Sleuthing

Aside from the bit of jaywalking Chester and I do early in the morning and late at night I consider myself a law abiding citizen.  I like to follow the rules – mostly – and I hate it when other people don’t. Crime does not pay – or at least it shouldn’t.  

My new neighborhood has become a hub of suspicious activity lately and the police presence has amped up. I haven’t been worried or scared about any of this – young people strutting their stuff is nothing new – besides I walk with a ninety-seven pound bodyguard whose frisbee is actually just a cover for his intense and aggressive nature (not!).

Chester and I patrol our street three or four times a day out of necessity, we are not looking for trouble but keeping a wary eye out for it just the same. We are sleuths.  It was on one of these early morning recons this past week that we were confronted with a dilemma.

First, there was a new dog in the park – a shifty little fellow whose owner was deeply immersed in something on his cell phone. (I mention these two only because they become players in the events about to unfold).  We paid little attention to them as we made our way across the street to the parking lot that runs parallel to the promenade.

Once in the parking lot we noticed a suspicious character a short distance away placing something into one of the decorative boxwood bushes planted along the street side of the parking lot.  He seemed nervous and sneaky checking over is shoulder several times as Chester and I drew closer.  He organized his deposit and hurriedly left the scene in a shiny white Jeep. 

Hmmm – Chester and I thought. Unusual behavior so early in the day.

We ventured closer to the bush and nonchalantly peered into the greenery.  A flat white parcel caught our eyes. 

This was definitely curious.  I checked over my shoulder and noticed the shifty little dog and his distracted owner trailing us.  The plot thickened.  Chester chewed his frisbee.  

Had we just witnessed a drug drop? Were the shifty little dog and his distracted owner the intended recipients of the package hidden in the bush?  What to do?  

Well there was only one thing a law abiding senior sleuth and her faithful hound could do – we called the police. The non-emergency police – there was really no cause for alarm – yet.  We relayed what we had witnessed and expressed our concern and then waited for an officer to arrive.  We sauntered around the parking lot in the vicinity of the parcel and kept our eyes peeled for other unsavory characters.  The shifty little dog and his distracted owner were nowhere in sight.  

I noticed my neighbor and her little dog, Stanley, out for their morning walk and beckoned her over.  I quickly brought her up to speed on our operative.  Being a senior sleuth herself she bought in without hesitation (we two have been witness to some questionable behavior in our own complex lately – we have become super sleuths).  I asked her to wait with Chester and I – reinforcements in the event something untoward were to take place. (This neighbor might weigh ninety pounds soaking wet and her little dog is just that – little – but she was up for the task ).

The police seemed to be taking their time, minutes were dragging.  I had mentioned there was no need to run in guns-a-blazing when I called but I had hoped for a little pep in their step.

Finally a squad car arrived and a single officer emerged.  I directed him toward the boxwood where the package was concealed.  He pulled on rubber gloves and retrieved an extendable probe from his belt.  From the distance of his probe he tentatively poked the hidden parcel revealing a grocery store logo imprinted on a plastic bag.  

I held my breath.

After several more pokes the constable informed us there were no drugs hidden inside the bag only a dead raccoon.  I’m not certain if my neighbor and I were disappointed or relieved. Why a dead raccoon had been placed with such suspicious care in the branches of a boxwood bush was anyone’s guess.  The officer laughed and patted my ferocious bodyguard – he thanked us for our surveillance and carried on with his day leaving the raccoon for someone else to deal with. 

Chester and I made our way home not feeling the least bit foolish for having blown the whistle on roadkill.  Well, maybe a little bit foolish but not foolish enough to regret being on top of our sleuthing game.