Case of the Holiday Hijinks

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  It was Tuesday, just after 11am. I had given my parents a tour of Lentari Cellars, presented them with several bottles of the winery’s finest, and had just started showing them around town. We passed Marauder’s Grill when the scents hit my father and he looked just like Sherlock did whenever he smelled something he thought was appetizing. My father’s nose lifted, I heard him sniff, and he started looking around.

  “I thought you weren’t keen on barbecue?” I remembered telling him.

  “Whatever that was smelled fantastic.”

  Figuring it was close enough to lunchtime, I executed a flawless U-turn and headed back to the ramshackle shed that constituted my new favorite restaurant. I called Jillian to see if she was interested in meeting us for lunch – which she was – and arrived a few minutes after we did.

  My father took one look at where we were headed and was understandably hesitant. I ended up holding the door open a few minutes longer than necessary, since my parents were both a little skeptical of my choice of places for lunch. However, as soon as dad took his first bite of brisket, I knew he was hooked.

  I looked at my father just before I sank my teeth into a rib slathered in barbecue sauce. Why is it conversation only seems to flow whenever you’re unable to respond? It’s inevitable. Take a huge bite of food at a restaurant and I guarantee you someone will walk by your table and ask how everything tastes.

  “It’s great, isn’t it?” I added, once my mouth was clear. “If it wasn’t for Jillian here then I would never have stepped foot inside. It has quickly become my new favorite restaurant.”

  “There isn’t much room inside,” my mother commented.

  She ordered a pulled pork sandwich, which I knew from first-hand experience, was fantastic. But, she threw a wrench in the works when she ordered sweet potato fries instead of the regular variety. Blech.

  My mother ate another fry and noticed my disapproving look. She reached for her basket, smiled at Jillian, and held a fry up with a questioning look on her face.

  “Jillian, dear, you like sweet potatoes, don’t you?”

  Jillian nodded, “Of course, Mrs. Anderson. Whether they’re covered in marshmallows or eaten like a baked potato, you can’t go wrong with a sweet potato.”

  My mother shot me a victorious look.

  “It’s official, Zachary. You’re the only one at the table who doesn’t like sweet potatoes.”

  “Is that going to be a problem?” I asked.

  Jillian laid her hand over mine.

  “Of course not. Did you know, Mrs. Anderson, that I almost didn’t get him through the door? He’s very reluctant to try new things.”

  My mother smiled, “Oh, honey. What you see is just the tip of the iceberg. William and I raised that boy. We both know full well how stubborn he can be.”

  My eyes narrowed. My mother’s mood had improved, but that was only because she had moved on to one of her favorite subjects to talk about: embarrassing stories about me. I looked over at Jillian and sighed.

  “I’m not stubborn,” I said. I wasn’t being accused of anything but I felt like I was obligated to say it. “I’m being choosy.”

  “You mean ‘picky’, right?” my father corrected.

  Jillian giggled.

  “Did you know that Zack once refused to touch a donut?” my mother asked conspiratorially.

  Jillian turned to me with surprise all over her face.

  “Really? Zack, lover of donuts, once didn’t want to touch them?”

  “They had to be a very specific kind of donut or else he’d turn up his nose at them,” my mother recalled. “Crumb, if memory serves.”

  I groaned. If I had a nickel for every time I had heard this particular story then I’d be a very rich man. I smiled at my mother. I couldn’t get angry with her, not when she and Jillian seemed to be getting along.

  “So where are the dogs?” my father asked.

  Surprised, I turned to my dad and grinned at him.

  “I thought you always told me that dogs were just slobbery animals that you didn’t want anything to do with.”

  Dad shrugged, “Your little Watson is certainly making me rethink my stance on dogs. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a sweet, gentle dog in my life.”

