Popcorn and the Dog Groomer

By John Haeberle

A great read for older teenagers or young adults.  This story tells the tale of a well-organized, brilliantly designed crime organization operating in Beverly Hills.  Their target?  The homes of the very wealthy.  The police are baffled and angry.  In between the bad guys and the police is a group of unlikely detectives.  They are the pampered pooches of the rich families who are being ripped off of everything in their palatial homes.  The dogs have a meeting place:  Phideaux's Grooming Salon.  It's where all the really rich doggies are taken by their masters.  While there, they begin to put together bits and pieces of the intricately planned scheme of these multi-million dollar burglaries.  The furry protagonist is none other than "Popcorn", a friendly Labradoodle.  His favorite groomer is our human protagonist, Drew. Drew's problem is Emily...his boss.  She is a highly motivated, greedy bully, and just happens to lead a double life as one of the ringleaders of the crime ring, using Phideaux's as a front. Drew has been walked on most of his life and has very low (if it even exists) self-esteem.  Emily takes full advantage of that weakness. But, two very strong, brave women...Jacqueline and Kali, enter the scene, bringing special, essential knowledge with them.   They prove to of pivotal support to both Drew and the police. Their are plenty of great characters...human, canine, and even a couple of important feathered ones.  Andretti is Drew's racing pigeon and Pablo is the resident parrot at Phideaux's, where he observes a lot and is building his vocabulary in ways sure to be of help to the good guys.  This is a very entertaining plot.  How can humans and animals work together to put away the bad guys?  Come along for the ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magic Valley Publishing
• Release date: Mar 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9780998377117

John Haeberle

John Haeberle is a recovering middle school and high school band and choir director.  He taught in northern California for many years, then returned to his home of earlier years, Idaho.  He enjoys writing about life and its challenges and rewards.  He and his wife, Annie, make their home in Twin Falls, in Idaho's Magic Valley.

Book preview

Chapter One

DOGS COME IN BASICALLY TWO TYPES:  the kind which have fur, meaning they shed all over the place or, the kind which have hair, meaning they need to have their hair cut because it doesn’t shed, but it keeps growing.

People who are more bothered by the expense of having their dog’s hair cut will generally opt for having a dog with fur.  On the other hand, people who are more bothered by the shedding and constantly cleaning up of fur will generally opt for a dog with hair.  Sure it’s more expensive, but the house stays cleaner, as well as the car and the person’s clothes.

Popcorn has hair. 

It grows. 

It grows a lot. 

It grows so much that it has to be cut once a month.  But look at the bright side: no mess!  If money is not too tight in your life, you really should get a dog like Popcorn.  Besides, there will be fewer problems with allergies for the humans who live with the dog.

Popcorn is a fairly large Labradoodle, standing about twenty-six inches at the shoulder.  He is a creamy, light-yellow color, and his hair, right after a good shampoo and cut, curls up and shines just like hot, buttered popcorn...hence the name.  His eyes are a hazel-green.

Poodles are thought to be prima donnas, all pampered and dainty, with an appearance of being almost breakable. Many people think of them as being prideful and haughty.  Sadly, the vast majority of this breed are treated in this way, and over the years this reputation, though false, has spread and spread.  But in truth, this breed of dog was developed for two traits: toughness and smarts.  Popcorn has both, and in healthy amounts! 

Poodles were bred to be hunters.  They had to be able to endure all kinds of weather, learn their duties for spotting, chasing, and cornering prey, and they had to have good speed.  Again, Popcorn is at the top of his class.  Labradors, on the other hand, a rightly perceived as strong, tough animals.  They are great hunters and trackers, but are playful, as well.

Popcorn’s owners don’t like the fashionable, stylized, unnatural cuts, which most poodles are given.  They want their dog to appear as the breed was intended: strong, tough, and intelligent, not silly and prissy.  So, Popcorn, especially with his Labrador heritage, has no puffy paws, no closely-trimmed legs or a big ball on the end of his tail, no eye-catching shapes sculpted into the hair of his body.  He simply has curly hair, well-maintained, from the top of his head to the tip of his tail.  Well-maintained might be a bit of an understatement.  His owner, Mrs. Barnes, is a clean-freak, big time! 

