by Nic Saint
Almost, but not quite.
And so by the time he’d changed into his Bermudas and loud Hawaiian shirt and was standing in his backyard surveying his domain, his melancholy was back in full force.
He’d asked his brother-in-law to investigate the case but hadn’t heard back. He’d asked his future son-in-law the same thing and hadn’t heard back either.
Fat chance the police would put every last available officer on a case as inconsequential as the theft of a few gnomes. Still, he’d hoped for more. After all, he’d practically been feeding Alec from his own purse ever since the man’s wife died, and he’d clasped Chase to his bosom, even going so far as to allow the young man to call him ‘Dad.’
He shuddered at the thought, then spotted movement from the corner of his eye and wandered over to the fence that separated his patch of suburban heaven from the next.
“Hey, Ted,” he said a little morosely as he leaned on the fence and addressed his neighbor Ted Trapper, who was busy polishing one of his own garden gnomes.
It was a hobby both men shared, and Tex liked to think it had brought them closer.
“Hey, Tex,” said Ted, looking a lot happier than Tex was feeling. “How was your day?”
“So so,” said Tex. “Yours?”
“Oh, you know. Dealing with office politics all day long doesn’t exactly uplift and inspire. But then I come home to find these sweet precious babies and any thought of strangling my psychopathic boss goes right out the window and I’m sane again.”
Tex idly glanced in the direction of Ted’s ‘babies’ and was surprised to find that they looked almost exactly like his own, now absent gnomes.
“Say, Ted. Your collection seems to have grown considerably,” he said, staring at one gnome that looked the spitting image of the crowning piece of his own collection. It was one of those fat jolly gnomes with its face stuck in a rictus grin and its apple-cheeked features just a little too happy for comfort. In fact he could probably feature in a Patterson novel as a serial killer about to slay victim twenty-three in a most gruesome manner.
“Yeah, I’ve been splurging,” said Ted, sounding a little guilty but not much. “Marcie isn’t too happy about it, let me tell you. And I did promise her I’d stop now. She feels my collection is about as big as she’ll tolerate, so there’s that. And some of these guys don’t come cheap.” He chuckled. “Listen to me go on. Of course I don’t have to tell you. You have some of the nicest gnomes in the neighborhood. Pride of your collection and all that. I have to confess, though, Tex, that living next door to you and seeing your frankly fantastic collection has given me that boost to go the extra mile myself.” He grinned. “Nothing like a bit of healthy competition between neighbors, eh?”
A look of suspicion had traveled up Tex’s face and he now asked, “Can I see that big one over there for a moment, Ted? Yeah, the one with the pea-green bib.”
Ted dutifully handed Tex the big gnome with the pea-green bib and Tex turned it over in his hands. When he saw the big red T on the gnome’s undercarriage he snorted wildly.
“What’s wrong, Tex?” said Ted, cautiously taking the gnome from his neighbor’s hands.
But Tex was too overwhelmed for speech. Instead he was breathing loudly through both nostrils, like a bull about to charge a matador and gore him.
“Do you want me to get you a doctor?” Ted laughed and slapped his brow. “Oh, silly me. You are a doctor! What am I saying?”
Tex finally found speech again, but when he opened his mouth, expecting fire and brimstone to pour out, instead a long drawn-out scream erupted: “THIEEEEEEEEEF!”
“What?” said Ted, stepping back a few paces.
“YOU’RE A THIEF!” Tex screamed at the top of his lungs. “YOU STOLE MY GNOMES!”
“What? I did not!” said Ted, retreating even further from his fire-breathing neighbor.
“That is my gnome and you know it!”
“Are you crazy? This is my gnome,” said Ted, cradling the gnome, as one would a baby.
“It still has the big red T I wrote on the bottom! Check it!”
Ted checked it and frowned. “Gee. There is a T.”
“That’s my T! I write T on all of my gnomes. T for Tex. So I can catch filthy thieves like you in the act—THIEEEEEEEF!”
“But, Tex, really,” said the man, growing a little white around the nostrils. It’s never pleasant to be accused of theft, and especially not by a neighbor having gone berserk.
