Case of the Holiday Hijinks

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  My mother laughed.

  “Oh, I’m so proud of you, Zachary. Why don’t you bring her down here so we can meet her?”

  “Oh, hell no,” I vowed.

  “You will,” my mom promised. “You’ll see.”

  “Have a good day, mom.”

  Later that night, being a Friday, found Jillian and I on our usual ‘date night’ outing. I had wanted to go to Casa de Joe’s, hands down the best Mexican restaurant I have ever stepped foot into in my life. Coming from someone who used to live in Phoenix, that’s saying something. I should also mention that the owner, Joe Cantolli, is Italian, so I’m not sure how he does it. Maybe his wife is Mexican? I don’t care. As long as his restaurant continues to pump out dishes that would make a Mexican native green with envy, I didn’t question or complain.

  Unfortunately, Jillian wanted to get me out of my comfort zone. She suggested we try someplace new. She, of course, has had dinner at every restaurant here in town. I, on the other hand, had quickly created a short list of favorite places to go and rarely ventured anywhere else. Jillian was determined to destroy that list.

  At approximately 5:30pm I parked my Jeep in front of Marauder’s Grill. Jillian’s SUV was already here. I also feel I should point out that there was only one other car in the parking lot. The cook’s? This didn’t bode well.

  I looked at the restaurant and shook my head. It looked as though someone had built a tiny shack sometime in the last century, had abandoned it, and now some whack-a-doodle entrepreneur had decided to set up shop inside. Clearly their decorating budget had been non-existent.

  I grudgingly pulled open the front door and stepped inside. I inhaled and promptly forgot about all my concerns. I could smell a charcoal grill. Appetizing scents of roast meat, barbecued chicken, smoked sausages, and probably a slew of other items I couldn’t place smacked me senseless.

  “Zachary!” Jillian called out from the tiny dining room. “Over here!”

  I moved over to the tiny table and sat down on a rickety chair.

  “I was about ready to suggest you were off your rocker for coming here, but if the food is half as good as it smells, I may have found my new favorite restaurant. I can’t believe it’s as slow as it is. What’s wrong with people? Don’t their noses work?”

  “Look at the size of this dining room,” Jillian said as she looked around. “You’d barely fit four full-sized families in here. Most people have learned to place carry out orders. Do you see the grill over there?”

  Jillian pointed at a huge circular hearth. I’m sure I was drooling as I studied the open grill. Ribs, and chicken, and sausages… oh, my! I think I’ve died and gone to carnivore heaven. Jillian pulled a napkin off the dispenser, leaned forward, and dabbed my mouth with it.

  “Was I drooling?” I asked, grinning. I made a show of wiping the back of my arm across my mouth.

  “Just a little.”

  “So what’s good here?” I asked.

  “Pretty much everything as long as you’re not a vegan,” Jillian assured me. “And if you are, they’ve been known to lure a vegan or two back to the dark side.”

  “I love your references to sci-fi and fantasy,” I told her.

  Jillian smiled and raised her glass of tea in mock salute. A waitress wandered by and we placed our orders. I threw caution out the window and ordered a whole rack of ribs. Turns out the ribs came with a grilled ear of corn. It also had French fries but I ignored them. The ribs were screaming my name. Jillian ordered the prime rib – medium – with a side of grilled mushrooms.

  It was fantastic. As we ate I gave her a recap of how my day went, finishing with the frustrating call from my mother. I looked at her, after I finished, and sighed.

  “How do you do it?”

  “How do I do what?” Jillian asked.

  “How do you put up with the holidays?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For me, it’s depressing. I lost Sam just before Thanksgiving.”

  “That explains why you were moping around here last week,” Jillian said, nodding. “I suspected it might have had something to do with Samantha’s death but I didn’t want to say anything.”

  “I’ll be honest,” I continued. “I was dreading the holidays coming up. You were right. I wasn’t myself around Thanksgiving, even though you were doing everything you could to cheer me up. Now that Christmas is approaching, I felt myself starting to slide back into Depressedville, even though I don’t want to.”

  “Are you asking how I manage to stay in a good mood for Christmas, Zachary?”

  “Well, yeah. I guess so.”

  “The short answer is, I don’t.”

  “Huh? But you’re always so chipper!”

  “That’s the face I put on for the outside world to see,” Jillian explained. “It’s still hard for me. There are days I don’t want to get out of bed. But… I still do. I don’t want to be known as ‘that lonely old widow’. I live my life as I’m sure Michael would have wanted me to. It’s all I can do, Zachary.”

  “You’re going to have to teach me how to do that.”

  “The next WW class is this coming Wednesday. You need to come with me.”

  “The next WW class?” I repeated, confused. “You’re a member of Weight Watchers, too?”

  Jillian’s eyebrows shot up, as did every red flag I own. Time to practice my backpedalling skills.

  “Umm, perhaps I should have asked what the ‘WW’ stands for?”

  “Widows and Widowers, you silly man. It’s for people who have lost their spouses. Most attendees are much older than us, but there are some that are in our age bracket.”

  “Sounds like a real hoot.”

