Case of the Great Cranberry Caper

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “Tell me you know how to make butt rolls,” I eagerly said, as I addressed Hannah. “I love those things.”

  The frown morphed into the beginnings of a smile. “Butt rolls? Are you serious?”

  “Oh, yeah! They’re fantastic. Taste so good, they don’t even need butter.”

  Hannah curiously looked at Jillian and shrugged. “I’ll make them if you tell me how.”

  Jillian had started smiling the moment I gave Hannah the suggestion. “Sure. It’s not nearly as hard as it sounds. Get a bag of frozen, uncooked rolls. Spray a cupcake tin—which I have a few if you need to borrow one—with cooking spray. Place two frozen rolls in each cupcake tin. Cover with a piece of plastic wrap, but I would suggest spraying it with cooking spray, too. Let them thaw, which will make them rise, and voila! Butt rolls. Although, for the record, I think they should be called something else besides that.”

  “Then why call them that at all?” Hannah asked, as she turned back to me.

  “You tell me what those rolls look like to you once they’ve risen,” I snickered. “You won’t call them anything else.”

  “Butt rolls,” Hannah chortled. “Only you, Zack. Okay, you need some harvest-themed decorations? Let me show you what I have.”

  Jillian’s phone rang right then. I watched her glance at the display and, before I knew what was happening, cringe. Curiosity piqued, I sidled closer, only Jillian planted a hand on my chest, shook her head, and then inclined it in Hannah’s direction. The meaning came through loud and clear. Whatever the reason for the call, she needed to take it in a quiet place. So, she wanted me to pick out some appropriate décor.

  “I need to take this,” Jillian apologized, as she hurried out of the store.

  “Is everything okay?” Hannah sounded worried. “I don’t usually see Jillian get worked up like that.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assured her. “So, what decorations do you have that are Thanksgiving-themed?”

  Shrugging, Hannah turned and led me deeper into her store. She took me to a display stand, and on it was an arrangement with a wide vase, a variety of orange flowers and red berries.

  “This one, for example, has several mini pumpkins, as you can see,” Hannah was saying. “I’ve incorporated a few orange roses, orange carnations, some chrysanthemums, and even a few red currants. Oh, do you see those? Those are poppies.”

  “Very festive,” I said, as I studied the arrangement. “Love the colors. We’ll take it.”

  “You will? It’s kinda expensive, Zack. But, I can give you a manager’s discount. I …”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” I scoffed. “If you give me free stuff, then I’ll do the same to you. Now, what about that? It looks like some type of wreath?”

  Hannah nodded as she pulled a step stool out from behind a large rack and gingerly pulled the wreath from the wall.

  “I wove grapevines together to get the overall shape, and then incorporated … let me guess. You don’t care, do you?”

  I grinned and shoved my hands in my pockets. “Guilty as charged. It has those little mini pumpkins on it, and that’s all it needs to get my vote. I think it looks nice. I’ll take that one, too.”

  As I followed Hannah to the front of the store, we passed by a worn, walnut bureau, which was being used to display multiple knick-knacks Hannah had for sale. I caught sight of a set of hand-carved, wooden pumpkins, which had a small cutout to place a name card. That was something, I decided, Jillian would love: pumpkin name card holders. There were six pumpkins in each set, and there were three sets available for sale.

  I took all three.

  Jillian returned from her call in time to see me presenting my credit card to pay for the purchases. She sidled up next to me, slipped her arm through mine, and leaned against my side. Thanking Hannah profusely for her help, we headed outside with the first load of purchases. Once there, Jillian began giggling.

  “Is everything okay?” I worriedly asked. “For some reason, I thought you’d be more concerned than this. You’re laughing? Curiosity has been piqued. What’s up?”

  Jillian took a deep breath, held it for a few moments, and then slowly let it out. She faced Hannah, smiled, and then looked at me.

  “That was Julie. She, uh, received some news today that she’s pretty sure is going to freak out Harrison.”

  “I hope she’s okay,” Hannah worriedly said.

