The Case of the Invisible Dog

by Diane Stingley

  “I would like a cup of hot tea,” Shirley told her. “Many times when I order hot tea I do not receive water that could, by any stretch of the imagination, qualify as ‘hot.’ Often it is tepid.”

  “Tepid?” Cora asked wearily, trying desperately to maintain her smile.

  “Yes. You are probably familiar with the more common word: lukewarm. However, lukewarm water cannot produce hot tea. It produces tepid tea. Or—again, as you would most likely think of it—lukewarm tea. Are you with me so far?”

  “Yeah,” Cora said. The smile had now officially disappeared.

  “I have never been here before.” Shirley said firmly as Cora narrowed her eyes. Shirley was still wearing her nurse’s uniform—including the cap—and was obviously convinced that Cora had absolutely no idea who she was. “So perhaps this fine establishment does not make that mistake. But could you please make sure the water for my tea is piping hot before you bring it to the table?”

  Cora sighed. She looked over at me. All I could do was smile. It was a smile of solidarity. I’m with you, sister. Yes, the woman that I’m with is a giant pain in the ass. But, unfortunately, we both appear to be stuck with her. So let’s try and make the best of it. And also, I promise to leave you a very generous tip.

  “Of course,” Cora said, and then we placed the rest of our order.

  I waited until the water arrived, was tested, and passed the Shirley-temperature test before bringing up the case.

  “So,” I said carefully. I wasn’t ruling Patty out as Matt’s killer, or ruling Angie Berger out as her possible accomplice. But I wasn’t feeling satisfied. The invisible dog setup seemed out of their league. Rotten eggs thrown at his house? Signing him up for subscriptions to home decorating magazines, or pizza deliveries showing up at his door that he hadn’t ordered? That seemed more their style. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still something I’d missed—something I couldn’t put my finger on, something hovering on the edge of my mind that kept nudging me. “I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this case. Even after everything we’ve learned, I feel like I have more questions than answers.”

  “Naturally,” Shirley said after taking a sip of her tea. “With your inexperience and untrained mind, that is to be expected.”

  “Could you walk me through everything and help me put the pieces together?”

  Shirley took another sip of tea and set down her cup. I waited as she gazed off into the distance for a minute. “Tammy, I take my heritage very seriously. It is a burden in many ways, but one that I have accepted. However, my great-great-grandfather was not perfect. He made mistakes. In his own autobiographical notes—not the ones from that Doyle person, but the real stories—he admits that. And one of his mistakes was to always leave Watson waiting until the bitter end before revealing the identity of the villain. If only he had taken Watson into his confidence during the case that became his downfall…”

  Shirley cleared her throat and took another sip of tea before continuing.

  “However, since you were hiding right next to me underneath that hideous bed, and heard every word that I did, and since everything Matt’s ex-wife said confirmed our theory that she was guilty, I am unclear as to what your questions are. The only question I have is whether or not we should waste our time and energy talking to the police, or simply let them bumble along and hope they stumble onto the truth.”

  “Well…oh, I get it,” I said, giving Shirley an exaggerated wink. “This is a test, right? You want to make me figure it out for myself, at least as much as I can. Okay, I’ll play along.” You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink, as Aunt Ilene always likes to say. I’d have to try and lead her as far as I could. “From what we heard, the boyfriend isn’t involved. So Patty either acted alone or used someone else, that person probably being Angie Berger. We assumed that she killed him because he ended their relationship, a woman scorned, etc. She claims it was the other way around. But now we know she wasn’t interested in him, just the money she could get from the house. She couldn’t stand the idea of having to marry him so she takes the easy way out and just kills him. She thinks she will inherit the house, which is fully paid off. She must have had no idea that he’d taken a second mortgage out on it.”

  “Excellent line of reasoning thus far!” Shirley exclaimed.