In reality, Popcorn didn’t have to do any of those daring, exhausting, wearying tasks, which his ancestors had been bred and trained to do.  Those skills and strengths are still present in his genes and he could perform as his great-great-grandparents had, if he was trained to. 

His life is far removed from the hunting grounds of Normandy, France, home to his poodle ancestors. In Popcorn’s world, finding and chasing down game and then cornering them until the hunters can catch up, is not even a fleeting thought.  His world revolves around chasing the occasional bird away from the tennis court, or trying to catch a squirrel as it scampers up one of the many palm trees on the expansive, manicured grounds of the large estate where he lives.  Sometimes he is called upon to act like a clown for his master’s guests.  This might mean retrieving a tennis ball during a lawn party.  Another time it might be necessary for him to dash across the lawn and jump as far out into the middle of the family’s pool as he can, making a big splash and getting lots of laughs from his master’s friends (he has been trained to never shake off pool water near the guests).  His Labrador genes make this an especially joyful activity for the young boy.

Popcorn lives a good life.  His humans have a large, lovely home, in the palm tree-lined avenues of Beverly Hills, California.  The house has two-stories.  The architectural style is that of the old Spanish Missions, so popular in the state.  The interior has very high ceilings, that of the main receiving area reaching eighteen feet.  There are large, slow-turning ceiling fans throughout the home.  The exterior of the mansion is a light-salmon, with a cream-colored trim that perfectly matches Popcorn’s hair.  The weather is nearly perfect, nearly all the time.  Popcorn has complete run of the house and the grounds.  He is well fed and is provided a very comfortable bed downstairs, on the ground floor, just off the huge kitchen.

Popcorn, of course, knows nothing about what his humans do to earn a living, which provides them such a lavish, luxurious lifestyle.  All he knows is that he is happy...but bored.  He feels there must be more to life than simply lying around the house, the lawn, or the pool.  There must be more of a challenge than chasing after a tennis ball or squirrel, or jumping into the pool.  Maybe it’s in his DNA, the need to be on the move, on the hunt.  Who knows?  But, make no mistake...this dog wants some action.

Every family in Beverly Hills has a dog and the only place to have your dog groomed is at Phideaux’s.  Popcorn’s humans take him to Phideaux’s once a month, for grooming, and more often for shampoos.  The young man whose responsibility it is to care for Popcorn, whenever he has an appointment at Phideaux’s, is Drew Hamilton.  He’s about twenty-two years old, with longish, light-brown hair.  He is thin and tall, maybe six feet-two inches.  His eyes are light blue, and reveal an expression of very little interest in what he’s doing, though he is very fond of and good with animals.  Animals are sensitive and they pick up on the young man’s kind nature.  His disinterest is caused by the lack of challenge in his work and the lack of respect he is shown by his boss, Emily. 

Popcorn has noticed that the groomer appears bored.  His mouth hangs open almost the entire time he is being groomed, as if his mind is far, far away, doing something more interesting than cutting a dog’s hair.  But, dog grooming is not rocket science.  Popcorn’s lady-human insists that Drew take care of Popcorn every time she brings him in.  Drew is talented as a groomer and Popcorn’s mom likes the way he grooms her dog.  It’s a standing appointment, on the second and fourth Wednesday of the month for a shampoo. On the second Wednesday he also gets a haircut.  Mrs. Barnes is, after all, a neat-freak.  This arrangement has been in place for over two years. 

Chapter Two

Two Weeks Earlier

Popcorn’s human, Mrs. Barnes, took the leash in her hand and tugged gently, indicating to Popcorn that he was to get out of her shiny, dark blue Mercedes.  She had the roof down, so it was easy for Popcorn to hop over the gearshift console onto the driver’s seat and then out the door, following her obediently.  Mrs. Barnes led Popcorn into the cool, air-conditioned waiting room and walked up to the counter. 

The shop’s manager, Emily, a young woman with frizzy, bleached-blond, shoulder-length hair, accented with strands of bright pink, was engaged in a spirited conversation on her cell-phone.  But when she saw Mrs. Barnes, a regular and high-paying, generous-tipping customer, she was smart enough to drop the phone and welcome her client.  Not even Mrs. Jacqueline Barnes actually understood why she was such an important client to Emily.  That was Emily’s secret...her connection to Mrs. Barnes.

Mrs. Barnes!  How great to see you! she squeaked.