  “You wanted to know how I dealt with my pain. That’s how I do it.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll see. So what do you usually do for Christmas? If your parents aren’t here then do you fly out to wherever they are?”

  Jillian shook her head, “I usually just work. I find the Holidays supremely boring. I’d much rather spend my time at my store. Last year I offered a Christmas cookie decorating class.”

  “Are you thinking about doing the same this year?”

  Jillian gave me a sidelong glance and smiled demurely.

  “No. I have no plans on working this year.”

  Right on cue, my face flushed bright red. Just as the waiter dropped off the check, which I snatched away before Jillian could grab it, my phone rang. I scowled. If this was my mother again then she and I were going to have a serious disagreement. I looked at my phone and relaxed. It was Vance.

  “Do you mind?” I asked. I held my phone up so she could see the display.

  “Not at all.”

  “Hey, Vance. What’s up?”

  “Zack. What are you doing right now?”

  “It’s Friday. I’m…”

  “Oh, that’s right. Casa de Joe’s. My bad. Listen, do you have any plans for the rest of the night?”

  Jerk. I wasn’t that predictable, was I? I eyed Jillian and tried to get the frown off my face.

  “Possibly. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “Do you think I could get you and the dogs to do me a favor?”

  “Oh, hell. What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “There’s been a burglary. A damn odd one. I could use another set of eyes. And maybe a nose or two.”

  TWO

  “I wish I could say that this was the first crime scene I have ever seen,” I remarked as soon as I ducked under a familiar strip of yellow tape and stepped foot into the small two bedroom apartment. Sherlock and Watson followed me in. “But we both know that’d be a lie.”

  Vance, who had his back to me and had been chatting with one of the crime scene techs – an overweight man in his thirties – turned at the sound of my voice and waved me over. We were standing in the small living room of a tiny two-bedroom apartment on the northern side of town. I remember driving by this small apartment complex a few times back when I didn’t know the tow
n and had become lost. It was a smaller complex, with maybe twenty small apartments divvied up into three buildings, and a fourth smaller building acting as office and recreational center. It also had a small pool, but judging by the color of the water, I wouldn’t dip a toe in it. Water should never be green.

  I looked around the small living room.

  “Who lives here?”

  Vance turned to point out through the open front door.

  “They do. Look outside and you’ll see the Murphy family, party of four.”

  I turned to see a young family huddled closely together outside. They were being interviewed by a uniformed police officer. The two children were staring at us inside. Or, more specifically, they were staring at Sherlock and Watson. Sherlock was ignoring the kids and was glancing around the sparse furnishings while Watson had decided to sit down by my right foot and watch the proceedings with minimal effort. I caught her throwing looks out the door to see what the kids were doing.

  Deciding I should walk around the small living room and actually do that which Vance had asked me to, I gave Sherlock some extra slack on his leash and encouraged him to explore. As we investigated the small apartment I couldn’t help but notice how this family was going to be hurting after this incident. There wasn’t a lot of money in this apartment. A worn sofa, discolored recliner, and a heavily scratched coffee table met my eyes. I returned my attention to the living room and the small tree. For whatever inexplicable reasons, Vance had explained to me, the thief had only taken the presents from under the tree. And, from the looks of things, they had been thorough. There wasn’t a single gift anywhere in sight.

  I glanced back around the room to see if I could tell if anything else had been taken. There, on the rickety assemble-it-yourself entertainment center, were the few electronics that the family owned. They were still there. An old 25” CRT TV was the focal point, with a dusty, grimy VCR sitting forlornly on a shelf to the left of the television. A few torn VHS dust jackets were all that I could see in the storage cabinet directly below the TV. In case you were wondering how I managed to acquire x-ray vision, I can confirm I didn’t. The cabinet below the television was missing a door.

  Vance appeared by my side.

  “They didn’t steal any of the electronics,” he softly informed me.

  “Look at that thing,” I responded, hooking a thumb in the TV’s direction. “It’s a dinosaur. They don’t even sell those box televisions any more. I wouldn’t give you ten bucks for it.”

  “There’s a VCR deck that’s seen better days,” Vance mused. “Still, as far as the homeowner can tell, nothing was stolen except for the presents under the tree.”

  “Those must have been some presents,” I decided.

  “Hardly,” Vance scoffed. “Look at this place, Zack. This is a family that’s living paycheck-to-paycheck. They didn’t have extra money, and if they did, they spent it on their kids.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  Vance frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, “Because I’m a father. I can tell. Look around this place. What little they have is all geared towards their children. Besides, all of the presents were for the kids.”

  “Do we know what kind of presents they were?” I asked.

  Vance nodded and pulled out his notebook.

  “A few dolls for the girl. There was a handheld video game for the boy. A few toy trucks and some sort of Lego set. That’s it.”

  “Nothing really worth stealing,” I mused.

  “It gets better. Richard – the father – said there was no signs of forced entry. It doesn’t appear the locks have been messed with. I’ve already talked with the tenants above and below this unit. No one has reported any suspicious activity. No noises. Not even anyone loitering around the area. I’m at a loss here.”

  “Did you check to see if anyone has a key to this place besides them? Like a friend, or a relative?”