  Julie was the wife of my best friend from high school, Harrison Watt. How both of us started in Phoenix, Arizona, only to end up in Pomme Valley, Oregon, continued to amaze me. And Julie, I might add, was currently pregnant with her third child. That was a fact that originally didn’t go over well with Harry, who automatically assumed he wasn’t the father, and … let’s just say things went downhill from there. Fast.

  That’s all in the past now. The last I heard, everyone was happy. So, what had happened? What piece of news had Julie just passed on to Jillian?

  “They’re having twins!” Jillian excitedly announced. “She went in for an ultrasound today, and the doctor confirmed there were multiple heartbeats. Can you believe it, Zachary?”

  “Harry is gonna freak,” I chortled. “What did he end up saying?”

  “She hasn’t told him yet. That’s why she called me. She was certain Harrison was going to react badly to the news, but I managed to talk her down. Harrison would never treat her that way.”

  “At least, not on purpose,” I added. I looked over at Jillian’s friend, who had returned to the front counter. “They’ll be fine. Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, is everything all right with Hannah? When I came back from chatting with Colin, I saw the two of you in the midst of a hushed conversation. You were exasperated, and Hannah was angry. Wait, not angry. Defiant.”

  She gave me an amazed look. “I’m impressed. That’s exactly what was going through Hannah’s head--defiance. Things are tight with her and Colin this year, and seeing how I didn’t want to see anyone hurting, I offered a small loan.”

  “She refused,” I guessed.

  Jillian nodded. “To put it bluntly, yes. I’m hoping I can talk her into accepting it. At the very least, she and Colin will be celebrating Thanksgiving with us. So, it sounds like you’re getting along with Colin. I thought you told me you were uncomfortable around children?”

  I shrugged. “What can I say? I like him. He’s a smart kid. Quiet. I guess he reminds me of myself when I was that age. Plus, it turns out he loves vintage video games. Challenging me to an 80’s video game throw down? I’m gonna dust the floor with him.”

  “You are going to lose to a 12-year-old,” Jillian teased.

  “Probably,” I laughed.

  It took several trips to the car to get everything (and everyone) properly loaded. Jillian took one look at the bag full of pumpkin place card holders and clapped excitedly, knowing full well she was already planning out how she was going to have her dinner table look. Then, came an unwelcome interruption…

  “Oh my! We can fly! You can fly! We can fly! Come on, everybody, here we go!”

  I ended up snorting with laughter before I was able to prevent my cell phone from repeating the new ringtone I had specifically picked out for my detective friend. What was it? Why, it was nothing more than the theme from Peter Pan. In case you want to know why that was so funny to me, check YouTube and look up tap-dancing detective!

  “Zack? It’s happened again. There’s … why are you laughing? Never mind. I need your help. Another grocery store has been hit!”

  FOUR

  As I pulled up to the latest grocery store that had been vandalized, which was El Gato Supermercado, located on the east side of Medford, several things became very apparent to me. First off, there was only one police cruiser parked outside the store. Was there so much crime happening in our neighboring city that Medford could only spare one police officer? And second, this store was about the same size as the grocery store that was hit a few days ago in Grants Pass. Coincidence?

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nbsp; The damage to this store wasn’t nearly as severe as what had happened to Vicki’s Grab & Go. There were no shattered windows, but the front door did look as though it had taken a mighty blow. The glass, I was told later, was safety glass, so it resisted shattering, but that didn’t stop it from splintering. Hundreds of cracks snaked out in all directions, forming one mighty impressive-looking spider web. To me, it looked as though someone kicked their way through the front door, and instead of breaking the glass, the lock finally broke, allowing entry.

  I spotted Vance’s car next to the MPD cruiser and took the spot next to him. Helping their Royal Highnesses to the ground, the dogs and I turned to face the store, as if each of us was doing the same thing, namely trying to determine why this particular store was struck. The front door opened and Vance waved us in.

  “Hey, Zack. Glad you’re here. And there’s Sherlock and Watson, my two favorite Dog Wonders. I’ve got something for you both.”

