Case of the Pilfered Pooches

by Jeffrey M. Poole

That got our attention.

  Captain Nelson rose from his seat, “Oh? Who is it?”

  “She says she’s the president of the dog club.”

  “Mrs. Reezen is here?” I asked. “She must’ve just made it back to town.”

  Captain Nelson nodded, “Very well. I’ll go out and meet her. Mr. Anderson, would you kindly ask Detective Samuelson to join me before joining us?”

  “Vance, there’s a lady here that wants to talk to the Captain,” I relayed into the microphone. I watched Vance glance up at the mirror. “He wants you to go out there and meet her with him. She says she’s the president of the dog club. I’m assuming she’s referring to the Mini Me’s.”

  Vance nodded, excused himself, and exited the room. I hastily switched off the mic and hurried out the door so I could enter with everyone else. Vance was just returning to the interrogation room, and this time, he was accompanied by the captain, a lady I didn’t recognize, and the hand-cuffed Mrs. Barterson. From the way the newcomer was glaring at Mrs. Barterson, I figured this strange lady was the mastermind behind this whole foolish plan and was angry that she had been foiled.

  I still couldn’t believe this was Mrs. Reezen. She was much older than I thought she’d be. This was the principal’s wife? I figured Don Reezen was in his early to mid-50s. This woman looked to be in her mid to late 60s. Sure, I knew in this day and age a large difference in age between two consenting adults really didn’t factor too much into the relationship, but I’ve never experienced it firsthand.

  The woman was wearing a monochromatic gray business blazer with a pencil skirt, grey leggings, and black pumps. She had black leather gloves on (I’m not sure why – it’s at least 60 outside), and was holding a peach colored handbag. Her jet black hair was done up in a style I’ve seen Jillian wear before. I think she called it a ‘long bob’ haircut. Anyway, this lady looked professional, classy, and angry. Very angry.

  Rochelle took one look at the newcomers and sprang to her feet, as though she had sat on a tack.

  “Mrs. Johansson! Ma’am! I had no idea you were back in town!”

  Rochelle refused to look at either the newcomer or Mrs. Barterson. Vance pulled out the chair next to Rochelle and indicated Gertrude should sit down.

  I stared at the stranger, totally confused. This wasn’t Mrs. Reezen? But I thought Mrs. Reezen was the president of the Mini Me’s? Then it hit me. Me and my shitty memory, that is. Mrs. Reezen was the president of the non-sporting group of dogs known as Paws & Effects. I had completely misremembered. That means this lady had to be the owner of Treasure Chest, the swanky gift shop that Jillian loves. Judging by the glare Mrs. Johansson was giving Rochelle, she was not a happy camper.

  Mrs. Johansson placed her designer purse down on the table and pulled out a chair. I should also mention that she deliberately chose the same side of the table as Vance and the captain. She pulled off her leather gloves and gave Gertrude and Rochelle the coldest look I think I have ever seen anyone give another person. Aside from me and Abigail Lawson, that is.

  “Mrs. Barterson. Ms. Lindstrom. Do either of you want to tell me what I’m doing here? I was about ready to board a cruise ship for Panama when I got the call to get back here. What do you have to say for yourself? What’s been going on around here?”

  “Ma’am,” Vance began, “Both ladies here appear to be involved with a string of dog thefts.”

  Mrs. Johansson stared at Gertrude as though she didn’t know her. She gave Rochelle and equally cold glare.

  “Gertrude, would you care to tell me what’s going on? I left you in charge of the Mini Me’s. What in the world happened? What have the two of you done? What is all this business about stealing someone else’s dog?”

  “Dogs,” Vance corrected. “Plural. And, unfortunately, that included a Beagle belonging to a little girl named Sydney, who just so happens to be a certain someone’s granddaughter.”

  Asta Johansson’s eyes widened in horror as her gaze shifted to the stern-faced captain.

  “Oh, please tell me that’s not true. Tell me nothing happened to that poor little Beagle.”

  Gertrude’s upper lip quivered as she let out a loud sniffle, “You were busy. You’re always so busy! You never have time for us anymore. I asked you if there was something I could do to help take some of the burden off you. Do you remember that?”

