by B R Snow
“Then you can stop worrying about cooking dinner,” I said. “You’re going to have dinner with us.”
“Absolutely,” Chef Claire said. “And you’re more than welcome to have Thanksgiving dinner with us as well. As long as you don’t mind eating with about a hundred other people.”
“A hundred?” Alexandra said.
“Long story,” I said. “We recently opened a restaurant, and we’ve decided to start a new annual tradition of serving Thanksgiving dinner to folks who aren’t able to or aren’t planning on cooking. You know, some of our elderly residents and shut-ins, primarily. But everyone is welcome.”
“What a wonderful thing to do,” Alexandra said.
“Actually, it was my mother’s idea.”
“And she is very difficult to say no to, right?”
“Indeed,” I said, laughing. “But we didn’t put up much of a fight. It should be fun.”
“Well, count me in,” Alexandra said.
“Speaking of which, there are a hundred loaves of bread inside with my name on them,” Chef Claire said.
“Of course,” Alexandra said. “I’ll go in with you. I need to pick up a few other things.”
She opened the back door of her SUV and whistled softly. Both her dogs trotted toward her and hopped effortlessly into the back seat. She closed the door, and their heads once again appeared in the opening.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, reaching through the open window to pet them. “You be good.”
“They’re beautiful dogs,” I said, staring at the two Goldens.
“Yes, they are,” she said, beaming at them. “And I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
All three of us headed inside the store, and we left Alexandra in the snack food aisle while we headed for the back of the store. We found Jackson near the loading dock. He had his back to us and was comparing several stacks of boxes and crates to an order slip he was holding.
“Four, five, six,” he said, counting out loud.
“Seven, eight, eleven,” I said, counting along with him.
Jackson turned and gave me a small smile.
“Funny. Hi, Chef Claire. Your bread just came in. One hundred loaves. That’s a lot of stuffing. I assume that means Josie has confirmed.”
Chef Claire and I both laughed.
“Are you coming to dinner?” I said.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “I already signed up to help out in the kitchen.”
“That’s great,” Chef Claire said. “Thanks for doing that, Jackson.”
“No problem. It’ll be fun. And it’ll be a nice break from counting tomatoes.”
“You’re mom and dad aren’t coming in?” I said, doing my best to gently broach the subject of his parents’ recent divorce.
Jackson frowned and sadness appeared in his eyes. Then it faded, and he shrugged.
“No, my mom is spending Thanksgiving in Spain with some ex-pats she met over there. And my dad decided to stay in Florida. He said the warm weather is agreeing with him. But I don’t think he wants to deal with the memories.”
“Sure, I guess I get that,” I said, softly.
“Let me go get your bread,” he said, wandering off.
“Divorce parents after forty years of marriage. That must be brutal to deal with,” Chef Claire said.
“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” I said, glancing around the loading area. “But running a grocery store this size must help keep his mind off it.”
“Yeah, probably,” Chef Claire said, grabbing the buzzing phone from her coat pocket. “What the heck?”
“What is it?”
“The GPS tracker just went off. Al and Dente are on the move.”
“What are you talking about?” I said, breaking into a run to keep up with Chef Claire who was racing toward the front door.
We exited the store and stopped at the hitching post outside the door. Both dogs were gone, and Chef Claire looked around in all directions, wide-eyed and panicked.
“Al! Dente!” she called, glancing back and forth between her phone and the street. “It says they’re already two miles away. How can that be?”
“What on earth is wrong?” Alexandra said, hurrying toward us. “You both flew by me inside the store.”
“Al and Dente are gone,” I said, glancing up and down the empty street.
“What?”
“They’re almost out of range,” Chef Claire said, tears streaming down her face.
“That means they’re in a car,” I said, reaching into my pocket for my phone. I placed the call and waited. “Chief. Suzy. No, not so good at the moment. Somebody just stole Chef Claire’s dogs from in front of Jackson’s place. Yeah, I know. We just put new GPS trackers on them that have five miles of coverage, and they’re almost out of range. Let me ask her.” I looked at Chef Claire. “What direction were they headed?”
“Southeast. That must be Route 3, right?”
“Sounds right,” I said, then spoke into the phone. “Route 3. No, we didn’t get a look at the vehicle. We were inside the store. Okay, yeah. We’ll do that.”
I ended the call and put my phone away. I looked at Chef Claire who was still staring down at her phone.
“Chief Abrams said we should head home and he’ll meet us there,” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Chef Claire started sobbing, but nodded and began heading toward the town dock. I looked at Alexandra who was standing next to her SUV stroking her dogs’ heads through the window.
“Somebody stole your dogs? Who could do something like that?” she said, tearing up.
“Someone despicable,” I said. “And someone who’s going to be in a world of hurt when we find them.”
“If only you two could speak,” she said, glancing at her dogs, then turning back to me. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “But you should still stop by later. We usually eat around seven. I’m not sure if we’ll be there, but someone will.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said. “And bring Lucky and Lucy. If there’s a dognapper running around, you’ll want to keep a close eye on them.”
