The Homemade Stuffing Caper Read online

  “Maybe … and maybe not. You gotta have faith, partner.”

  Henry shrugged his shoulders. He obviously didn’t have faith in our abilities to solve this riddle.

  “C’mon, let’s get out of here,” I said. “We’ve got a code to break. The fate of the free world may depend on it.”

  Henry rolled his eyes.

  “Well, maybe not. It just sounded good.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The Common Scents Caper

  To a kid, Friday has got to be the best day of the week. And if that Friday happens to be the last day of school before spring break, then it’s even better. It was hard to concentrate in class that day but Henry and I forced ourselves to. Between periods, we would attempt to crack the code from the note we had found the night before. Repeated efforts had proven unsuccessful, but I was confident that in time we would solve it. Henry was lobbying me to bring in my grandmother. I knew that I might eventually have to but not before we had exhausted every possible solution. I really wanted to prove to both Grandma and Eugene that I was capable of solving a case on my own. But I wouldn’t let pride get in the way either. If I got really stuck, I was prepared to seek out their help. It wouldn’t be fair to the client not to take advantage of every available resource.

  Every so often I would have to remind myself that even Sam Solomon would occasionally call in a marker—an expert who could provide specialized information that might be difficult for Sam to uncover on his own. Like in Episode #2—The Common Scents Caper—Sam had been hired by a distraught wife whose husband had recently been acting in a peculiar manner. It didn’t take Sam long to discover that the man’s altered personality had occurred shortly after he had started using a new aftershave. The veteran detective called upon the services of an old friend, a retired chemistry professor, to help analyze the scent. The results showed traces of a rare mind-control drug. Apparently this particular manufacturer wanted to create not only a legion of loyal customers, but also a fresh-smelling army prepared to follow his every command. Soooo … if Sam could seek out experts in the field, I could do so as well—when and if that might be necessary, of course.

  Henry and I continued decoding for most of the day, but we also found time to rehash other findings from our stakeout the night before. Neither of us was prepared to approach Sherman about his role in this mystery, nor did we want to share the grim news with Scarlett. As the day went on, it was becoming increasingly difficult to pay attention in class. My mind kept wandering. I was trying to imagine who this large, ugly, old woman might be, and why she was paying Sherman for these birds. I knew that we eventually needed to tell Scarlett what we had seen last night. It wasn’t going to be easy. I didn’t want to think about her reaction. But I had to come clean.

  When the bell finally rang, Henry and I gathered up our stuff and scooted to the bus stop. I knew I’d delayed long enough. I had to drop the bomb—tell Scarlett that her grandfather’s bird was probably dead. I would share my findings with her at the barber shop after school. She’d be expecting an update on the case.

  “All ready for the ride over to Eugene’s? I gotta break the news to him that you’ve joined the team.”

  “Today? Oh no. My mom rescheduled that dentist appointment. Maybe you can tell him about me tomorrow. What do you think?”

  “Yeah, okay. I just gotta pick a good time and break it to him gently. We’ll figure it out.”

  The bus pulled up and we hopped on.

  An hour or so later, on the bike ride across town, I had a lot of time to think about how I’d break the news to Scarlett. It wasn’t going to be easy. I was hoping she would handle it calmly. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl who would just start bawling. I would tell her that it wasn’t a certainty that Socrates was dead. I just didn’t want her to get her hopes up that we would definitely find him alive.

  I made it to the shop a few minutes early. Eugene was in the chair getting his hair cut and munching on a candy bar.

  “Well, if it isn’t my long-lost associate,” Eugene said with a grin. “Listen, Charlie, I got a call this morning—from a prospective client—a fellow who thinks his partner may be embezzling funds from their company. I told him I wasn’t sure I had the manpower right at the moment to handle the case. How close are you to wrapping up this missing-bird caper? I could use your help with this.”

  I wasn’t sure how I should answer. I knew that the sooner I solved this case the better it would be for all of us. We were close, and getting closer every day. But I didn’t want to rush things and get sloppy. It was best to fess up.

  “Eugene, I still think I need a couple more days to put a lid on this one. But as soon as I’m done, I’ll be right back by your side. I promise.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” he said. “I’ll start a preliminary investigation on this embezzlement business, and then bring you up to speed when you’re ready.”

  I knew right at that moment that I couldn’t have asked for a better boss. He was giving me all the time I needed for a successful outcome.

  “Any word?” Conor said as he brushed away the loose hairs on the back of Eugene’s neck.

  “I hope to have some news for you real soon,” I said.

  “If there’s anything I can do to help, you let me know,” Conor said.

  I did need his help—and Eugene’s—but I was hesitant to ask for it. Would it be cheating, I wondered, to ask for a little advice? Again? When Eugene first gave me the case, he had said that if ever I needed any assistance, he’d be glad to provide it. I had already bothered him once. I hoped he wouldn’t mind another question or two. There was only one way to find out.

  “Actually, I did have a question I wanted to bounce off both of you.”

  “Fire away,” Conor said.

  Eugene sat up in his chair. He appeared interested.

  “I was wondering if there were any farms in the area.”