  Mrs. Johansson nodded, “Yes. I allowed you to oversee new members to the club. Is that what you’re referring to?”

  Gertrude nodded.

  “What did you do, Gertrude?” Asta demanded. She was met with silence. “Damn it! Talk to me! What did you do?”

  “We conducted a recruiting party, only the prerequisites for joining were the ability to prove they had what it takes to be a member of the Mini Me’s.”

  “By stealing dogs??” Mrs. Johansson cried. “You openly encouraged women to take dogs belonging to someone else? What is the matter with you?”

  “If it was up to you,” Gertrude said, with a bit of heat coming into her voice, “then you’d let just anyone into the club. The Toy Group is the best group out there! We couldn’t let just anyone in, could we? So, we had to be certain only the right people were chosen.”

  “Are you the ones responsible for those missing dogs in Medford, too?” Vance wanted to know.

  “What missing dogs in Medford?” Asta asked.

  “It happened three years ago,” Vance explained. “Medford had a string of dog thefts, just like what Pomme Valley is currently experiencing. All different breeds, and all AKC groups were included, with the exception of one. Any idea which one?”

  “Three years ago?” Asta repeated. Right about then, Mrs. Johansson’s angry eyes jumped from Gertrude’s over to Rochelle’s, who had been sitting quietly with her eyes downcast. “Ms. Lindstrom, didn’t you tell me you moved here from Medford a few years ago?”

  Ms. Lindstrom refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

  “Oh, dear lord!” Asta exclaimed. “You masterminded those thefts, didn’t you?”

  Ms. Lindstrom kept her eyes trained on the table.

  I saw the captain whisper something to Vance, who then, in turn, scribbled something on a piece of paper. He handed the slip of paper to the officer standing guard by the door.

  “Were you the one who gave Mrs. Barterson the idea to steal dogs here in PV?” Vance asked, after the guard departed.

  Rochelle’s silence spoke volumes.

  “No problem, Ms. Lindstrom. Take your time. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Ms. Lindstrom continued to sit in stony silence, letting out an occasional sob every minute or two.

  There was a knock on the interrogation room door. An officer poked his head in the room and held out a manila folder. Being closest to the door, I took the folder and passed it to my right. Once Vance had it, he opened it and began to read.

  “It says here that you were arrested three years ago, Ms. Lindstrom. Would you care to tell me about that?”

  Again, more silence.

  “Very well. Let’s see. It says here that you have a felony on your record, Ms. Lindstrom. How very… very… ungrandmotherly. Would you care to expand on that?”

  Ms. Lindstrom stubbornly refused to speak.

  “That’s okay. I’ve got everything here. Let’s see. You were arrested for taking personal property. On multiple occasions.”

  “That isn’t a felony,” Rochelle Lindstrom softly whispered.

  Vance shook his head, “Actually it is. Although, I can understand your confusion. Typically, taking another person’s dog is usually classified as ‘theft’ or ‘grand theft’. However, unfortunately for you, in the great state of Oregon, dognapping is considered a felony, which is why you were incarcerated for over two years. More than likely, that’s why you moved here. You needed a change of scenery after you were released on good behavior, didn’t you?”

  “Answer the question!” Mrs. Johansson snapped, after a few more uncomfortable seconds of silence had passed. �
��Ms. Lindstrom, was that why you moved to PV? To start ‘fresh’ in a new area?”

  More silence.

  “Did you know she had stolen those dogs in Medford?” Vance asked Gertrude.

  “I do not recall,” Gertrude Barterson hesitantly answered.

  “Oh, horse shit,” Captain Nelson muttered. “You were probably in on it then just like you are now.”

  “There’s no proof of that, is there?” Gertrude Barterson coolly replied.

  “What did those people ever do to you?” Vance demanded. “Whatever happened to those missing dogs? The police report says the dogs were never recovered.”

  “They were given new homes,” Rochelle answered, becoming defiant. “Their owners didn’t appreciate them.”

  “Who are you to judge who’s a proper dog owner and who isn’t?” Captain Nelson demanded. “It doesn’t make any sense!