Hello, Emily, Mrs. Barnes said from behind her stylish sunglasses, with a rather flat, uninterested tone.

How’s Mr. Popcorn? Emily said, coming around the counter and kneeling in front of the poodle. 

Emily Sullivan was not only smart enough to drop her phone when a customer like Mrs. Barnes came in, she was also wise enough to get to know each client’s dog, trying to quickly become the dog’s friend.  This skill improved relations with many a wealthy dog-owner and increased the likelihood of their becoming a steady customer.  Emily was much smarter than her appearance might suggest.  In fact, she had plans to have stashed away enough money to last her for many, many years...and to do so within the next five years.  Her silly, goofy, bleach-blond persona was only an act.  No one at Phideaux’s knew that.  It was another Emily secret. She had special reason to maintain a good relationship with Popcorn.

Mr. Popcorn!  It’s so good to see you, buddy!  Have you missed me?

Emily took Popcorn’s head in her hands and gently roughed his fur, placing his face close to hers.  She then reached into the pocket of her white, dog-groomer’s smock and pulled out a few pieces of dog treat, extended her hand and opened it just below Popcorn’s nose.  The treat disappeared in less than a second and Emily was rewarded with a quick lick on the nose.  Mrs. Barnes had to smile at Emily’s tactic of keeping up good relations with the dogs that frequented the shop.

Standing up and turning to Mrs. Barnes, Emily asked the usual, unnecessary question.  Both women knew it was only a formality.

Mrs. Barnes, would you like Drew to give Popcorn his usual cut?

Yes.  Of course, she replied.  However, I have some errands to run, up in Burbank.  I can’t get back to pick him up for about three hours.  will that be a problem?

Emily’s response was neither slow nor unexpected.

Of course it’s no problem!  Popcorn is one of our favorites.

She said this in her squeaky, roller-coaster voice.  She then added, quite unnecessarily, bouncing her head from shoulder to shoulder, We have a small fenced area in the back where he can run and maybe even get a little naptime before you come for him.  We’ll give him some lunch, too, if that’s okay.

That’s fine, but not too much.  Our cook spoils him as it is.  Everybody loves Popcorn, she smiled, handing the leash to Emily.

With that, Mrs. Barnes turned and was quickly back inside her car, screeching the tires just a little, as she left the parking area.

Emily didn’t dawdle.  She knew she had more than enough time, but didn’t want to chance messing up the operation.  Not the dog trim; something much bigger, and much more profitable.  There was a clear, pre-determined sequence of steps to be completed, which Jacqueline Barnes had unknowingly just now set in motion. 

Drew, he’s here.  Popcorn’s here.

From the grooming area, came Drew’s voice.

Is there another message?

Her whole personality seemed to change in an instant.  Her head quit bobbing side to side.  Her shoulders straightened.  Her eyes narrowed, giving her a clear expression of anger.  Her voice suddenly ceased squeaking.  It dropped noticeably.

"Don’t be stupid!  Of course there is.  And don’t ever ask that kind of question where someone else might hear you!  Do you understand?"

Her voice had lost all of the late-teen innocence and bubbly veneer, which she had employed when dealing with Mrs. Barnes.

Drew almost bowed to her, becoming meek and submissive.

Okay.  Okay.  I was only asking.  Don’t get mad.

Well, Drew, when was the last time the boss sent his dog and didn’t send a message, huh?

Drew shook his head, not sure if he was angrier with Emily for her arrogance or with himself for speaking before thinking.  Of course there was a message.  Whenever Popcorn had an appointment, a message was bound to be coming.

Emily spoke quietly.

Take off his collar and give it to me.

Without answering, Drew undid the buckle of Popcorn’s collar, removed it from his neck, and handed it to Emily. 

Emily said, Take care of Popcorn.  I’ll be in my office.

She mentally, effortlessly turned the switch back on in her mind that made her appear to be a dizzy blond.  She again began chewing her gum with her mouth open, her eyes taking on a clueless look as she walked through the grooming area and into her office, head gently bobbing side to side.  She closed the door, turned the rod, which closed the blinds, and then sat down in her chair, turning herself toward her desk.  She pushed the button turning on the desk lamp and sat back in her chair. 