  Conor and Eugene looked quizzically at each other.

  “Now, why would you want to know that?” Eugene asked.

  “Well, we have evidence that the birds might have been taken to a farm,” I said.

  Conor set his scissors down and folded his arms.

  “What kind of evidence?” Eugene asked.

  I was hesitant to tell Eugene everything I knew. I was afraid that if he sensed danger, he would either want to take over the investigation himself, or want me off the case for my own safety.

  “Just a gut feeling,” I said.

  “If you’re destined to become a successful P.I. someday, Charlie, you’re gonna need more than a gut feeling. You need physical evidence—hard evidence. Acting on your instincts can appear to be the right thing to do—I’ve done it a few times successfully—and paid dearly for it other times. Remember, it’s always more prudent to let the evidence determine your next move. Got it?”

  I just stood there. I wasn’t sure what to say.

  Eugene stood up and yanked the cape from around his neck. “Please tell me you’re not getting in over your head here. I know this is your case and all, but if you need a little expert advice, you’d better come clean now. Tell me what you’ve got. I may be able to help. The sooner we wrap this thing up, the sooner you can do some real detective work.”

  I felt my shoulders slump. It suddenly made no sense withholding information from my boss. I decided to just spit it out.

  “Henry and I saw this kid sell some dead birds to a woman in a pickup truck last night. When she pulled away, we found some hay on the ground. We just figured it had to have come from a farm or something.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.” Eugene held up his hands. “Let’s start from the top. Who’s Henry? Someone else knows about all of this?”

  “I wanted to tell you, Eugene. He’s my best friend. We’ve been solving cases together for years. It just didn’t seem right leaving him out.”

  Eugene turned and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t appear happy. “Didn’t I ask you not to tell anyone?
”

  “I know. I’m sorry. But Henry’s cool. He won’t say a word. And Grandma thought it would be okay to tell him. As a matter of fact, you’ve probably seen him around. He comes to the library sometimes … well, actually, not a lot. He’s not a big reader. But if you got to know him, you’d like him.”

  “Let’s get back to the case.” Eugene pointed his finger at me. “Just don’t tell anyone else. A good P.I. only shares his findings with his partner and his client. Got it?”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I won’t tell another soul. You can trust me this time. I promise.”

  Eugene sat back down in the barber chair. Conor retied the cape around his neck.

  “Okay, now tell me about this kid who sold the birds.”

  “His name is Sherman Doyle. I go to school with him. We followed him last night. We saw him kidnap a bunch of birds from a pet store. Then he met up with this woman in a pickup and made the drop.”

  “Are you positive the birds were dead?” Conor asked.

  “Well, they sure looked that way. He just poured them out of a bag. They didn’t move a feather.”

  Conor appeared bothered by the news. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Don’t tell Scarlett. Socrates was up in years but it’s hard to imagine he’s gone. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “What did this woman in the pickup look like?” Eugene said.

  “She was big and tall and wide … and ugly. I still can’t get that face out of my head.”

  “And she just drove off with the birds?” Eugene asked.

  “Yep.”

  “And what about the other guy—the kid?”

  “He took off. We didn’t bother to follow him after that.”

  Conor picked up his scissors. “So you think that’s what’s been happening to all the birds around here?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “I don’t get it,” Conor said. “What do you do with a dead bird? And who’d want to pay for it?”

  “I just got a feeling … if we can find this farm, everything will make sense,” I said. “Are there any around here?”

  Conor reflected for a moment. “There’s gotta be a half-dozen farms north and west of here, I think.”

  “That sounds about right,” Eugene said, nodding.

  “Are any of them owned by a woman?” I asked.

  “None come to mind,” Conor said. “Can you think of any, Eugene?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  Conor put his finger to his lips. “Now, if that description you gave was for a man, then I could tell you exactly where to look. Rupert Olsen’s farm—out on Route Thirty-four.”

  Eugene rose from the chair with a serious look on his face. “I’d really prefer if you kids stayed away from there. It could be dangerous.”

  “He is a little creepy,” Conor said.

  “A little?” Eugene snapped. “Do me a favor. Just steer clear.”

  Eugene had piqued my curiosity. “What is it about this guy that bothers you?” I asked.

  “A lot of folks have had run-ins with him,” Eugene said. “Heck, he’s been in jail a half-dozen times.”

  “For what?” The more I learned about this Rupert Olsen, the more interesting he became.

  “Disturbing the peace. Resisting arrest. Theft. He’s just a bad egg.”

  “How does a farmer get into trouble like that?” I said.

  “That’s just it,” Conor replied. “He lives on a farm, but I don’t think he’s actually a farmer. He’s had all kinds of jobs. Long-haul trucker, janitor, locksmith.”

  “Locksmith? Right! Till he got arrested and lost his license,” Eugene said.

  “Yeah, he’s worn a lot of hats, but farmer isn’t one of ’em,” Conor said. “If you drive by his property, you won’t see anything growing in his fields.”

  “I still occasionally see a couple of dairy cows out there,” Eugene added. He looked me square in the eye. “I want you to promise me you’ll stay away from there, you got it?”

