“This? This is where you think the world famous Bengál has been hidden? You’ve got to be kidding, pal.”
I had to laugh. It had taken a lot of convincing but I had finally managed to persuade Vance to follow me to what I believed was Bengál’s hiding place. Vance and I both pinched our noses shut. It stunk in there.
We were standing in the middle of the one place Sherlock had barked at every time we had driven by: Fur, Fins, & Feathers. It was PV’s one and only pet store.
“Why in the world do you think the tiger is there?” Vance had asked me an hour earlier.
“Look at it this way,” I had explained. “Sherlock found Gregor’s body in the winery. He found the picture of Bonnie and her family. He guided me to the photo albums in the attic. He found the blood on the painting. Every damn time we drive by the pet store he barks like crazy. I always thought he was barking at Harry’s office, which is right next door, and I guess he still could be. It’s the one place that Sherlock keeps barking at that I haven’t checked out yet. I say we look there first. It’s at least worth a shot, right?”
“It’s just a pet store,” Vance had complained. “There’s bound to be something in there that would attract his interest.”
Vance had been right. From the moment we both stepped through the doors we both thought it smelled like something had died in here. For the most part, the store was clean. However, there was a strong stench of dirty mop water permeating the air, mixed in with the unmistakably pungent odor of canine feces. Some dog must be feeling a whole lot better.
“Something the size of Bengál would stand out in a place like this,” Vance said as he looked around the store. “There aren’t very many hiding places large enough to hide it.”
I dropped Sherlock’s leash so I could let him wander around the store. He looked up at me and blinked a few times.
“You wanted to come in here, boy,” I told the inquisitive corgi. “Here we are. Have at it.”
Sherlock promptly trotted over to several large bales of straw and began sniffing around the edges. A young pimply faced teenager hurried over and inserted himself between the straw bales and us.
“Uh, sorry, man. These have already been sold. Look, if you need a few bales I know I can order some for you. Probably take a week or so. Whaddya say? You interested?”
“No thanks,” I said as I picked up Sherlock’s leash. “We’re just looking.” I gave the leash a gentle tug to let Sherlock know I wanted him to check out something else. The corgi refused to be budged. He started pawing at the bale of straw.
“What’s he doing?” Vance asked as he stared down at the dog with the comically short legs, pawing at a bale of straw that was easily ten times the size he was.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He won’t leave this bale alone.”
Vance stared at the bale for a few moments before he ran his finger along one of the strands of twine.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“The twine has several knots in it. Almost like the twine had been cut, spliced, and then retied.” The detective slid a multi-tool gizmo out of a leather pouch on his belt. He flicked open a blade and cut the two strands of twine holding the bale together.
“Hey!” the kid protested. “You can’t do that! Those bales have already been sold!”
“To whom?” Vance dryly asked as the bale fell apart. “To a lady by the name of Taylor Rossen?”
Nestled within the bale was the famed Bengál I had heard so much about. The glass tiger’s one ruby eye peered out from under a layer of straw. I began clearing away the debris covering the glass sculpture. Vance, on the other hand, was eyeing the sullen kid that now looked as though he was about to break down into tears.
“Care to tell me how this ended up in the straw bale?” the detective dryly asked as he reached into his back pocket to pull out a set of cuffs.
“It’s not my fault!” the kid wailed. “She made me do it!”
“How?” Vance demanded, growing angry. “How in God’s name did she force you to hide stolen property, kid? Do you have any idea of the trouble you’re in right now?”
“She said that she’d turn my father in if I didn’t!”
The kid had turned on the water works and was not ashamed to show it.
“Your father? Is he the shop owner?” Vance asked.
“Yes,” the boy sobbed. “Please, you mustn’t tell anyone.”
Vance gave me a quizzical look. I shrugged. I didn’t have a clue about what the kid was talking about, either.
“What did your father do?” Vance gently asked. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“That lady said my father would go to jail if she ever told the police what my father had done. I don’t want him to go to jail. He’s all I’ve got left!”
I watched a frown form on Vance’s face.
“Out with it, kid. What’d he do?”
“Dad accepted several shipments of supplies but reported they never arrived,” the kid sullenly explained. “Things were tight for a few months. The store needed those supplies but we couldn’t pay for them.”
“When was the last time your father has done this?” Vance wanted to know.
“Two months ago. Business has since picked up and he’s promised he’d never do that again.”
“How did Taylor find out about it?” I asked.
The kid shook his head, “I don’t know. She came strolling in here like she owned the place and said she had something to store in here and that I couldn’t sell it. She said if anything happened to that bale then she’d personally see to it that I’d never see my father again.”
“Relax, kid,” Vance told the teenager. “Your father isn’t going to jail, provided he contacts that distributor to make things right. Neither are you. I will be checking in with him in the near future to verify he’s paid what’s owed, of that you can be certain.”
“How much is that thing worth?” the kid asked, pointing at the glass tiger.
“Taylor admitted she had a buyer lined up that was willing to pay her a cool five million in cash,” I offered.
“Five million?” the teenager sputtered. “Dollars? For that?? Wow.”
While Vance phoned in the report that Bengál had been found, Sherlock and I wandered back outside into the fresh air. I was met with a sight that stopped me in my tracks. A scowl formed.
“Mr. Anderson.”
It was Abigail. She was in a crisply pressed blue business suit this time. Her hair was still up in a tight bun and she was again wearing those huge bulbous sunglasses that made her face resemble a bug.
“Ms. Lawson,” I returned, mimicking the cold, unfriendly tone she had adopted with me.
“I came to… well, I came to apologize. On behalf of my children.”
I folded my arms across my chest and stared impassively at her.
“Is that so?”
“Look. I don’t approve of what Taylor did…”
“You think?” I interrupted. “She killed two people, Abigail. She was ready to kill two more!”