“Okay. Then I’ll see you this evening,” Alexandra said, climbing into the driver seat.
“I sure hope so.”
I waved goodbye to her and broke into a run to catch up with Chef Claire. I wasn’t much of a runner, but it was the best I could do. By the time I reached the dock, Chef Claire had already started the boat and untied the lines. I clambered in, and she roared toward home before my feet landed on deck.
Chapter 3
By the time we arrived home, Chief Abrams was already in the living room and on the phone. He glanced up long enough to greet us, then refocused on the call. When he finished, he dialed another number and repeated virtually the same conversation. After about a half dozen calls, he put his phone away and gave Chef Claire a hug. She remained standing in the center of the room, shell-shocked. She’d stopped crying, but her breathing was labored and, at one point, she began hyperventilating. Josie and I did our best to calm her down and eventually managed to get her coat off. We led her to a couch, and she sat staring blankly into the fireplace.
“Well, I called local and state officials as well as the Customs and Immigration folks at the border,” Chief Abrams said. “Everyone will be keeping an eye out for them. There are a lot of Golden Retrievers around, but we might have a better chance of somebody noticing something since there’s two of them.”
“What else can we do?” Chef Claire said, drying her eyes.
“I’m just waiting on an update from Sammy,” Chief Abrams said.
“Sammy?” I said, frowning.
“The kid is really good with technology. Certainly a lot better than I am,” Chief Abrams said. “So I asked him to do some digging into that new GPS product the dogs are wearing.”
“That’s a really good idea, Chief,” I said. “I wish I’d thought of it.”
&
nbsp; “I’m sure you would have eventually, Suzy,” he said, chuckling. “Given the way you obsess about things.”
“Oh, I’ll be obsessing about this one,” I said, nodding. “Don’t you worry about that.”
We heard a knock on the kitchen door followed by the sound of someone entering without waiting for an invitation to come in. My mother joined us in the living room. She hugged Chef Claire, who immediately began sobbing again.
“Hang in there, dear,” my mother said. “We are going to get them back. Aren’t we, Suzy?”
“Absolutely, Mom,” I said, hoping that my voice didn’t reveal the uncertainty I was feeling.
My phone buzzed, and I answered it immediately.
“This is Suzy. Hey, Jackson. Great. Thanks for doing that. No, no news yet.” I set my phone down and looked at Chef Claire who was staring up at me with a look of hope. “Jackson said he delivered all your bread to the restaurant.”
“That was sweet of him,” Chef Claire said, staring at the fireplace in a dazed haze. “That’s right. I need to get to the restaurant.”
I grabbed her shoulder and gently pushed her back down on the couch.
“No, you’re staying here for the moment,” I said. “Your staff is more than capable of handling things.”
“Do you think that maybe we should just cancel Thanksgiving dinner?” Josie said.
My mother flinched at the suggestion but said nothing. I knew how much she and the rest of the town council were looking forward to putting on the event for our local residents.
“No, we can’t do that,” Chef Claire said. “There are too many people depending on us. We can’t ruin their Thanksgiving at the last minute over something like this.”
“Thank you, dear,” my mother said to Chef Claire. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“No problem,” Chef Claire whispered as she stood up. “I need to call the restaurant. I’ll be right back.”
We watched her head for her bedroom then heard another knock on the kitchen door.
“Come in,” I called.
Sammy entered the living room and gave us a quick wave. He sat down at the dining room table, and we all joined him.
“What did you find out?” Chief Abrams said.
“Well, first of all, the so-called company that sells those GPS trackers has the worst customer service I’ve ever seen,” Sammy said, shaking his head.
“Worse than the cable company?” Josie said.
Sammy snorted.
“These guys make the cable company look like Nordstrom,” he said. “If I hadn’t decided to just hang up, I’d still be on hold. What sort of company actually closes for Thanksgiving?”
“A small one that is very new,” I said. “The sales rep who asked me to test the trackers out said that the company had developed some great technology, but that they were still in their start-up phase.”
“Well, from what I could tell,” Sammy said, rubbing his forehead. “I’m not sure if there is even a live person handling the phones. I was on hold for over an hour and never spoke to anybody. It was just an endless loop of automated prompts. And the reported wait time when I finally gave up was still over two hours.”
“So, no ideas, huh?” I said.
“Of course I have ideas,” Sammy said, smiling at me. “Just because I didn’t get a chance to talk to anybody doesn’t mean I didn’t do anything while I was on hold.”
“You’re a good man, Sammy,” Chief Abrams said.
“Thanks, Chief. You all know how GPS systems work, right?” he said, glancing around the table.
“Sure, sure,” I said.
Josie snorted. I glared at her, but then nodded and looked at Sammy.
“But just for the sake of discussion, let’s say we might need a little refresher,” I said.
“Good call,” Sammy said. “GPS stands for Global Positioning System. And anytime you’re talking about global, that means satellites are being used to pinpoint the location of things like a building, a car, person, or, in this case, our beloved Al and Dente.”