She turned Popcorn’s collar over so that she could see the underside. The collar was, of course, one worthy of a labradoodle living in Beverly Hills.  It was a little wider than most dog collars and on top of the leather were three sections which looked to be made of some kind of fine, silvery metal, encrusted with an arrangement of turquoise stones.  The middle section was larger and more ornate than the other two.  The collar was beautiful...a work of art.  But if it was turned over, it was clear that the larger metal piece actually wrapped completely around the leather.  This smooth underside was a sliding door, which covered a small compartment. 

With fluid motions which indicated many previous experiences opening the compartment, Emily found what she had seen many times before; a space, like a small cave, inside the metal and turquoise part of the collar.  The space was no larger than a woman’s thumb.  It was less than a quarter inch deep.

As she leaned forward to examine the compartment, Emily’s giddy, almost silly persona seemed to melt away as she transformed from typical Beverly Hills, blond-and-pink-haired receptionist to mid-level manager and liaison in her other job, which paid for her own Mercedes, which she was characteristically smart enough to not drive to her day job as manager of the dog grooming salon.

Emily considered for a few moments, the seemingly unimportant, yet carefully planned, chain of events, which had brought this message to her.  It had begun with a sweet, quiet, little housekeeper, somewhere in Beverly Hills.  As part of her day-to-day duties, the housekeeper had learned the security code and the commands for shutting down the video surveillance system.  If the home where she worked had a powered gate, she also learned the code for its operation.  The housekeeper was observant.  She had overheard when the family had discussed a vacation during which they would all be away, leaving the house completely unoccupied.  Out of ordinary curiosity, she had seen lying on countertops, important information, such as airline tickets, cruise itineraries, and hotel reservations, left in plain sight.  Getting access to that kind of information was not the challenge.  This innocent woman had no idea that this information would be taken from her in a way she would not even remember.  It would then be used to rob the family for whom she worked.  Though her access to gate and security codes would automatically make her a prime suspect, she would honestly have no memory of having given this information to anyone. 

Housekeepers like to get together after work to socialize.  Housekeepers like to talk. They like to talk about their employers.  The more they can show that they know about their employer’s family life, the more respect they have among their fellow housekeepers.  Like most social organizations, there is a pecking order. 

Some time ago, Emily, after leaving the dog salon one late afternoon, had made it a point to hang out at Vista del Mar, the restaurant where the largest group of housekeepers in Beverly Hills got together.  She watched and listened, trying to figure out who was in charge.  It didn’t take long. 

Esmeralda ran this group.  There had been no election.  There were no bylaws.  But most certainly, without a doubt, Esmeralda ran this group.  Nothing happened among the lives of these housekeepers or their employers, without Esmeralda being well informed of it.

When she was sure of her decision, Emily waited until after the daily meeting of the housekeepers, then quietly took Esmeralda by the arm and steered her toward a corner booth.  A twenty-something white girl, with bleached-blond and pink-streaked hair, sitting at a table with a middle-aged Hispanic woman did draw a few sideways glances, but nobody disturbed them.  Vista del Mar was a place where people minded their own business.

Emily got right to the point.

Your name is Esmeralda, right? She was in her blond-and-pink-haired, Emily persona, chewing gum and all. Her voice was high-pitched and squeaky.  Her head bobbed from side to side as she spoke.  It was very disarming.  Esmeralda couldn’t help but nod her head, yes.

"Good.  I’m Emily.  Great to meet you!  I don’t, like, know you, but I’ve been, like, watching you and your girls.  It sure looks like you are the boss of this group.  Right?"

Again, Esmeralda felt her head nodding yes, though she didn’t remember making a decision for it to do that.  The person in front of her was mesmerizing.

Okay, then!  Well, here’s the thing.  My boss is putting together this thing, you know, like, to make some really good money.  It’s really great...and super easy!

For some reason, Esmeralda remained seated and couldn’t stop listening to this strange-looking girl.  Maybe it was her appearance.  Maybe it was her bubbly behavior.  She didn’t know.

Continuing to chew her gum, her head and hands in nearly constant motion, Emily explained that her boss simply wanted to have information that he felt housekeepers could get for him: The address of a house, the dates when the house would be unoccupied, like during a vacation...maybe a cruise, the gate and security codes, and commands for disarming the video surveillance system.   