“You stole my gnomes—confess, you THIEF!”
“What’s going on here?” asked Marcie, coming out of the house, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.
“Tex says I stole his gnome,” said Ted, now looking like a kicked puppy.
“Is this true, Tex? Are you accusing my husband of being a thief?”
“Yes, Marcie, I am,” said Tex. “Because that’s what your husband is. A filthy THIEF!”
“Oh, will you stop shouting,” said Marcie with a frown.
“He says I stole this gnome,” said Ted, showing his wife the gnome in question.
“There’s a big letter T on the bottom of that gnome. I wrote that,” said Tex, breathing stertorously. If a doctor had been present, and that doctor had been a different doctor from the one now looking close to a heart attack, he would probably have advised Tex to take it easy. But since there wasn’t, it was up to Marcie to take the sensible approach.
She opened the little gate a previous homeowner had once installed and that connected both gardens and said, “Tex, come over here a minute, will you?” Once Tex had complied, she added, “Now sit down. You too, Ted.”
Both men reluctantly sat down at the garden table, Tex shooting fire with his eyes, insofar as a mild doctor can shoot fire with his eyes, and Ted sitting at the edge of his chair, ready to bolt if Tex made the slightest move to violate the physical integrity of his person.
“Now let’s thresh this thing out,” said Marcie, grabbing the gnome from her husband’s hands and turning it upside down. “Where did you get this gnome, Ted?”
“I… I don’t remember,” said Ted.
“Hah!” said Tex.
“Quiet, Tex,” said Marcie. “What do you mean, you don’t remember?”
“Well, I did drop by the garden center yesterday to buy a fresh batch, but I honestly don’t remember every single one of them or their exact particulars.”
“How many did you buy?”
“Um, a dozen?” he said, giving his wife a sheepish look.
“Oh, Ted,” said Marcie with a sigh. “And how many did you have?”
“Two dozen.”
“So that makes three dozen. So let’s count, shall we?”
All three of them started counting the gnomes in Ted and Marcie’s backyard. It immediately became clear there were far more than thirty-six gnomes littering the place. In fact there were forty-eight.
“How is that possible?” murmured Ted.
“Because you stole mine!” Tex cried, and made to get up and wring Ted’s neck.
Marcie pushed him back down and said crisply, “Ted, did you steal Tex’s gnomes?”
“No, of course I didn’t!” her husband cried.
“Hah!”
“Quiet, Tex. So where do these extra twelve come from?”
“I don’t know!”
Marcie had gotten up and was now checking a couple of the superfluous gnomes. “Some of these have the letter T on them,” she said.
“Those are all mine,” said Tex, getting up and collecting them from Marcie’s hands.
“I don’t know what to say, Tex,” she said apologetically.
“I swear on the heads of my kids that I didn’t steal your gnomes, Tex!” Ted cried, much perturbed.
But Tex didn’t even deign the gnome thief with a response. Instead he checked every single gnome in that backyard until he’d retrieved his own dozen gnomes. Then, his arms laden with gnomes big and small, he stalked off.
“Tex, buddy, please!” said Ted.
13
Vesta glanced up at the impressive church steeple and made the sign of the cross.
“What are we doing here?” asked Scarlett, watching with some measure of bewilderment as her friend displayed all the hallmarks of a religious person, which she hadn’t thought Vesta actually was.
“We’re adding another formidable recruit to our already formidable team,” said Vesta.
“Father Reilly? Are you sure?”
“A priest knows, Scarlett,” Vesta pointed out. “In fact a priest knows all. People come in to confess, and he writes it all down in his little black book. Criminals, sinners, or even righteous souls confessing some minor transgression. Father Reilly knows all and sees all.”
“I think that’s God,” said Scarlett, but Vesta was undeterred.
“If we can recruit Father Reilly to our cause, crime in Hampton Cove will be all but extinct,” she said, and crossed the threshold to step into the church proper. It took some effort to push through those heavy oak doors, and then they were inside, in that cool and semi-dark place that was St. John’s Church, the town’s center of all that was holy.