  “Oh, yes, at first it seems that way,” I hurried on before she could continue. “And I could imagine someone else leaping to that conclusion. Someone with a commonplace mind. But they wouldn’t take into account the invisible dog, would they? And that’s what you figured out to be the key to this whole case. It has to have something to do with the invisible dog. Everyone else dismissed it. They wanted to call it a ‘sleep disorder’ or ‘bad dreams.’ But not you. Not Shirley Homes.”

  “Well, yes,” Shirley said. “Of course. One cannot ignore the invisible dog—”

  “Anyone can shoot someone in a parking lot,” I said, interrupting before that horse started wandering down the wrong trail. “And anyone can dupe a poor schmuck like Matt Peterman into believing they wanted him back. Going out with him a few times. I’m sure that explains the new furniture on the patio and the big-screen T.V. He probably invited her over for a barbecue or something and wanted to impress her. And that magazine he was reading, the one in the bathroom, he probably had visions of the two of them going on a cruise to the Caribbean. While all she was interested in was conning him into remarrying her because he’d inherited that house. And then she’d dump him after a while and sue him for divorce again, and half the value of the house.

  “But the invisible dog, that’s something else entirely,” I continued so Shirley was forced to listen. “If she decides that she can’t marry him, that she’s going to kill him, why bother with the invisible dog? Unless she just liked the idea of tormenting him, which might be possible. But I’m sure it’s obvious to you—if it’s obvious to me it has to be obvious to you—that this scheme with the invisible dog took some planning. Not only did someone have to figure out how to do it, they had to sneak into his house and set it up. So why not grab the will then, when she was sneaking around? And she seemed really surprised by that beer stein—but she’d have had to have seen it before if she’d been watching his bedroom every night. And,” I said, realizing it just at that moment, “if we eliminate her as a suspect, that brings us back to the Browns. But they wouldn’t have known about his dog phobia. Plus, we’re back to the original problem of motive. Why would they want to torment Matt Peterman? So the only conclusion I can come up with is that there is something we’re just not seeing.”

  I picked up a sugar packet and took my time tearing off the top and pouring the contents into my coffee. Then I pulled three little plastic creamer containers from the small white bowl on the edge of the table, and took my time opening each one before stirring it in my coffee several times until it was all blended.

  “As you know, Tammy,” Shirley said as I took my first sip, “it has always been my desire to offer you opportunities that Watson was, unfortunately, denied by my great-great-grandfather. I want you to be a full participant in our investigations, at least to the extent that you are capable. In order to increase your skills, I think it would be a good exercise for you to tell me what you think we know so far. We will start from the beginning and examine every detail. And then I can help you put the pieces together as we go along so that we can figure out just what it is that you are not seeing.”

  “Really?” I asked, taking on the role of grateful-employee-honored-to-have-such-a-supportive-mentor. “Thank you. That would be so great.”

  “Ah. I see Cora approaching at a rapid pace. We shall eat first and then attempt to put together the various pieces of the jigsaw puzzle until we have one clear picture.”

  —

  “What is the minimum amount of sleep that you need in order to function properly?” Shirley asked when she was finally done eating. Midway through her meal she had ordered a second Barn Bus
ter waffle for herself and now she seemed to be having trouble keeping her eyes open.

  “I can get by on five or six hours if I make up for it the next night.”

  “It is just after midnight. These delicious waffles have made me very drowsy. I fear the waffles of Waffle Barn are revealing the family tendency toward overindulging. My great-great-grandfather had his cocaine—unfortunately that part of the Doyle stories is true—and I have my waffles. I propose that we get some much needed rest and meet at the office tomorrow morning at eight a.m. We will go over the case thoroughly and carefully and then decide what to do from there.”

  The bill came to sixteen dollars and eighty-nine cents. Shirley left a five-dollar tip. When she went to visit the restroom after we paid our bill, I went back and left Cora another five. It was the least I could do.

  —

  Shirley had just gotten out of my car and was about to close the door when it suddenly hit me—the thing that had been bothering me for days.