“Are you insinuating I’m a poor mother?” Abigail snapped.
Sherlock looked up at Abigail and growled at her. The grouchy crone actually took a few steps back.
“Did you hear me say that?” I countered. “Look, Abigail. You don’t have to apologize for your kids. They’re adults. They can speak for themselves. I’ll be honest and say that I don’t want anything to do with either of them. Or you, for that matter.”
Abigail bristled with annoyance. She opened her mouth for some type of angry retort when I cut her off.
“Look, you’ve said some pretty nasty things,” I slowly began. “And I’m willing to…”
“I’m not sorry for anything that I said,” Abigail snapped, cutting me off in mid-sentence. She reached into her purse and pulled out a familiar wad of papers. “I still expect you to do the
right thing and sign over the estate to me. It belonged to my mother so it should belong to me. She had no business leaving it to you.”
Well, I tried.
“Ain’t gonna happen, lady. I’ve already rehired Caden…”
Abigail’s eyes opened wide with disbelief.
“… and he’s agreed to help me reopen Lentari Cellars. Thank you for your lovely offer, but once again I’ll have to decline. The winery and the estate stays with me. I’m sorry you’re having trouble coming to terms with that but I do suggest you accept it and move on. Lentari Cellars belongs to me now and it’s going to stay that way. Do you understand?”
Abigail stormed off in a huff. I looked down at Sherlock and rumpled the fur behind his ears.
“I guess she did, pal. She wasn’t too happy, was she?”
“Hey, Zack!” a voice called out. “Hold on a sec!”
I looked up. The voice had come from the next building over. It was Harry. He was holding a leash in one hand and a pizza box in the other. He must have been getting ready to head home for the day.
“I thought that was your Jeep, buddy.”
He also had the biggest smirk I had ever seen on his face. I had already noticed what was on the other end of the leash. So had Sherlock.
“Harry, there’s no way in hell, pal.”
“Aww, come on. She needs a home, too. Look at you. You’re a natural dog owner now. This little girl was dropped off at my clinic earlier today. She’s a friendly little thing, although she’s a bit shy. I instantly thought of you.”
Sherlock pushed his way forward and touched noses with the newcomer. Harry had a second corgi with him. This one was red and white and was slightly smaller than Sherlock. The second corgi curiously inched closer and let out a snort. Sherlock took a small hop back, dropped down so that his butt was up in the air, and barked a greeting. The new corgi mimicked him and yipped a reply.
“There, you see? They’re already getting along great!”
“Harry, no! I already have one corgi and he’s a handful. I cannot even begin to imagine what life would be like if I had two, so put that thought out of your mind.”
My friend ignored me. He squatted down next to the small red and white female and draped an arm around her. Grinning, Harry finally looked up at me.
“See? I told you I’d find you a new home. Meet your new daddy!”
THE END
Zack and the corgis will return soon in the
Case of the Fleet-Footed Mummy!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I’ve never written such a short novel in my entire life. Short stories, sure, but a novel? I’m used to writing epic fantasy, where the average novel is 100,000+ words. I had just assumed that mystery novels were going to be the same length as the fantasy ones and didn’t think twice about how long it’d be. That is, until my wife jokingly told me one day that I’d never be able to keep it under 90,000. In fact, this novel was only supposed to be 50-52K words. Why that number? I looked up many of the books that I’d like to be in the same genre with to get an average of the word counts. The vast majority were between 50-52K words, so I vowed to be the same. Well, let’s just say I missed the mark. By over 10K. Hope you’re not too mad at me. :)
For those of you that may be interested to know, Pomme Valley was inspired by a real life town in Oregon that is just as picturesque as I hope I’ve made it sound. Jacksonville. I did my research when planning this town out. Maps, streets, businesses, people, etc. My wife and I spent an entire weekend determining which businesses the town has, where they’re located on the map, who runs them, what they look like, and so on and so forth. I’ve got my PV binder right next to me that has everything I need to know about my fictional town. I’m toying with the idea of putting some of the information I’ve collected online. Maps, businesses, info about planned festivals, etc.
I also based Zack’s experience with wine on my own. I can’t stand the stuff, I don’t like to drink it, and know next to nothing about it. That is, I used to know next to nothing. I’ve begun to make an active effort to learn more about what I’m writing about. No, I still won’t drink it but I am learning how it’s made, the types of machinery used, etc. I even bought one of those education courses that promises to teach you all about wine and how it’s made. I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice to say I’m trying to get better.
Now for the question that I’m really hoping you’re asking right about now. What’s next? When can we expect to see another Corgi Case File story? Will the next book really be about a mummy? The answers, in order that the questions were asked are: more stories, less than 3 months, and absolutely! I’ve already started planning out CCF2 and I’m having a lot of fun with it. Let me give you a few details… A traveling Egyptology exhibit, a vanishing mummy, reports of seeing said mummy appear throughout town, a town on edge, and two corgis doing everything they can to encourage their superstitious owner to take an active part in the mummy sightings.
If you liked the book I would ask that you consider leaving a review. Believe it or not, it really does help an author out. The more positive reviews that are out there the more noticeable an author becomes. Want to be certain you never miss out on a new title being released? Stop by the blog and sign up for the newsletter. Any time I’m running contests, or requesting character submissions, or preparing to release a new title I’ll send out a newsletter to alert the fans. Trust me, I don’t send them out nearly as much as I should.
Again, thank you for giving my book a try. I certainly hope you enjoyed it. If you have any questions or comments about the book then feel free to track me down online and ask away! I always keep an eye on my blog and can also be reached on my FaceBook account.
Hope to see you online!
J.
www.Lentari.com
www.AuthorJMPoole.com
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