, Vance thumped me in the gut. He cast me a scornful look and very subtly shook his head no. Apparently now was not the time to divulge any facts from the case.
“We’re investigating the recent string of dognappings,” Vance said, as he turned to look at Willard. “We need to make contact with all the dog clubs, ‘cause we want to make certain everyone is on high alert. We don’t want to have any more missing dogs.”
“Nice,” I quietly murmured.
Willard was nodding, “Ah. That makes perfect sense. Such a dreadful occurrence, taking someone’s dog. I do hope you get to the bottom of these shenanigans as quickly as possible.”
“We will,” Vance promised. “Now, who runs the Mini Me’s?”
“That would be one Mrs. Asta Johansson. She owns Treasure Chest, off the corner of Oregon and Main.”
“I’ve been there,” Vance admitted.
“So have I,” I added. “I’ve bought Jillian a few things from there.
I will admit it’s not my favorite place to go, but Jillian seems to like it.”
“Ditto,” Vance mumbled.
“May I make a suggestion?” Willard innocently asked.
Vance shrugged, “Sure.”
“Talk with the Sniffers first. I would be willing to point the finger at them before I’d point it at any of the lovely ladies in the Mini Me’s.”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” I said. “Why?”
“Mrs. Johansson is quite possibly the most intimidating woman you will ever meet. No member of that club would dare cross her, unless they have a very good reason to.”
“And if Asta is the one responsible?” I hesitantly asked. “They could be following orders and are too scared to say ‘no’.
Willard waved a dismissive hand, “Pish posh. I still maintain this is nothing more than friendly rivalry.”
Both Vance and I had turned around and were ready to leave when we both froze in mid step. Vance turned around first.
“Would you care to run that by me again? Rivalry? What rivalry?”
Warming up to the two of us, Willard actually smiled.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s just friendly banter, although I must admit the sabotaging of Paws & Effects’ company van was a bit much.”
“Someone sabotaged a van?” I asked, incredulous. “One would’ve thought that you’d open with something like that and not offer it as an afterthought.”
“I agree,” Vance added, as his face grew grim.
“I knew if I would’ve said something up front, then you’d instantly jump to the wrong conclusions,” Willard quickly explained. “And it would seem that’s exactly what you’ve done.”
“What other ‘friendly banter’ do you know about?” I asked.
You could have heard a pin drop inside PV’s Post Office as Willard nervously looked toward the door. Thinking there was a customer walking up behind us, I moved to intercept, only no one was there. I do believe our town Post Master was a wee bit nervous.
“Spill, Mr. Olson,” Vance ordered. His voice had taken on a decidedly stern tone.
“All right, all right. Listen, we’re all dog owners here. No one wants to see anyone get into any trouble.”
Vance crossed his arms over his chest, “Out with it.”
“Well, one of the biggest rivalries is the sporting and non-sporting clubs. Each club will do anything they can to make the other look as bad as possible. Now, you didn’t hear this from me, but I know for a fact that one of the most common pranks to pull on one another is to sign the other up for false donations.”
Vance had whipped out his notebook and was scribbling furiously, “Go on, Mr. Olson.”
“We, uh, that is to say, the Nippers might have been known to, uh…”
“Just spill the beans,” Vance ordered. “I’m not interested in arresting anyone for petty offenses. I want to know about these dog clubs. What did your club do, Mr. Olson?”
“I would prefer if you’d call me ‘Willard’,” the Post Master quietly said. “It’s less formal.”
“I’m afraid not. Answer the question, please.”
“The Nippers might’ve misplaced, er, taken some of the equipment from the park when Savvy Sniffers were practicing for this year’s Cider Fest dog obstacle course.”
“What did you take?” Vance asked as he continued to write down notes in his notebook.
“Oh, er, nothing much. Cones, pipes, and, um, PVC fittings.”
I laughed out loud, “Wait. Just wait a minute. Were they practicing for those canine obstacle courses that I’ve seen on television?”
Willard nodded guiltily.
“You took their equipment so they couldn’t practice?” Vance demanded.
“Everyone knows the herding group always wins,” Willard all but whined. “It was all done in harmless fun. I still have their gear. It’s safe and sound.”
“Did this other group retaliate?” I asked.
Willard nodded, “Of course. They learned how to disconnect the battery in my Prius. Not an easy task for a hybrid vehicle, mind you. I’ve also caught them changing the Post Office’s Hours Open sign to all times of day. Did I file a complaint? Of course not. It’s all in good fun.”
“Until someone’s dog is stolen,” Vance snapped.
“Is that what you think is happening?” Willard asked, appalled. “None of us would ever willingly steal another person’s dog. Dog owners simply don’t do that.”
“Yet someone did,” I added.