  “Shirley!” I shouted a second or two after she had slammed the door shut with her usual zeal. “Wait!”

  Shirley didn’t hear me and was already barreling her way toward the side of the building. I almost let it go. It had already been a long night, and I could always tell her in the morning. But now that I had finally remembered what had been nudging at me, I wanted to get it off my chest. I pulled open my door, hopped out of the car, and raced after her.

  “Shirley! Hold up!” I called out as she started up the back steps.

  “What is it?” she asked, whirling around as I reached the bottom of the staircase.

  “Something has been bugging me and I just remembered what it was. It’s something Angie said when she came to tell you about how the Browns had threatened her.”

  “Allegedly threatened her, Tammy. We have been over this before.”

  “Right. But remember how Chuck Brown supposedly ended the conversation? Your friends won’t always be around to protect you. Why would Angie put it that way? As far as she knew we should have been strangers to him. She was the one who made up that whole story about why we were in the Pittfords’ driveway in the first place.”

  “I have wondered the same thing myself,” Shirley said after a moment. “I should have mentioned it earlier, but I was certain that you would have questions about that part of Angie’s story sooner or later. And as you know, I don’t like to coddle you, but prefer that you learn these things through your own diligent efforts.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Now, it could have just been a slip of the tongue, I suppose. But, just for argument’s sake, let’s say Angie was telling us the truth about the Browns threatening her and what he said. That means he did recognize me. Maybe even saw us talking to Angie over on the Pittfords’ porch before we went to Matt’s. So why pretend not to? And when he saw us in the neighborhood again talking to Angie, why not call the police?”

  “So we are back to the Browns, even though they have no discernible motive?” Shirley asked with a frown before covering her mouth and trying unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn.

  “That we know of. As you said right from the start, this is no ordinary villain that we’re dealing with.”

  “True,” Shirley said, her eyelids starting to droop.

  “I wish we could just break into their house and see if all the stuff that disappeared from Matt’s is in there. That way we could…” My voice trailed off as I suddenly became aware of what I was saying, and so casually, too, as if this were a typical, reasonable way to conduct my affairs. God, I really was spending way too much time with Shirley Homes. “But we can’t do that, of course. Seeing how it’s illegal,” I added with a festive little chuckle, the way one does when making a harmless joke with coworkers. Shirley yawned loudly, audible in the quiet night in spite of the hand she held over her mouth. “Well, it’s late, and I’m tired, and my brain just won’t work anymore. I know you could probably talk about the case all night, but I need to get some sleep.”

  “Certainly, Tammy. Go home,” she said after another yawn, waving her cane toward the street. “Get a good night’s sleep. And tomorrow we shall start from the beginning all over again, just as my great-great-grandfather had to do time and time again. Most of the stories were greatly condensed, Tammy, and left out much of the tedious toil involved, and the numerous theories that had to be tried on and then discarded before the final resolution.”

  —

  I had just settled into bed—teeth brushed, face washed, comfy pajamas on, perfect position finally achieved—when my cell phone rang. I was afraid it might be Shirley, but my sleepiness disappeared in a flash when I saw who it actually was on my caller I.D.: The Springville Police Department. My stomach dropped and the blood rushed to my head. In a flash I was twelve years old all over again. The cops show up unexpectedly…I heard my ring tone and shook away the image of my twelve-year-old self. I took a deep breath before pushing the button to hear whatever horrible news I was about to hear.

  “Hello?”

  “Shirley? Is this Shirley? Hello?”

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Lawrence Dunbar. Is this Shirley? You gotta help me, Shirley.”

  “This isn’t Shirley.”

  “Are you sure? This is the number Shirley gave me to use if no one answered at the office.”

  “Shirley gave you this number?”

  “Yeah. I told her I was available day or night. I told her even if I was in the middle of driving someone somewhere, I’d throw them out of the cab and come help her. That’s how much I want a job with you guys. I tried that other one first, the office, but no one answered. She must have gone home. But you’re saying this isn’t Shirley?”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” I snapped, knowing that now I would probably be awake for the rest of the night. And when I’m battling sleep deprivation, my day can feel like trying to wade through two feet of mud.