For gaining this information, Emily explains, Esmeralda will be paid $500, of which she keeps $450. The other fifty she pays to the lawn mowing service’s crew chief who mows the lawn at her own boss’s house. 

Emily explains that Esmeralda is to place the hand-written note inside a small envelope, along with the fifty dollars, and give it to the crew chief.  This is done by bringing a tray of ice-cold lemonade out to the patio for the lawn care crewmen who come to work at Esmeralda’s boss’s house.

Emily instructed Esmeralda to place the envelope underneath the lemonade pitcher, and make sure that the crew chief sees the envelope as she pours the drinks into glasses.  The chief then drains his glass, picks up the pitcher for a refill, and smoothly removes the envelope from the bottom of the pitcher.

Emily tells her that she will be given expense money up front, from which she is to pay for liquor to loosen her friends’ tongues and to pay the lawn mowing crew chief for his first couple of jobs. 

With the number of housekeeping friends you hang out with... and most of them work two, three houses, right?  I mean, the way those rich Beverly Hills types travel, at $450 a pop, you could, like, be pickin’ up maybe an extra two-K a month, right?

Esmeralda quickly reviewed the startling information she had just heard:  One or maybe even two-thousand extra per month?  For hangin’ out with the girls I already hang out with, and getting one or another of them drunk from time to time, and gathering information and then writing it down and putting the note with $50 in an envelope and putting that on the bottom of a pitcher of lemonade?  No questions asked?  Two-thousand a month!

As if she were reading Esmeralda’s mind, Emily said, And don’t forget the $1,000 up front, for liquor, right?

Esmeralda thought about what another two-thousand a month would do for her family.  Her son had college tuition coming up.  She had always wanted to be able to get braces for her daughter’s teeth.

She knew it was wrong.  But those people are so rich, she told herself.  They won’t really feel it.  Not like we feel it.

She looked down at her hands for several seconds.  Then she raised her eyes to meet Emily’s.  She hesitated.

Emily added her closing pitch.

Esmeralda, you know these people are all insured like crazy, right?

Another few seconds to digest that last part.  Then....

Okay.  I’m in.

Still sitting at her desk in the office at Phideaux’s, Emily’s mind then jumped from the Esmeralda connection to the groundskeeper’s role in this whole scheme.  Garrett, her boss, had come up with this final stage of delivering information.  She knew he was proud of himself for thinking of it. 

Ernesto Calderon was a man with two jobs.  They were the two perfect jobs for Garrett’s purposes. Ernesto was the leader of the lawn mowing crew which maintained Garrett’s own lawn. One of the other estates where his crew worked happened to be where Esmeralda worked.  For Emily, that had been a stroke of dumb luck. It couldn’t have been better.  

Ernesto was also the head groundskeeper for holes eight through eleven at the course where Garrett golfed weekly.  Garrett had given Emily a nice bonus, for contacting and hiring Ernesto. That way, Garrett’s name and face were not connected, in Ernesto’s mind, to this scheme.  Garrett had decided that after Ernesto removed the envelope from the bottom of Esmeralda’s lemonade pitcher, the perfect place for Ernesto to make his delivery was at the golf course, which Garrett played weekly.  Garrett liked that. 

Holes eight through eleven were the holes farthest from the clubhouse.  Garrett played the course on Wednesdays, to break up his work week.  If Ernesto had received an envelope with information to pass on, he was instructed to place it in the toolbox in the groundskeeper’s shed between the green of the ninth hole and the tee of the tenth.  He was to do so only on Tuesday evenings.  So that Garrett would not draw attention to himself by checking the shed every time he played the course, Ernesto was instructed to tie an old, small rag to the door latch of the shed.  He was to do so only if there was new information hidden in the toolbox. 

Emily had done her homework.  Because of that, Garrett knew that the groundskeeper worked all day on Wednesdays, in a neighborhood many blocks from the course.  That meant that it was far less likely that the groundskeeper would ever see who it was who retrieved the note from the toolbox.  While Garrett didn’t really like involving himself in the chain of information, it did give him a certain thrill of living dangerously.  Besides, he liked knowing what was happening in his business.

Coming back to the present, at Phideaux’s Dog Salon, she slipped an expensive, stylish pair of reading-glasses onto her nose.  Holding the collar closer to the beam of light from the desk lamp, Emily used a letter opener to pry a small piece of folded, blue paper from within the recessed space concealed in the underside of the collar.