  “Did you hear that, mom? I think dad wants a dog.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” my father said. He drank some of his iced tea and leaned back in his chair. “However, I do believe that if I had to then I would most certainly get a corgi.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw my mother beckon to Jillian. The two of them leaned close together. One whispered something to the other, which resulted in both of them laughing out loud.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “I’m proud of you, son,” my father quietly said to me.

  “Where is this coming from?” I asked, dropping my voice to match his.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re doing here so early,” my father softly added.

  Both of us were keeping an eye on my mother. The last thing either of us needed was to be caught talking about her behind her back. I heard another round of giggling coming from the two of them and decided to leave them be.

  “Yes, dad, I am wondering. Why even come up here for Christmas? I know you don’t like to travel for the Holidays, especially for Christmas. And to top matters off, you and mom showed up nearly a week early. What’s going on? Are you guys spying on me?”

  Surprisingly, my father nodded.

  “There’s no sense in beating around the bush about this. Look, son. It’s been hard on your mother with you so far away. I know she’s tried – unsuccessfully – to woo you back to Phoenix.”

  I felt myself growing angry.

  “Dad, that isn’t going to happen. My life is here in Pomme Valley now. I can’t go back to Phoenix. I just can’t.”

  “And that’s what I kept telling your mother,” dad quietly explained. “There are too many painful memories for you waiting in Phoenix. I wouldn’t want to revisit them anytime soon, either.”

  “Thanks for understanding,” I gently told my father.

  “You found a real winner there with your Jillian,” my father continued. “Both your mom and I really like her.”

  “I’m not sure how to respond to that,” I truthfully told my father. “Thanks? It’s strange, dad. I feel… I feel…”

  “Like you’re cheating on Samantha?” my father quietly asked.

  I nodded, “Yes. That’s it. Exactly. A part of me feels like I’m being unfaithful to Sam and it makes me sick to my stomach.”

  “Samantha is gone, son. I’m sorry to say this but there’s nothing you can do to bring her back. Do you really think Samantha would want to see you like this? You need to move on, son. That’s why I – we – are so proud of you. This is the first step we’ve seen you take that signifies you’re finally looking to move on with your life.”

  “No,” I corrected, “my first step was to move out here. I knew I couldn’t call Phoenix home any more. It just hurt too much.”

  “Jillian is a lovely woman,” my father said. “She’s a good match for you.”

  “Thanks, dad. That means a lot.”

  “So… are you able to tell me why you’re working with the police?”

  I gazed at my father and debated about how much I should tell him.

  “Vance is a friend of mine. As I mentioned yesterday, he’s a detective for the PVPD. He and I met under less than desirable circumstances.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” my father curiously asked.

  I heard Jillian’s words in my head, asking if I really didn’t get along with my parents. A sudden stab of guilt had me deciding to come clean. I took a deep breath.

  “This isn’t for mom’s ears,” I said, dropping my voice even lower.

  Intrigued, my father leaned close. We both checked on the girls. They were both chatting away, as though they had suddenly become the best of friends.

  “I
understand,” dad said. “What happened?”

  “I was arrested for murder.”

  My father’s eyebrows shot up.

  “What? When?”

  “Within 24 hours of moving here. Trust me, at the time I was thinking I had made the biggest mistake of my life moving here. This was also less than 2 hours after an old friend of mine from high school tricked me into adopting a dog.”

  “Watson,” dad guessed.

  “Sherlock,” I corrected. “Harry is the vet here in town. Little did I know that his veterinary office doubles as the local animal shelter. Anyway, the day before I moved to town, Pomme Valley had its first murder in 50 years.”

  “Why would they think you did it?” dad asked.

  The waitress came by and refilled our drinks.

  “Because the lady that was responsible left enough incriminating evidence to point the police my way.”

  “Son, I had no idea. Why didn’t you call us for help? We could have helped. Hell, we have an attorney on retainer!”

  “I know you do,” I said. “However, I didn’t want to bother either of you. It was my decision to move here. It was my problem. I wanted to deal with it myself. Luckily, one of my readers is a lawyer. She’s the one who got them to release me. Again, long story short, Sherlock is the one that kept finding the clues that helped prove my innocence. That little dog kept my butt out of jail.”