  “Okay,” I said. But I wasn’t sure if I really meant it. How could I make a promise like that? What if our investigation pointed squarely at this culprit? It would be my obligation to check it out.

  Just then Scarlett entered the shop. “Hi, everybody.”

  “Hi, sweetie,” her grandfather said.

  “So, Charlie, got any news for me?” she said.

  Conor glanced in my direction. His body language suggested that I steer clear of certain issues. I was happy to oblige.

  “We have reason to believe that a kid at school may be the birdnapper.”

  “Really? Who?”

  I wasn’t sure if I should rat out Sherman yet. It was best if he didn’t know we were on to him, and if Scarlett freaked out and confronted him, who knew what might happen.

  “I don’t have a name yet. But I’m working on it.”

  “Shouldn’t we be taking this to the police?”

  “We need more evidence.”

  “Is that it?” she asked.

  “There’s more. It appears that this kid hands over the birds to an unidentified woman, and then they’re transported to a farm in the area, we think.”

  Eugene interrupted. “I don’t care what your theory is, Charlie, but if you’re thinking of visiting certain places around here, remember what we talked about.” Eugene raised his eyebrows.

  The room became very quiet.

  “What’s with all the mystery?” Scarlett said. “You make it sound kind of scary.”

  “And that’s just what I’m trying to do,” Eugene said.

  I turned to Scarlett and pointed at the door. “Why don’t we go for a walk? I’ll fill you in on a few things.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey, kids,” Eugene said as we were about to leave. “I want to know exactly what your plans are before you actually carry them out. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I waved to both gentlemen as we left.

  As Scarlett and I walked, I was silent. I was trying to find a way to tell her what we had seen the night before. Part of me wanted to spare her the pain of hearing that Socrates might be dead. But I also felt that since she was a paying client, it wouldn’t be professional not to share all the information we had found. I decided at that moment that she had to know, and it was my obligation to tell her.

  “You said you were going to fill me in,” she said. “What else is there?”

  “I just thought you should know that there’s a likelihood that we may never find your grandpa’s bird … or any of the missing birds. They might be out of the state … or out of the country for that matter. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “Back there you said that someone was taking them to a farm in the area.”

  “That’s possible, but who knows what happens to them after that?”

  “Then why don’t we go over to this farm before it’s too late?”

  “Well, we don’t know which farm it is. There’s more than one.”

  “Then let’s check all of them,” she suggested.

  “I suppose we could do that.”

  “You suppose? Isn’t that the next logical step?”

  “It’s certainly one of the options we need to consider,” I said. I know she’s the client, but it’s my case. I get to call the shots. She should know that.

  “Then why can’t we just go over there?” Scarlett said. “Is there some problem?”

  “I don’t want to rush into anything,” I said. I was trying to do everything in my power to spare her a little grief. The last thing I wanted to do was to march over to one of those farms and find a bunch of dead birds. There was no reason to put her through that. How could I make her see this without coming right out and saying that Socrates was probably history?

  Or was I trying to spare myself a little grief? This whole lost-bird thing seemed like something I should have been able to handle in a relatively safe fashion. But I didn’t like the way Eugene had described this Rupert Olsen character. He sounded
like one scary dude. I was hoping that he had nothing to do with any of this. But the more I thought about it, the more I had myself convinced that he might be involved. He owned a farm. We had found hay. Although he was a man, he matched the description that Eugene and Conor had given me. And Olsen had a record. This made him a likely suspect. I just couldn’t tie him to the crime, but I had a bad feeling I would eventually come face-to-face with him.

  And if I was right, and if he was somehow involved, I wasn’t so sure I was willing to tangle with him. What had I gotten myself into? I was beginning to rethink my decision to take on this case. Impressing Scarlett was one thing—but placing yourself in harm’s way was another. Was there a way to back out and still save face?

  “Are you afraid to go out to this farm?” she said. “Is that it?”

  “Afraid? Right.”

  “Then what am I paying you for anyway? And you never told me how much all of this is going to cost.”

  Ouch! That one hurt. But the worst part was that she was right. I wasn’t earning my fee—whatever that was. If I could just tie this old woman to one particular farm, then I’d have it. I thought back to last night. Had I missed something? Was there an obvious clue staring me in the face? Maybe it was time to bring the latest note to Grandma. I tried to replay everything we had seen in the prairie the night before. There was Sherman … the sack … the dead birds … the pickup truck … the old woman … the mammoth old woman … the red lipstick … the mysterious note … the trench coat.

  Something about that trench coat still bothered me. I knew there was something odd about it … but what? It wasn’t the color. And it seemed to fit her okay, although it wasn’t what you’d call feminine. No, there was something else. The buttons maybe? I tried to re-create the image of this massive old woman in a trench coat. Something just wasn’t right. What was it? I was stalling—hoping that lightning would strike—hoping that a pearl of wisdom would miraculously appear. And then it suddenly hit me. It was the buttons. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? It was buttoned on the wrong side. Women button their coats on the left side. Hers was buttoned on the right. That was it!