She unfolded the paper and flattened it out on her desk.  On it she found the message she had expected, though she did not know the exact details until she actually read them.

83883 Camino El Dorado

9/15-10/4

136Y

35477

GC1184HN38

Emily took a small, yellow sticky-note and a pen from the desk drawer, and printed her response:

Message received. ES

Emily Sullivan had instantly memorized everything written on the blue paper.  It was her gift.  It was why the boss had hired her. The boss had noticed that Emily had an incredible gift for numbers and names.  He was dropping off Popcorn one day and had overheard Emily rattling off a series of names and dates to someone on the phone.  He had been impressed because she was looking at no paper or screen, but was just gazing out the front window of the salon.  He had remembered that, thinking that someone with such an ability might prove very helpful to him.  Shortly thereafter, he had invited her to lunch and had offered her a job.  He had thought of a way to use her gift.  He had designed an entirely new business around it.

She folded the yellow paper, inserted it in the small space in Popcorn’s collar, and slid the cover closed.  She quickly wiped the smooth, metal surface, removing any prints.

Her amazing gift of memory gave her the ability to look at numbers or letters, only once, and remember them forever.  She removed a cigarette lighter from her desk and flicking it to life, held the flame beneath the corner of the small, blue note she had just received.  She dropped the burning note into the metal trashcan and watched to make sure it was completely destroyed.  Now the numbers and letters which Esmeralda had gotten from an unsuspecting housekeeper and had then passed on via the bottom of a pitcher of ice cold lemonade, to a grounds keeper named Ernesto, were written only in Emily’s memory.  There, they were as secure as if they had been hand-written on paper.

With that, she turned off the desk lamp, opened the blinds, and exited her office.  Her demeanor magically transformed itself back into the almost goofy, funny, not-too-bright Valley girl she had been when Jacqueline Barnes had walked in.  She walked back to the grooming area. 

On her way to check on Popcorn she walked past the glass-enclosed studios, numbers two and three, where the other two groomers glanced her direction as she passed.  All they saw was the somewhat silly, bleached-haired, pink-stranded girl they knew as their sometimes-quirky manager, chewing gum with her mouth open as she bounced along her way.  Little did they know that the reason for individual, glass-enclosed grooming areas had been Emily’s, and was to keep very private conversations private.  They would never have dreamed that the persona Emily portrayed in the salon was nothing more than a well-acted role.  Nor would they have believed that their own air-headed Emily lived in a luxurious, spacious apartment, and that in her two-car garage was parked her $82,000 Mercedes.

Emily opened the door to studio number one, Drew’s studio, stepped in and closed the door.  With the click of the door latch, it was as if a switch had been flipped and Emily was again changed back into mid-level liaison.  Her posture straightened.  The gum was no longer being chewed.  Her voice dropped from squeaky soprano to serious alto.

Drew, here’s Popcorn’s collar.  Be careful that it isn’t too tight.  I don’t want him digging at it with his paws.  All we need is for him to open the compartment and have the message fall out. I don’t even want to think about what the boss would do if that happened.

Knowing better than to talk back to Emily, Drew silently extended his hand and Emily dropped the collar into it.  He set the collar down on the table where he kept his grooming tools.  Drew was the only employee at Phideaux’s, who knew the other Emily.  But, there was something about Emily, which not even Drew knew.

The collar for Popcorn had been Emily’s bright idea.  Garrett loved it. He had told his wife that the groomer had given it to Popcorn as a special gift for being their best customer.  In true Beverly Hills form, Mrs. Barnes had accepted the story at face value.  Why shouldn’t Popcorn be their best customer?

I’ll put it back on when I’m through here, Drew answered.

Emily thought to herself, the boss would skin us alive.  He has to know right away if things are in motion...if Francisco has been contacted, whether or not I received the note, etc.

She then said to Drew, The window of opportunity is pretty small on this one.  By the way, that’s the boss’s dog.  Do your best work.

Biting his tongue, Drew simply nodded.  He knew whose dog it was.

And when you’re through, put Popcorn out back.  The boss’s wife won’t be back for him ‘til about three.

Should I feed him?

"Well, maybe a handful of dry dog food.  The Mrs. says the cook spoils him.  We