“Stay close to your phone,” Vance ordered the Post Master as we headed for the door. “Chances are, we’ll have more questions.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Willard promised.
“Do you believe him?” I asked, once we were outside.
Vance nodded, “For now. Don’t let Mr. Olson’s age or demeanor fool you. He’s a very active person. In fact, he has several acres of land he maintains, along with a large flock of sheep. He lets people rent out his sheep so their dogs can have fun herding them. You ought to try it with Sherlock and Watson.”
“Actually, I think I will,” I decided. “I’d love to see what the two of them would do in an actual herding situation. So, where to now?”
“Well, there are three groups we need to check out. I say we split up.”
“Why don’t we just go talk to this Mini-Me club? We need to talk to owners of small dogs. I don’t see why we need to talk to the other clubs here in town.”
“Ordinarily, I agree. However, you heard Mr. Olson back there. There’s open acknowledgment of one group sabotaging the other. What if one group is deliberately doing this to point the finger at another? Before we can make any accusations, we need to know the whole picture.”
“Fine. Do you want to split up?”
“Yeah, we’ll cover more ground that way. Listen, I know the Reezens better than you, so I’ll take the non-sporting group. The clinic that male nurse works at is less than a block from the high school, so I’ll stop by there, too.”
My eyebrows rose.
“You want me to talk to the Mini Me’s? What if they’re the ones responsible for the missing dogs? What then?”
“First and foremost, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but I’ll tell you what. If you suspect anything, or if you feel your life is in danger, get your ass out of there and call me. Run, if you have to. I know Mrs. Johansson. I think she’s in her 60s. You should be able to outrun her.”
“Smartass. What if she sics a dog on me? She runs a dog club, after all.”
“What is she gonna do?” Vance demanded as he rounded on me. “Order her group of five pound fluffballs to bite your ankles? Are you kidding me?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to switch? I’ll take the clinic.”
“I would have thought you’d want to take on the Mini Me’s.”
Perplexed, I could only stare at my friend, “Why?”
“Because I thought you had a thing for older women, what with your experience with Clara Hanson.”
“Oh, kiss my ass, amigo. I’m not afraid of an old lady.”
“You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I think I’d like to be there to help interrogate the members of Mini Me’s. Let’s do this. You take Ruth Reezen and I’ll go talk to the nurse. We’ll meet up later to compare notes and then we’ll go see the Mini Me’s.”
“Fine. Where do you want to meet?”
“I know Jillian is still out of town. Come over to my place for dinner tonight. We’ll hit the toy group first thing tomorrow. Bring your dogs. I think it’d help the girls feel better. Vicki and Tiffany haven’t smiled once since Anubis was taken, and it’s killing me. I think your dogs would help them feel better. What do you say? I might even see if Harry and Julie can come over.”
About to protest, I agreed. Vance’s daughters had to be heartbroken over the loss of Anubis. My dogs would most certainly cheer them up.
“You’re on.”
Thankfully, the Fates were on my side and
I didn’t have to interview Mrs. Johansson. Turns out Ruth Reezen was out of town, and the closest we would come to interviewing her was to talk to her husband, Don. Therefore, Vance decided to postpone talking with the Mini Me’s until we could both be present.
Vance headed to the clinic while I drove to the high school.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice. I hope you don’t mind talking to me about these dog clubs. I’ve heard they can be a little eccentric.”
“They’re a bunch of crackpots,” Don Reezen, principal of Pomme Valley High School, corrected. “Every single one of them. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories Ruthie has told me. If she was here, I’m sure she’d could tell you stories that’d make you think twice about joining any dog club here in PV. But, seeing how my wife is visiting her sister in Portland for a few days, you’ll have to settle with me and what I’ve overheard.”
“Willard Olson, down at the Post Office, says all this stuff that’s been happening is only friendly rivalry. He called it, ‘banter’. Would you agree?”
“I most certainly would not. Has he told you some of the shit that they’ve pulled? Oh. Pardon me. I really shouldn’t use language like that, especially when I’m at school.”
“I’ve heard a lot worse, Mr. Reezen,” I assured him.
“Call me Don. Okay, where do I start? Last month, Ruthie comes home from her latest club meeting, practically in tears. She said someone – she suspected somebody in one of the other clubs – keyed her car.”
“Where was she at?” I asked, growing angry. “Was she home?”
Don shook his head, “No. She was at the library. Several of the dog clubs meet there.”
“Really? I didn’t realize the library would allow dogs inside.”
“Only in the main lobby,” Don clarified. “This is an incredibly pet friendly town.”
I scribbled some notes into the small notebook Vance had given me, “Did this happen to anyone else in the Paws & Effects club?”
“I know of only one other,” Don confirmed. “There may be more, but if so, Ruth hasn’t told me about it.”
Case of the Pilfered Pooches Page 15