  “You’re telling me Sherlock was able to find clues? What, like Scooby Doo?”

  I grinned, “Kinda.”

  “Don’t you think it was just luck?” dad asked.

  “Two months ago, in October, Sherlock helped crack the case of the fake mummy.”

  My dad almost choked on his ice tea.

  “Would you care to run that by me again?”

  “One of those traveling Egyptian exhibitions stopped by Pomme Valley,” I explained. “On the opening night a priceless pendant was stolen. The show had nothing but fakes, but somebody decided it’d be the perfect way to transport the necklace to a more secure location.”

  “By having it out in the open,” my dad mused. “Smart.”

  “Right? However, someone here in PV figured it out. The pendant was stolen. Then, unfortunately, they made it look like the mummy traveling with the exhibit was the culprit. Smashed display, strips of linen left in multiple places, and sightings throughout town. It was an interesting Halloween, dad.”

  “Sounds like it. And Sherlock was able to help solve the case?”

  I nodded, “Yep. He led us to a couple of high-schoolers and a school locker. Unbeknownst to us the pendant was hidden inside. We searched the locker but didn’t find it. Then another person, the one that wanted to steal the pendant in the first place, broke into the locker and found it. Sherlock pointed us in the right direction and even found the missing pendant hidden inside the guy’s store.”

  My dad whistled with amazement. Both Jillian and my mother looked over. My dad and I grinned, waved, and went back to our conversation the moment they did, too.

  “So that’s why your detective friend wants your help.”

  “That’s why my detective friend wants Sherlock’s help,” I corrected.

  “Sherlock and Watson. Solving crimes again. How appropriate! And I do see why you don’t want to tell your mother. I appreciate you telling me, though.”

  “I thought one of you ought to know, and of the two of you, you’d be able to handle the news better. I’ll tell mom if you think she needs to know.”

  “Let’s give it some time and wait until she’s not so emotional,” my father suggested.

  My cell phone rang. Sure enough, it was Vance. I showed the display to my dad. My mom and Jillian looked over at me. My mom might not have known who the Grinch’s ring tone belonged to but Jillian did.

  “Hey Vance, what’s up?”

  “We’ve got an ID on the Grinch, buddy!”

  “Oh, yeah? That’s great! Who is it?” I muted my cell and relayed the news to the others.

  “That’s wonderful!” Jillian whispered.

  “His name is Bob Geisel.”

  I frowned. Bob Geisel? Geisel?? Wasn’t that the real name of Dr. Seuss?

  “Bob Geisel?” I slowly repeated. “Are you sure that his last name?”

  “Yeah, I know. I triple-checked the name. I kinda feel like it must be an alias. All this talk of our Grinch and our suspect just happens to be named ‘Geisel’? Talk about the world’s biggest coincidence.”

  “So what can you tell me about this guy?” I asked. “How’d you find him?”

  “Let’s see. Bob Geisel is a wanted felon in at least five states. I’m sure that number will be growing as we hear back from more agencies. He’s wanted for felony breaking and entering, grand theft auto, and a few instances of aggravated assault.”

  “Well, now we can add murder to his list of accomplishments,” I added.

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “Why hasn’t this guy been caught?” I asked. “How has he avoided the police when they know so much about him?”

  “Because apparently he’s a master of disguise. This guy knows how to disappear into the crowds by blending in. There’s one report from Manassas, Virginia, which states that the reporting officer believed Geisel was a master of quick change.”

  “Quick change?” I repeated. “Is that where he can change his appearance in, like, ten seconds or less?”

  “Yes. Looks like he’s done just that on more than one occasion. Cops in Nashville had him under surveillance and were ready to bust him when he vanished right in front of their noses. Same story in Atlanta.”

  “So he’s wanted for other burglaries,” I said. “Do any of the reports say what he stole in the other cities?”