  Two corgi derrieres immediately sat, with the nubs of their tails wagging like crazy. As the dogs munched on their biscuits, I watched two police officers—one was a tall, middle-aged woman and the other a young guy—exit the store, catch sight of Vance squatting next to the dogs, and amble over. The female cop then noticed the dogs and a huge smile split her face.

  “It’s Sherlock and Watson! I remember you two adorable fluffballs!”

  If anything could make the corgis abandon Vance and his seemingly unending supply of biscuits, then it’d be an enthusiastic greeting from someone new. Sherlock quickly rose to his feet and trotted over, followed immediately by Watson. The officer squatted low and, just like that, both dogs went belly-up.

  “You’ve met them before?” I asked, as I approached the two Medford officers.

  The woman nodded. “It must’ve been a few years ago. I believe you were investigating a series of dognappings, weren’t you?

  I nodded. “Good memory. We were looking for connections for a rash of dognappings that happened here in Medford a while ago. Vance brought us over and introduced us to everyone.”

  “The dogs were a hit,” the officer confirmed. She straightened and held out a hand. “I’m Officer Danielle Hartman. This is my partner, Officer Richard Montoyo.”

  Having already met, Vance made the introductions for us, and even elicited a chuckle from Officer Montoyo when he included the dogs.

  “What’s it look like in there?” I wanted to know.

  “I personally think this was nothing but a group of teenagers, looking to steal some booze.”

  “The pharmacy wasn’t hit?” I asked.

  Both officers shook their heads.

  “El Gato Supermercado,” Officer Montoyo explained, “if you couldn’t tell by the name, is a Mexican supermarket. They’re not big, but they are local favorites. Plus, they don’t have a pharmacy in there.”

  Remembering that the pharmacy wasn’t the only part of the Grants Pass store to get hit, I turned to Vance. “Was there any other part of the store that was targeted?”

  “There are tipped over racks and we found some products knocked from shelves,” Officer Hartman answered. “Trust me, guys, as much as I love having Sherlock and Watson here, this was just the result of some dimwitted teenagers.”

  “What kind of booze was taken?” Vance wanted to know.

  “Beer,” Officer Montoyo replied. “Nearly a dozen cases.”

  I looked at Vance. “Think there are any dumpsters nearby?”

  “Why do you ask that?” Officer Hartman wanted to know.

  “Did you hear about the store that was hit in Grants Pass?” Vance asked.

  Both officers nodded. After all, these were all small towns in the grand scheme of things.

  “Well, their pharmacy was hit, but Sherlock and Watson found the stolen drugs in a dumpster less than a mile away.”

  “They ditched the drugs?” Officer Montoyo asked, puzzled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “We know,” Vance agreed. “So, when my partner here asked if there were any nearby dumpsters …”

  “You think they might have dumped the booze, too?” Officer Hartman asked, after Vance had trailed off.

  “That’s the ongoing theory,” Vance confirmed.

  Officer Hartman shrugged. “Your Spanish is way better than mine. You stay here. I’ll go take a look around.”

  Officer Montoyo nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I looked at the front door. “Is this how they gained entry?”

  Both Officer Montoyo and Vance shook their heads.

  “No,” my friend told me. He pointed at a narrow alley on the right. “There’s a side door over there, and it looks as though it’s been picked. There are fresh scratches on the lock.”

  I looked back at the heavily damaged front door. “Then, what’s with the broken door? Why not just leave the same way they got in?”

  Vance shrugged. “I don’t have an answer to that. Perhaps … perhaps we’re dealing with the stupidest criminals ever?”

  “Someone wants us to think this was how they got in,” Officer Montoyo added. “But, anyone—professional or amateur—can see that this was not how they gained entry.”

  A full-sized, quad-cab pickup suddenly pulled up to the store. An elderly Hispanic couple emerged and headed straight to the two uniformed police officers. Perhaps they were the owners of the store?

  Officer Montoyo stepped up and began speaking with them in Spanish. I knew Vance could speak the language, but judging from the look on his face, my detective friend wasn’t able to follow along with this particular conversation. Why? Probably because they were speaking way too fast.