“Okay, got it,” I said, gesturing for him to continue.
“But the satellites need something to fix a signal on,” Sammy said. “Like the tracker you attached to the dogs’ collars. And once a link between the tracker and satellite is made, you have the location pinpointed.”
“But if the link is there, why aren’t we getting a signal?” I said.
“Because the signal that has been made between the satellite and the tracking device needs to be sent to the app on your phone,” he said. “So that means the tracking process actually involves two different signals. One between the satellite and the tracker, the second between the tracker and your phone. ”
“And that’s where the five-mile coverage limitation comes in,” I said.
“Correct,” Sammy said. “It’s a tech limitation of the tracking device. I’m sure this company is aware that the signal from the device to the phone app needs a lot of work, but from the customer reviews I read, the battery in the device runs down fast and needs to be recharged on a regular basis. So my guess is that when they were designing the device, they had to make some tradeoffs between the signal strength and the life of the battery.”
“How long does the battery last?” I said.
“The customer reviews said the devices work for about two days before they needed recharging,” Sammy said.
“The stronger the signal, the shorter the battery life,” Chief Abrams said, nodding. “That makes sense.”
“So, we’ve hit a dead end,” I whispered.
“Not at all,” Sammy said. “Even though you’re not getting a signal from the app on your phone, the link between the device and the satellite might still be active.”
“That’s interesting,” Chief Abrams said. “And if it is, someone from the company should be able to access it.”
“Correct. I’m sure the company collects all sorts of data on all its customers,” Sammy said, glancing around the table. “You know, things like how far people are traveling with their dogs, what their favorite local places are, there’s all sorts of possible data points that can be tracked and analyzed.”
“Why on earth would they do that?” my mother said.
“Because that’s what tech companies do,” Chief Abrams said. “And you think that if we can get hold of someone at the company, they might be able to give us Al and Dente’s location?”
“Yeah, that was my original thought,” Sammy said, nodding.
“But since you couldn’t get through to a real person, we’re out of luck, right?” I said.
“Do you think I was going to give up that easily?” Sammy said.
Chef Claire entered and sat down next to me. I patted her hand.
“How are you holding up?” I said.
“Not well. What are you guys talking about?”
“I was just explaining what I’ve been working on,” Sammy said. “I’m so sorry, Chef Claire. But we’re going to get them back.”
“Thanks, Sammy,” Chef Claire whispered, her eyes tearing up.
“So, after I couldn’t get hold of anyone at the company, I decided to take a look at their website, and we might have gotten lucky.”
“How so?” Chief Abrams said, listening carefully.
“It turns out their CEO is a young guy with an adventure streak. He does things like go swimming with sharks, bungee cord drops from a thousand feet, cliff diving, all sorts of crazy stuff. His latest one is base jumping.”
“Is that the one where you wear the skintight outfit that makes you look like a bat?” I said.
“That’s the one,” Sammy said. “You jump off a mountain and then try to navigate your way down by basically flying. Or at least as close you can come to flying wearing a bat-skin suit.”
“That’s insane,” Josie said. “How fast do these idiots travel?”
“A hundred fifty miles an hour and up,” Sammy said.
“And how do you know the CEO does st
uff like this?” I said.
“It’s all over their website,” Sammy said. “In addition to being an adventure junkie, this guy also seems to be a megalomaniac with an ego bigger than the mountains he jumps off. He posted on the website that he’s going to spend Thanksgiving base jumping in the fiords of Norway.”
“Who goes to Norway for Thanksgiving,” Josie said, frowning.
“I did some research and discovered that there is only one five-star resort within a hundred miles of where he plans on jumping. Since he has his own company, I figured he’s probably pretty used to a luxury lifestyle. So I took a shot and called the resort. Guess who’s registered.”
“Well done,” Chief Abram said, nodding. “If you’re ever interested in a career in law enforcement, just let me know.”
“No, thanks,” Sammy said, shaking his head. “I’ll stick with dogs.”
“She manages to do both,” Chief Abrams said, nodding in my direction.
“Yeah, but only because of her obsessive personality,” Sammy said.
“Funny,” I said.
“The resort told me the CEO was out for the day so I left a message for him to call,” Sammy said, then looked at Chief Abrams. “I hope you don’t mind, but I used your name and number. I thought a call from a chief of police might carry a bit more weight than one from Sammy the Dog Guy.”
“That’s fine,” Chief Abrams said. “You think he’ll call back?”
“Yeah, probably,” Sammy said. “I kind of overstated the facts a bit.”
“Do I want to know what you told them?” Chief Abrams said.
“Probably not,” Sammy said. “But if he mentions anything about a complete and total tracking device malfunction just tell him that the message must have gotten garbled.”
“Good job, Sammy,” I said.
“Thanks. I was hoping that the website might have his cell phone number listed somewhere. But that was too much to ask for. Besides, the cell phone coverage in the fiords is probably awful.”
A lightbulb went off in my head. I stared at Sammy, then looked at Chief Abrams.
