The Bavarian Burglary

Frederick the Flea lounged in the hold of the plane reading his book. It seemed wrong that someone of his intelligence should be trapped in the pet area of the plane and not in first class. He wondered where they were going this time.

“Where do you suppose we’re off to, Gus? Gus?”

Frederick looked up from his book when no one answered. Not surprisingly, Gus was sound asleep. His back leg twitched every now and then as he chased a bunny through dreamland. After a snore loud enough to rattle shingles, Frederick bounced up and down on the dog’s back.

“Wake up, you slovenly hound!”

Gus stirred a little and rolled over, almost squashing Frederick. He yawned and scratched at his ear.

“Where are we going?” Frederick repeated.

“Uh…I think the boss said something about Barbaria,” Gus replied sleepily.

Frederick sighed. “Could he have said Bavaria? As in Germany?”

“Yeah…Germany…that sounds about right,” Gus replied.

“Ah, Wilkommen in Deutchland.” Frederick said, leaning back. “Not bad…perhaps we can see the sites, take in some culture...”

“Wilky what?” Gus asked, confused.

Frederick sighed again. It wasn’t likely he’d see anything remarkable on the back of his dimwitted doggie companion.

“Nevermind,” Frederick replied, picking up his book again.

Frederick was pleased when they were back on solid ground with fresh air, even if it had taken the boss, Detective Dumas, half an hour to find his luggage. During the cab ride to the location of the crime, they passed several fascinating buildings. Frederick had been half-tempted to leap out and abandon both Dumas and Gus in favor of sightseeing, but they’d never solve a case without him. He only hoped this time the investigation was interesting.

As the cab pulled up outside of a large, ordinary-looking house, Frederick’s hopes faded.

After paying the driver, Dumas put on his detective cap and opened the door. “Ready for our first case in Germany, Gus?”

Gus wagged his tail, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, as he leapt out behind Dumas. Woof. Woof.

“Good boy!” Dumas said, patting the hound’s head.

“How pathetic,” Frederick chided. “Couldn’t you have just a little self-respect?”

Gus ignored him and followed Dumas inside the house and up a flight of stairs. Evidently the house was divided into apartments. Dumas rang the doorbell to the upper apartment as Gus sat by his feet with his tail twitching. The door opened to reveal an upset, silver-haired man wearing house-slippers.

“Herr Meyer? I’m Detective Dumas. I believe you have a case for me!”

“Ah, yes…yes. Please come in.”

Herr Meyer ushered them into a neat apartment decorated with pictures of traditional dancers. A lacquered piano stood in one corner and various interesting books lined a wall of shelves. Clearly their client was a man of classical tastes, and curiosity grabbed a hold of Frederick. He waited to find out what the man needed help with.

“My shoes…my lucky Schuplattner shoes…have been stolen. And I know exactly who stole them…it was Herr Schmidt! But I cannot prove it.”

The man perched on the edge of a large, red armchair. Gus sat beside him, nudging his hand for an ear scratch.

“Seriously, at a time like this?” Frederick hissed at the hound. “A crime has been committed…”

“Hmm…why do you think it was Herr Schmidt?” Dumas asked.

“I don’t think so…I know so!” Meyer almost shouted.

Frederick wondered how shoes could be so special.

“Okey-dokey. Don’t get your lederhosen in a twist. Why do you know so?” Dumas asked as tactfully as ever.

“Because he is my biggest competition. He wants to be King Blitzen Fuss and…he knows I can’t dance without my lucky shoes!”

Frederick’s curiosity deflated. Was this guy for real? Lucky shoes! Surely even Dumas couldn’t be buying into this one.

“When was the last time you saw these shoes?” Dumas asked as Frederick shook his head in disbelief.

“Saturday afternoon. I was practicing my routine when the doorbell rang. It was Herr Schmidt. He said my cat was in his backyard again and was chasing away all of the hummingbirds! It rained that morning. I didn’t want my dance shoes to get muddy, so I changed into my gardening boots. I left the shoes on the porch…but when I returned with Mitzi…they were gone! Those shoes danced me to King Blitzen Fuss the last three years in a row!”

“And Mitzi is?” Dumas asked.

“My cat,” Herr Meyer replied with a confused look.

Frederick flopped back onto Gus. Dumas really was as hopeless as the hound. Who else could Mitzi have been? He looked around for the cat, thinking she may make a better partner than his current team.

“Don’t worry, Herr Meyer. International Solver of Capers, Crimes, and Conundrums is on the case! Before we talk to Herr Schmidt, can the ‘nose of the operation’ get a sniff for the road?”

Herr Meyer was puzzled until Dumas glanced at Gus. “Oh, yes, now I see,” he said as he removed his slipper. Holding it at nose height, he let Gus sniff.

Frederick could hardly stand it. “Oh…the indignity of it! And the smell!” he said, holding his nose.

Dumas did a final sweep of the apartment for clues, while Frederick half-heartedly glanced around.

Gus sat down and scratched at his ear. “Sure sounds like Herr Schmidt is the culprit.”

“Hmmm…could be…but I’m not quite ready to make that decision,” Frederick said as he contemplated the life choices he made to get to this point. Frederick the Flea cursed to solve every mystery he came across - no matter how dull - without getting as much as a simple thank you. Just as Frederick resigned himself to jump down and explore, Dumas announced it was time to question the suspect.

Apparently, Herr Schmidt was practicing his dance routine when the trio arrived at his door. The air thumped with the beat of polka, and even that was drowned out by the sounds of stomping feet. Dumas rang the doorbell twice, but the music and clomping didn’t stop. Frederick began to wonder if Herr Schmidt was some kind of performing elephant. Dumas pounded as hard as he could. Finally the music paused and someone clomped towards the door.