  “I’m damn glad you asked. Presents, amigo. He always steals presents. Raleigh cops were the first ones credited with giving him the ‘Grinch’ moniker.”

  “We’re not the only ones referring to him as the Grinch, huh?” I asked. “What does he do with the presents? Does it say?”

  I heard the rustling of paper as Vance started flipping through the reports he must have been holding.

  “Most of the time they never resurface. There’s only been one instance where one of the gifts had been found, and that’s because it had been pawned. It was a Rolex. This would have been back in Virginia. Looks like Virginia Beach. Anyway, the Rolex was wrapped and sitting under the tree. Geisel obviously took it and pawned it, but he did so in Raleigh. It leads us to believe that he’ll pawn the presents, but not until he makes it to another state.”

  “So there’s hope these people can get their presents back,” I said.

  “If we can catch him before he leaves town, yes.”

  “Do you think he’s still here?” I asked.

  “Let’s put it this way. We have put out an APB. Every single cop in this city is presently out on patrol, looking for this white van. Thus far we have bubkis.”

  “Want me to help look for it?” I asked. “The more eyes the merrier, right?”

  “I don’t think it matters right now, Zack. I think Geisel has fled. If he’s been doing this as long as the reports say then that means he’s gotta know that we’re on to him. I’d even go so far as to say he might have a police scanner.”

  “So you don’t want our help?” I asked again, adding emphasis to ‘our’.

  A few seconds of silence passed.

  “Ah. Tell you what. I wouldn’t be disappointed if you and the dogs would like to go on a drive. But there is a stipulation, and it’s a big one.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If you find anything, and I do mean anything, then you phone it in. Is that understood?”

  “You got it. Good luck. I’ll keep you posted.”

  I hung up and looked at Jillian.

  “Do you have to go back to work or would you like to go on a ride?”

  “What’s going on?” Jillian asked.

  “I was going to go for a drive around the
city. Maybe take the dogs. Let them get some fresh air.”

  “That sounds like a wonderful idea!” my mother exclaimed.

  I cast a worried look at my dad. My father winked at me.

  “You know what, Dana?” my dad said, rising to his feet. “Why don’t we go have a latté over at Jillian’s store? You mentioned to me last night that you wanted to look through her selection of cookbooks.”

  My mother frowned, “But I thought we could…”

  This wasn’t going as planned. I cast an imploring look at Jillian. Coming to my aid, she rose to her feet.

  “Do you like to bake, Mrs. Anderson?”

  My mother smiled, “Why yes, I do. My pies used to win awards. Do you bake?”

  “Whenever I can. In fact, have you ever tried lingonberry pie? It’s a Swedish dessert. One of my regulars is Swedish and has commented to me on more than one occasion that she used to enjoy a slice of lingonberry pie for Christmas. It reminded her of her grandmother. So, I made her one. It’s up in the café.”

  “Lingonberry?” my mother repeated. Her brow furrowed. “I think I’ve heard of the berry but I do not believe I have ever tried it.”

  My father ushered the three of them to the door.

  “In that case, the first slice is on me. Son, catch up to us when you can.”

  “I will, dad. I just have to wait for the check.”

  My father turned to look at me as he walked out the door.

  “Already took care of it, son. See you soon!”

  I put my wallet away. My dad and I have had a years-long competition to see who would be the one to pay for dinner. I used to snatch the check the moment it was deposited on the table. Man, did that make my dad mad. So he did everything he could to get the check handed to him. Making eye contact with the waiter, or else pulling them aside to give instructions. I have no idea what he did this time. It was the first time he had ever stepped foot inside.

  Sneaky bastard.

  I hurried home to get the dogs. Once we were headed back into town I looked at Sherlock in the rear view mirror.

  “You’re up, pal. We need to find the Grinch. There’s a good chance he’s no longer in town, but just in case he happens to still be in PV, we need to be on the lookout for him.”