  “They had to be taught a lesson,” Gertrude whispered. “The only dogs worth talking about are Toys, nothing more. The other clubs needed to be taken down a peg or two. When Mrs. Johansson’s poodle failed to defend his title last month at the show, I knew steps had to be taken so the Mini Me’s could regain their glory. Plus, I was so tired of hearing about those two infernal corgis.”

  “Sherlock and Watson?” Vance asked, confused. “What about them? What did they do to you? They haven’t been in any dog shows, as far as I know.”

  “And you’d be correct,” I quietly mumbled to myself.

  “Herding dogs do not deserve more attention than the Toys,” Gertrude flatly stated. “So, once I was given control over the new recruits, I knew what I had to do. Plus, I made it fun for everyone. Each recruit was responsible for recovering one dog, only it had to be a breed belonging to one of the groups.”

  “You think yanking dogs away from their homes is fun?” Captain Nelson demanded, growing angry.

  “Only the right people should be allowed to join the Mini Me’s,” Gertrude reiterated. The frown was back and her face hardened.

  “What are you talking about?” Asta stammered. “It’s a dog club! For crying out loud, if a person has a breed of dog that belongs to our specific AKC group, then they’re qualified. That’s it! End of story.”

  “Let’s agree to disagree,” Mrs. Barterson spat as her face suddenly twisted into a snarl.

  Asta Johansson’s eyes narrowed. She sat back in her chair and folded her arms.

  “Gertrude Barterson, Rochelle Lindstrom, you’re both relieved of your duties. Furthermore, the two of you are hereby expelled from our organization and are forevermore banned.”

  A tear rolled down Gertrude’s cheek. Rochelle’s nose lifted, but other than that, her face was devoid of emotion. Neither of the two women said anything.

  “We need to know where those dogs are now,” Captain Nelson announced. He consulted the file in front of them and tapped the page. “More specifically, we’re missing a cocker spaniel, Detective Samuelson’s German Shepherd, and my granddaughter’s Beagle.”

  Asta gave Gertrude another cold glare.

  “Answer the question, Mrs. Barterson. Where are these dogs? They are going to be returned to their respective owners. Now.”

  Gertrude became tight-lipped and shook her head.

  “Gertrude, this isn’t a game anymore,” Asta snapped. “These people need their dogs back. Tell us where you’ve hidden them.”

  Again, Gertrude shook her head.

  “Can you tell us if there’s a member of your club with the first name, ‘Edith’?” Captain Nelson suddenly asked.

  Asta nodded, “Mrs. Edith Colley? Of course.”

  “And do you know where she lives?” Vance asked.

  Asta shook her head, “I’m sorry, I don’t. Why are you asking? Has Mrs. Colley been pulled into this scheme, too?”

  Vance nodded, “I’m afraid so. We suspect Edith might be the one who has the dogs. By any chance, do you know of anyone who might know where Edith lives?”

  While Asta Johansson was scribbling down names onto a notepad, I nervously cleared my throat. Vance immediately looked over at me, as did the captain. I figure I really didn’t have any business whatsoever giving a detective or a police captain suggestions, but I was an official consultant.

  “Can I ask a question?” I then pointed at the list of names Asta Johansson had provided. “Was ‘Edith Colley’ one of the three from that list you ran earlier?”

  Vance flipped through his notebook and frowned, “No.”

  “Why not?” Captain Nelson demanded. “How did she slip through?”

  “I’m not sure, Captain,” Vance replied.

  I pulled out my phone and quickly ran a few online searches for the last name of ‘Colley’ in Pomme Valley. Within moments, I was looking at a list of three names. One of them lived right on 8th Street.

  “I’ve got a hit,” I quietly announced, as I held up my phone. “I’ve got a ‘Beatrice Colley’ living on 8th Street. Coincidence?”

  “Where on 8th Street?” Captain Nelson demanded. He had risen to his feet and looked as though he was ready to sprint out the door.

  “It doesn’t say,” I admitted. “If I wanted to pay for the premium service, then it would give me their full address.”

  “8th Street is fairly long,” Captain Nelson mused. “However, I can pull enough people to search every damn house on that street if needs be.”

  Vance placed a restraining hand on the captain’s shoulder.

