I drove to Captain Kiddies’ Treasure Chest, a big store (by Blandsville standards) that sells toys, treats, and children’s clothes. Parking was a problem, as usual, in a lot with children, parents, and grandparents crawling around like ants at a picnic. By the time I found a parking spot, I had almost reduced Blandsville’s under-six population by a dozen or more.
Inside the store, children were running up and down the aisles, yelling “I want this” and “Kin I have that?” I felt sorry for the clerks who had to replace all the articles pulled off the shelves.
Eventually I found the section with the giant bears. Empty-handed, I went to the checkout counter. “Has anyone bought any of the big bears recently?”
“Yes. A number of them.”
“Could I have their names and addresses, please?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to give out that information.”
I had a sudden inspiration: “But one of them may have bought the one thousandth bear of the year and if so, he or she is eligible for a prize.”
“Well, maybe in that case…” and she produced the list.
“Thank you.”
At another counter I asked about Snackies, but the list of buyers was very long. Most children must live on treats.
Back in the parking lot, I found a boy and girl about of seven or eight, probably brother and sister, taking turns kicking my car and laughing while their father asked them to stop, with no result.
When they saw me, they shifted their vehicular violence to another victim.
“Santa doesn’t bring presents to bad boys and girls,” I reminded them.
“What a cruel thing to say to a child,” said their mother.
From my office, I called the Doters, told them I may have made some progress, and asked them to meet me at the first address on the list. They were there before me. I explained that we had to find a house that had recently gained a small boy and get inside.
The first two houses had couples, the third a single mother, all with multiple children. Nothing suspicious there. At the fourth house a man answered the door. A male voice called: “Who is it?”
“Who are you?” the man at the door asked.
“You recently bought a big stuffed bear,” I said.
“So what? That’s not a crime is it?”
“Well, you may have been the one thousandth person to buy that kind of toy. If so, you could win a prize, but I’ll need to see your sales receipt.”
“Oh.” The man relaxed a little. I edged through the door. “And who are these people?” They followed me inside.
“They are the sponsors of the prize.”
At that moment the bear came into the room… in the arms of a little boy who shouted “Grammaw! Grandpa!” and rushed into his grandmother’s arms, while grandpa pushed numbers on his cell phone.
“Officer Trade? It’s Mr. Doter. We’ve found our grandson, or rather Mr. Tuff has.” He gave the address and a few minutes later a police car bearing Trade and Son arrived, lights flashing.
The would-be kidnappers were arrested, Aloysius was returned to his grandparents and presumably his parents, and I called another case closed.
Al’s ordeal ended happily because he now had two big teddy bears and an even larger supply of Snackies.