“What?” Herr Schmidt asked, yanking open the door.

Dumas explained who he was and why he was there. The face of the burly, bearded man grew redder with each passing second.

Clearly, Frederick thought, Herr Schmidt was unimpressed.

“You interrupted my practice for this! Why would I have Herr Meyer’s shoes? You think I must cheat to win the Schuplattner Competition?”

“Well, you are a suspect,” Dumas admitted. “Do you mind if we look around?”

Herr Schmidt narrowed his eyes but stepped aside to allow them entrance. “I have nothing to hide!”

They entered Herr Schmidt’s house and began to look around the tidy - but odd - quarters. The furniture was pushed to the sides of the room, and the carpet was rolled up to expose the wooden floor.

“I sure am glad that I don’t live with this guy,” Gus said as he sniffed around the living room. “All the slapping, and clapping, and jumping, and stomping…”

“True…very true,” Frederick replied, scanning the room. “Any sign…or smell…of the shoes?”

“Nope,” Gus replied.

Frederick sighed. One thing was for sure, Gus may be a few bricks short of a load, but his nose was second to none. If he couldn’t smell the shoes, they weren’t there.

Clearly, Dumas had come to the same conclusion. “Sorry to waste your time, Herr Schmidt. Good luck in the competition.”

Herr Schmidt watched them leave with a scowl. Almost as soon as he closed the door, the thunderous music and stomping started up again. Frederick considered pulling some fur from Gus’s coat to plug his ears.

A little while later they sat in front of a fireplace in Herr Meyer’s living room. Gus lounged on a thick rug, while Herr Meyer and Dumas sat in comfortable chairs. Frederick seemed to be the only one irritated that they weren’t doing something.

“Sorry to say…we didn’t find your shoes at Herr Schmidt’s house,” Dumas said between sips of steaming tea. “That doesn’t mean that we are giving up, of course. I just wanted to give you an update.”

Frederick suddenly had an idea. “Gus! Take me outside!”

Gus rolled over with a grunt and sauntered towards the door. When he reached it, he gave the boss a half-hearted woof to signal that he wanted to go out.

“Stay out of my garden!” Herr Meyer shouted as they started downstairs.

But Gus wasn’t taking a bathroom break.

“What are we doing out here, Frederick?” Gus grumbled.

“A mini stake-out...something you said at Herr Schmidt’s house got me thinking.”

“Something I said?”

“Yes…believe it or not…even the darkest places sometimes produce occasional flashes of brilliance.”

“Huh?” Gus asked, tilting his head.

“Nevermind…back to what I was saying....you mentioned how loud the dancing was.”

“Oh yeah…all that slapping…and clapping…and jumping…and stomping. It looks fun, but I wouldn’t want to hear that every day.”

“Yes…yes... that led to me wonder who lives beneath Herr Meyer. I’m sure that all that slapping, and clapping, and jumping, and stomping would get a little annoying. Here’s my plan.”

He jumped closer to Gus’s floppy ear so he could whisper. Minutes later, on the porch of the downstairs neighbor, Gus stood on his back legs and pressed the doorbell with his paw.

Slowly the door opened to reveal a pleasant-looking woman with glasses and grayish hair pinned neatly in a bun. Her face broke into a grin when she saw Gus panting and wagging his tail. “Oh…what a cute doggie...”

Gus didn’t waste any time with formalities.

The woman jumped in surprise as he raced into the house. “Oh dear…what are you doing?”

Gus sniffed the air and beelined towards the kitchen. With a bark of triumph, he snatched a shoe from the kitchen and hurried back towards Herr Meyer’s with Frau Bauer in hot pursuit.

Woof. Woof. Gus ran into Herr Meyer’s living room with the missing shoe in his mouth. An out-of-breath Frau Bauer hustled in right behind him. Both Dumas and Herr Meyer leapt to their feet.

“Great job, boy!” Dumas exclaimed pulling out a doggie treat for the drooling dog. “I don’t know how…but you’ve done it again!”

Frederick harrumphed.

Herr Meyer’s look of relief turned to surprise when he noticed Frau Bauer standing in the doorway. “Frau Bauer? You stole my lucky shoes?”

“I meant to return them…honestly I did. I had a horrible headache last week. I tried to put a pillow over my head. I tried ear plugs. I tried drowning the sound with soothing music. I tried everything! But still all that slapping, and clapping, and jumping, and stomping! I decided to ask you to stop, but you weren’t there. And your shoes were…so I grabbed them…I know it was wrong.”

Feeling badly for the woman, Gus leaned into her leg. Even Frederick had to admit if he’d been in her shoes, he may have stolen Herr Meyer’s footwear too.

“So…Herr Meyer…what do you want to do about this?” Dumas asked.

Herr Meyer grabbed his shoe and shook a little doggie drool off it. “Hmph!”

“I can make it up to you!” Frau Bauer offered, one hand absently patting Gus’s head.

“How?” Herr Meyer asked.

“Well…let’s figure it out over some chocolate cake.”

“Your famous black forest cake? Well…okay.”

Weeks later, Frederick and Gus watched Detective Dumas clip a newspaper article. Upon closer inspection, they saw a picture of Herr Meyer being crowned King Blitzen Fuss. The colorful, embroidered costume Frau Bauer made him was spectacular. And even though Frederick didn't get any accolades for his part in solving the crime, his heart swelled with pride and happiness.

“Nice. He won,” Gus said.

“It would seem so…” Frederick replied as another headline grabbed his attention.

“Interesting…a stolen necklace…Gus, listen to this!”