  “That’s…hold on.” Lawrence’s voice became muffled. “Okay, sorry, I’ll hurry. See, the thing is, I got the wrong person…yeah. I know you let me make a second one after no one was at the first one, but that wasn’t my fault. Okay, okay, I’ll make it quick. Lady? Are you there, lady?”

  “I’m here,” I said, wondering why.

  “I’m back on the phone now. But I gotta hurry. If this isn’t Shirley, who is it?”

  “This is Tammy. Her assistant.”

  “Oh, yeah. The lady that was with Shirley. Wait. Maybe that’s what she said. I’m having a hard time thinking with all these people staring at me. Yeah, that was it. Something about cell phones destroying brain cells so she didn’t have one ’cause hers were too valuable to take that kind of risk. But you had a cell phone so I could call you if I had any vital information. I’m a cabdriver you know. I hear things. Anyway, I got a real emergency on my hands. Um, whatever your name is, I keep forgetting—but anyway, I’m down here at the police station, and it’s kind of your fault, so you got to help me.”

  “My fault?” I asked, sitting up and turning on my light since it was obvious that this conversation wasn’t going to end anytime soon. “How is this my fault?”

  “You know that couple who have a name like the color?”

  “The Browns?” I asked wearily, knowing this conversation, whether long or short, also wasn’t going to lead anywhere good.

  “Yeah, them. Well, I was bored tonight, sitting in my cab all by myself, no customers, so I cruised by Shirley’s office and saw the light on. Like I did a couple nights ago when she gave me this number to call in case I had discovered any vital information. Little did I know the real reason I’d end up having to use it. Anyway, I went in to see her and we started chatting about the case, you know, giving her my ideas and stuff. I got this idea about the dog thing—about how it was done—which I better go into later because I don’t think the cops are gonna let me talk long. But before I could tell Shirley about my idea, Shirley told me about your new plan.”

  “Lawrence, I don’t know what
plan you’re talking about.”

  “How if the couple-with-the-color-name might have the invisible dog stuff at their house? Ringing any bells?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Yes, but—”

  “And how the only way to find out for sure would be to, you know, find out for yourself? Know what I mean?” he asked in a hushed voice, and I could practically feel him winking at me through the phone line.

  “Oh my God,” I gasped, as it hit me what he was getting at. “You broke into the Browns’ house?”

  “I made sure they were gone when I broke in or I never woulda done it—I’m not an idiot—but then all of a sudden they came back.”

  “And they caught you.” My temples began to throb as I had visions of Detective Owen pounding on my door any minute now, demanding to know why I had told Lawrence Dunbar to commit a felony.

  “The man took a shot at me! Can you believe it?! It’s a miracle I’m still alive. But I’m the one in trouble. There’s no justice in this world.”

  “Lawrence, listen to me very carefully. I don’t know what Shirley told you, but I was never serious about breaking into the Browns’ house.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. It was just a joke. I never, ever, ever meant it seriously. And if that’s what you told the police—”

  “Hey! Lawrence Dunbar is no squealer. I ain’t told them nothing.”

  There was dead air for a few seconds, and I could hear him breathing heavily.

  “Okay, well, good,” I said. “I appreciate that. Maybe you just misunderstood what Shirley said.”

  “I know what I heard,” Lawrence retorted, sounding highly offended. “And now I’m stuck in here, and someone has to come and bail me out in the morning.”

  “Don’t you have a family member you can call?”

  “They can’t know about this! They already think I’m a screwup.”

  “Okay, I’ll get hold of Shirley in the morning and we’ll see what we can do.”

  “So she’ll be here in the morning, right? They say I gotta go. This guy’s starting to look really mad. Don’t forget about me. Promise me you won’t—”