  “Captain? You won’t have to. May I make a recommendation? Let’s do this the easy way. Zack? Would you and your associates care to head up the search party?”

  “When do you want us to start searching?” I asked.

  “Right now, thank you,” Vance answered. Captain Nelson nodded his agreement.

  I hurried home to get the dogs. Sherlock and Watson were in the midst of a tug-of-war battle for a knotted piece of rope. As soon as I walked through the door, Watson dropped her end so fast that Sherlock ended up falling down onto his rump. With an exasperated snort, he spit the rope out and looked up at me, as if to say, I meant to do that.

  “Would you two like to go for a ride? We’ve got some dogs to find.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were cruising north on 8th Street. The windows were open, the fresh air was blowing, and I was scowling up a storm as I noticed I was going to have to get the Jeep washed. Again. Both dogs had their heads sticking out of the driver side windows and were spraying saliva all over the outside of my Jeep. Hell, drops of dog drool had even sprayed up onto the back windows.

  “That’s disgusting, guys. Come on, Sherlock. Do your thing. Doesn’t anything look appealing?”

  We drove on, in silence. It wasn’t until the second pass, heading south on 8th, while the dogs had their heads out the windows once more, when I finally got a hit. I heard the best noise in the world: a soft woof.

  “What is it, boy? What do you see?”

  I pulled the Jeep over, clipped leashes on the dogs, and set them on the sidewalk. Sherlock and Watson immediately pulled me over to the western side of the street. Both corgis surged forward, as though they thought they were pulling a wagon. I had to be careful, since the last thing I wanted was for either of them to end up choking themselves. So, as a result, I increased my pace.

  So did the dogs.

  That meant the pull on the leashes returned. Cursing mightily, I increased my pace to a light jog. The corgis reciprocated, increasing their own pace so that it was still faster than my own.

  Now I was in a full-blown sprint. Naturally, both dogs easily out-paced me. When we arrived at a vacant lot between two houses, I was out of breath and panting so hard that passing motorists probably thought I was a chain-smoking asthmatic trying out for a decathlon.

  The dogs led me to the back, where all the houses were sitting up against the border of the woods. Sucking as much air into my lungs as possible with each breath, I knew I must’ve sounded like a fat, overweight guy who had just sprinted after an ice cream truck. Howe
ver, I was trying to catch my breath just as soon as possible, and I wasn’t having much luck.

  “What are we doing back here?” I whispered, as we approached a thick clump of wild manzanitas.

  I ducked down, out of sight, and looked slowly around. The two houses situated on my left and right appeared vacant. Plus, I didn’t see any evidence of any dogs anywhere. No sheds, no outdoor kennels, no nothing. Were we in the right place? What had caught Sherlock’s attention?

  “I don’t think this is right,” I whispered to Sherlock. “I’m feeling an awful lot like a Peeping Tom right about now. Come on. Let’s go back to the Jeep. We’ll try again.’

  Just then, we heard a car approaching. I heard a squeal of tires and then a car door slam. An elderly woman with frizzy white hair appeared and hurried towards the house. Her head was down or else she would have seen us. I immediately dropped to a crouch and held my finger to my lips, like the dogs would know what that gesture meant.

  “Quiet guys. This has potential.”

  The woman hurried to the back of the house on my right, walked up to one of the back walls, and then slowly, almost painfully, squatted down on her knees. It looked like she was either fiddling with something on the ground or else she was contemplating relieving herself. I sure hoped it was the former.

  “Well, well, guys. Look at that. It looks like that house has a root cellar.”

  The old woman struggled to pull open a large metal door and then descended down into the depths of the house. Just then, I heard the jingle of a collar, as though a dog had just shaken themselves. I looked down at the corgis. They had both heard the noise, too, because both of their ears were now sticking straight up. I should also point out that all four ears were angled straight at the house. I pulled out my cell.

  “Bingo, buddy. I think we’ve found them.”

  “Where?”

  I gave him the address. I swear, the PVPD must’ve been circling the block, just waiting for a phone call. The instant I hung up, I heard signs of cars approaching. Vance and three other officers appeared on the sidewalk. I held a finger to my lips and waved them over.

  “Whatcha got?” Vance quietly asked as he dropped down to a squat next to me.