As it happened, Father Reilly was replenishing the stoup near the entrance as they strode in, and smiled in greeting. “Vesta. Scarlett. What brings you here?”
“We have an offer for you, Francis,” said Vesta. “An offer you can’t refuse.”
Father Reilly’s equanimity diminished to a slight degree. “Is that so?”
“We’re launching Hampton Cove’s first-ever neighborhood watch,” Scarlett explained, glancing around a little uneasily. She hadn’t set foot inside a church in ages, and as Hampton Cove’s number one Jezebel now wondered if the gates of hell would suddenly open up underneath her feet and swallow her whole. She disliked sulfur, or white-hot flames licking at her feet. Just to be on the safe side, therefore, she stayed close to Father Reilly. Satan would think twice before swallowing him up whole, wouldn’t he?
“A neighborhood watch, eh?” said the priest, thoughtfully stroking his chin.
“Yeah, and we want you on our team,” said Vesta, wasting no time coming to the point. “You’d be an incredible asset,” she added when the priest frowned in confusion.
“I’m not sure that would be wise,” he said now, indicating he was going to prove a tough sell.
“And why is that?” asked Vesta, her face taking on its most mulish expression.
“Well, for one thing I’m a man of God, and men of God don’t usually involve themselves in local politics.”
“This got nothing to do with politics, Francis,” said Vesta. “This is your duty as a citizen. Don’t you want our streets to be safe for all to walk on, even in the middle of the night? Don’t you want our kids to sleep peacefully in their beds, safe in the knowledge that no child snatcher is crawling through the window ready to snatch to their heart’s content? And don’t you want the proud homeowner to relax, knowing no one is going to spray graffiti on his picket fence, or burgle his safe or even steal his Lab or schnauzer?”
“Well, of course I want the members of my little flock to be safe,” said the priest. “Who doesn’t? But that’s why we have a police force, Vesta. A most capable police force consisting of brave and dedicated police officers, always ready to give of their best for the good of the community. Why only this morning Chief Alec was in here to talk to me about the disappearance of my gnomes.”
Scarlett frowned at this. “Did you say gnomes?”
“Gnomes, yes. Several of my most precious garden gnomes seem to have gone missing overnight. It is a mystery most baffling. A crime most heinous. And Chief Alec said he’d make it his top priority to find out who absconded with my precious treasures.”
Vesta and Scarlett shared a look of concern. “You’re not the only one whose gnomes have gone missing, Francis,” said Vesta. “It happened to my son-in-law, too. No less than twelve of his gnomes have been taken from his backyard under cover of darkness.”
“Sounds to me like a gang,” said Scarlett, studying the granite church floor for signs of hell fire licking at her ankles. “An international gang of gnome thieves,” she specified.
“Now, see, this is exactly the kind of thing our neighborhood watch is going to take care of,” Vesta said with a note of triumph in her voice. She suddenly reminded Scarlett of Zig Ziglar or Brian Tracy or one of those other super-super-salesmen.
“I’m sure your son has the situation well in hand,” said the priest, waving a dismissive hand.
“Ha!” said Vesta, in a scoffing manner.
“Ha!” Scarlett echoed, equally scoffing.
“If you think Alec is going to spend one minute of his time looking for your precious gnomes you’re sorely mistaken,” said Vesta.
“Not a single minute,” Scarlett emphasized. Out of habit she’d been lightly jiggling her décolletage, before realizing this probably wasn’t the right way to make a priest do one’s bidding, so she stopped jiggling.
“I just happen to know Alec is knee-deep in a murder case right now,” said Vesta. “So your gnomes are the furthest thing from his mind.”
“A murder case!” Father Reilly exclaimed, and quickly genuflected, causing Vesta, too, to mimic the gesture and even Scarlett to follow suit, though with some reluctance.
“Yeah, some blond babe got whacked by Dan Goory,” said Vesta.
“Not Dan Goory!” Father Reilly cried.
“Yes, Dan Goory,” said Vesta with a measure of relish. “So you see, no one is looking for your gnomes, Francis. We gotta take matters into our own hands if we want justice to prevail.”