  Vance nodded, “I’ve already asked, and the answer is no. Both the mother and father have keys. I made them show them to me, just to be certain they were still there. There is the manager’s master key, and that’s presently locked up in the manager’s office. Only the manager and the assistant manager have access. Before you ask, both have alibies, which have also checked out. It was neither of them. The extra keys are secured in a lockbox in the back office. All of those keys were accounted for, too. No signs of tampering, either.”

  “So their presents up and vanished right from under everyone’s noses?” I asked, confused. “How is that even possible?”

  “Now you know why you and the dogs are here. Get Sherlock to work his magic. I’d like to see what he can find.”

  “We’ve been around the living room a few times,” I told my friend. “The only thing Sherlock has shown the slightest interest in is the tree.”

  “What about the tree?” Vance wanted to know.

  We both walked over to the corner of the living room where a surprisingly vibrant and healthy dark blue-green Christmas tree met our eyes. It was about five feet tall, uniformly pyramid-shaped, and had a pleasant scent. And I have to admit that it looked mighty barren without any presents under it.

  As Vance and I stared at the tree I glanced out the window at the young family. The parents were embracing their kids in a four-way hug and slowly rocking back and forth. I felt bad. Kids should have something to wake up to on Christmas morning. That was half the fun of being a kid.

  “What’s he doing?” Vance suddenly asked.

  I glanced down at Sherlock. The tri-color corgi had ducked under the tree’s canopy and was circling behind the tree. Either I had to let go of the leash or else Sherlock was going to find himself attached to the trunk.

  “It’s just a tree, pal,” I told the corgi. “What’s the matter? Not used to seeing a tree indoors?”

  Sherlock froze in midstep. He gave me an unreadable expression before he looked up at the tree. I watched him cock his head, as if he had heard something he couldn’t identify.

  “There’s nothing there but needles, pal,” I told the corgi. “Come on, we really should… before I do that, are we allowed?”

  “Are you allowed to what?” Vance asked.

  “Are we allowed to look around the apartment? I mean, from the look of things, the crook only visited the living room. Do we have permission to look around?”

  “You can look wherever you want,” a new voice said.

  I glanced over at the door and saw the young father standing in the doorway, looking down at Sherlock. One of the uniformed policemen moved to block his way. Sherlock looked over at the man and then up at me, as if to say that he had heard the tenant give permission.

  “Mr. Murphy,” I heard Vance say as I led the dogs from the living room, “do you have any idea how someone could get in here? You said that you and your wife were working today. The kids were in school. That would suggest someone came in here in the middle of the day and took the gifts?”

  I could still hear the conversation as Sherlock, Watson, and I moved around the apartment. The father was still in a state of denial. I heard the father confirm what Vance had told me. They were struggling to live paycheck-to-paycheck. I didn’t hear him say anything about how worried he was about his kids but I could hear it in the father’s voice. The last thing I heard before Vance and the father dropped their voices was an offer, from Vance, to put the family in touch with an organization or two that might be able to help.

  I returned my attention to the investigation. The dogs and I slowly explored the entire apartment. The only time Sherlock showed any signs of interest was whenever we were in the living room. More specifically, the little tri-color corgi only had eyes for that tree. He always returned to the trunk to sniff around the base and then to gaze admiringly up at the foliage above his head.

  “Anything?” Vance called.

  “No,” I glumly reported. “He keeps returning to the tree. I personally think he’s fascinated by a tree being indoors. I mean, he’s
a dog after all.”

  “Oooo, what pretty dogs!” I heard a young female voice say.

  I turned to see the daughter, maybe 5 or 6, squat down and hold out a hand. Thinking they were being offered treats, Sherlock and Watson immediately hurried over. Within moments Watson was rolling around on the floor, presenting her furry belly for a free scratch. Sherlock sat next to the girl and watched her like a hawk. The girl looked up at me and smiled, displaying two missing front teeth.

  “They’re so cute! I love your dogs, mister.”

  “And they love the attention,” I returned.

  “What are their names?” the boy asked. He looked to be 7 or 8.

  “The one laying spread-eagled right there, without a shred of modesty, is Watson. That’s Sherlock over there, sitting quietly and watching his roommate beg for a belly rub.”

  “Sherlock and Watson,” the father repeated, giving us a meek smile. “Cute names. Are you finished here? Can the kids come back inside?”

  Vance looked over at me. He looked down at the dogs and nodded at the door. It was time to leave.

  “Thanks for trying,” Vance told me as we headed back towards the parking lot.

  As soon as both of us were back on the ground floor, having just come down the flight of steps leading up to the second story, we set the dogs down. Vance had generously carried Watson down while I carried Sherlock. I realize that corgis had short legs, and I think both dogs were willing to try navigating the stone steps on their own, but I figured it was just easier to carry them. That way no one risked injury.

  “Where are you off to now?” I asked my friend.

  “Back to the station. I’m going to go through the case files and see if this burglary matches up with any other cases, recent or otherwise. There’s something strange going on here. There had to be a reason why that apartment was targeted. What about you?”

  “I have a few phone calls to make.”

  “Well, have fun.”