  After a few minutes had passed, the conversation came to an end, and Officer Montoyo ushered us over.

  “These are the owners of El Gato. Señor and Señora Olvidera.”

  We shook hands.

  “Señor? Señora? This is the team from Pomme Valley, sent over to assist us. This is Detective Vance Samuelson and Zack Anderson, a police consultant. And … down there? That one, the one with the black. He’s Sherlock. The other one is Watson.”

  The woman smiled. “¡Que bonita!”

  Mr. Olvidera took my hand and eagerly pumped it up and down. “Hola, Señor Anderson. I am told your dogs can help us locate who did this to our store?”

  The woman’s expression soured as she glanced up at the damaged front door. “Pendejos. Quisiera mételes un chile por el culo.”

  Vance snorted with laughter while Mr. Olvidera’s eyes widened with disbelief. The shop keeper hurriedly turned to his wife.

  “No hagas una escena. Me ocuparé de esto. So, Señor Anderson, what do you need from me?”

  I pointed at the two dogs. “Well, we’d like to take a look around, but this is a grocery store, and I’m guessing you typically don’t allow animals in there? So, we’d need your permission to enter.”

  The store owner waved off our concerns. “Please. Look around. Anything you can do is fine with us.”

  Vance nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Olvidera. Zack? Let’s go.”

  Vance gingerly opened the damaged door, stepped inside, and held it open for me and the dogs. As I stepped inside, and looked around, I was immediately reminded of the name of this particular store. It was in Spanish and the store owners were Mexican. That meant this store catered to the Hispanic community.

  “What did they say?” I asked Vance, as soon as we were out of earshot.

  “Hmm? Oh, the owners? Well, Mrs. Olvidera thought the dogs were both cute.”

  “Yeah, I figured that part out on my own. What did she say after that? She said something which made you laugh and made her husband blush.”

  “He was embarrassed. Let’s just say she had a few choice words for the perps who did this, and she suggested a course of action should she ever encounter the person who did this face-to-face.”

  “Really? Come on, pal. Tell me what she really said.”

  “Fine. She said she wanted to shove a chili up their rears.”
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br />   “Nice,” I chuckled. “And appropriate.”

  We both ventured further inside. Officer Montoyo was right. This store catered to the Mexican community here in Medford. I don’t know if you’ve ever been inside a Mexican store, or any type of establishment which carried only a specific type of product, but in my case, this was a first for me. Upon stepping inside, my eyes were drawn to the cleanliness of the store. Products were arranged tastefully. Floors were clean. There were bright, colorful banners everywhere, which were touting (I’m assuming) this week’s specials. Then again, I could also see tipped over racks of greeting cards and several destroyed displays of what I’m guessing was candy.

  I walked over to a display rack of tortilla chips. The bags looked like anything I’d expect to find back at Gary’s Grocery, only everything was in Spanish. Name, description, calorie counts, and ingredients, all were in Spanish.

  One thing I noticed right off the bat was that the products definitely had more flavors. By that, I mean everything looked really spicy. And it was at this exact moment when I remembered my friend, Harry, still owed me a dinner. He and I, while we were in Monterey, had made a wager where the loser would have to do the other’s bidding. Harry, the little schmuck, had hoped I’d have to scrub some of his kennels at his office. Seeing how he ran the town’s veterinary clinic, and also ran a rescue shelter to find ‘furever’ homes for the animals that were brought to him, he was always needing his kennels thoroughly cleaned. Thankfully, I had won the wager, and Harry had agreed to go to dinner with me and eat anything I picked out for him. In case you’re wondering, this was a direct retaliation for him giving me hell for accidentally ordering frog legs at Jillian’s favorite restaurant.

  Yes, I did try them, in order to save face with Jillian, and no, they did not taste like chicken.

  So, I’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to spring my surprise on my unsuspecting friend. Looking at the flavors before me, and the many choices of hot sauces lining the shelves, I made a mental note to go shopping afterward and, more than likely, enlist the help of my new friend here. I just had to make sure to record the entire ordeal. It was time someone dethroned Vance as the most popular YouTuber living in Pomme Valley.