“Well, if you put it that way,” said Father Reilly thoughtfully.
“I am putting it that way. And what’s more—it stands to reason that if your gnomes were snatched, and Tex’s gnomes were snatched, there’s bound to be more victims. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me if all the gnomes of Hampton Cove are in mortal danger.”
“An international gang,” Scarlett repeated.
“So do you want your gnomes back or not?” asked Vesta. “Cause if you don’t, that’s fine by me. I’ll bet whoever took them is probably melting them down as we speak. They did the same thing with Kim Kardashian’s jewelry when she was robbed in Paris that time.”
Scarlett wasn’t sure if gnomes could be melted down, but it sounded good. “Yeah, they’re probably lighting a fire at your poor gnomes’ feet right now,” she said, nodding.
A distinct look of anguish came over the priest’s face, and he clutched at his white hair. “Oh, no! My poor, poor gnomes,” he whimpered.
It surprised Scarlett that a grown man could be so attached to a bunch of ugly little men made of plaster and painted in the most hideous colors, but what did she know?
“So are you with us?” asked Vesta, holding out her hand.
After a moment of hesitation, the priest stuck out his hand and shook Vesta’s, then Scarlett’s. Scarlett, once again out of habit, bent over slightly to offer the man a closer look at her cleavage before remembering where she was, at which point she straightened and gave the man a cheerful grin. Father Reilly, looking a little dizzy now, and out of sorts, blinked a few times, then murmured, “Excellent. Yes, quite excellent.”
14
That evening, dinner at the Pooles was a big affair. The Poole family was there, of course, but also Uncle Alec and his girlfriend Charlene Butterwick, who was Hampton Cove’s mayor, and even Vesta’s dear friend Scarlett.
Dooley and I sat at the sidelines, as did Harriet and Brutus. In fact the four of us were ensconced on the porch, while the humans were all seated around the large garden table Marge had set for the occasion.
The weather was excellent, and so was the mood.
This may surprise you, as the day hadn’t been without its moments of tragedy. Uncle Alec had suffered defeat when he’d been forced to let Dan Goory walk free, unable to pin the murder of Heather Gallop on him with a sufficient degree of finali
ty. Tex was still sulking after the shocking discovery that his neighbor Ted Trapper had been the one behind the terrible theft of his gnomes. And Odelia and Chase were still nowhere in their investigation of the murder of that same Heather Gallop.
As far as I was concerned, I wasn’t feeling all that happy either, as the matter of the mouse invasion still weighed heavily on my mind, and I still hadn’t seen my way toward a solution satisfactory for all.
“I talked to Rufus today,” Harriet said, tackling the topic as if reading my mind. “And he promised he’d come over tonight to talk to the mice.”
“Rufus?” I asked, much surprised by this denouement. “Why Rufus?”
“Because we have all failed in our mouse diplomacy,” said Harriet. “And I was thinking that maybe a giant dog like Rufus could succeed to talk some sense into Hector and Helga.”
It was definitely an idea worth exploring, I had to admit.
“Are mice afraid of dogs?” asked Dooley.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But it’s worth finding out. He is a great deal bigger and potentially more threatening than the four of us, even when working in tandem.”
“I think it’s a lousy idea,” grumbled Brutus, who for some reason wasn’t a big fan of the sheepdog.
“Oh, sugar buns,” said Harriet with a light tinkling laugh. “Stop sulking for a moment, will you? Rufus is simply going to talk to the mice and then he’ll be on his way again.”
“So a priest, a rabbi and a jackrabbit walk into a bar,” Dooley began, but I immediately silenced him. I frankly wasn’t in the mood for any more of his lame jokes.
“I heard you made an arrest today?” said Gran as she expertly sliced through her piece of steak.
“Yeah, and then I let him go again,” said Uncle Alec, munching somberly on a helping of peas in butter sauce. “No evidence.”
“Oh, Uncle Alec,” said Odelia. “You don’t really think Dan is a killer, do you? The man can’t even swat a fly without asking it for forgiveness first.”