The Case of the Missing Gnomes

It was summertime in the shoreline burb known as Branford – our little any town, USA. The heat and humidity were on the rise making the residents hot, sweaty, and as cranky as a nun with a hangover. I was on duty at the and I could smell trouble bubbling up like an overflowing septic tank on a July day. Then suddenly the shrill ringing of the phone shattered my reverie; I had it glued back together after the last shattering but there it went.

I said to the sarge, "This could be big, maybe put us on the map."

"Yeah," he muttered slowly under his breath, adding, "Or under it."

The dispatcher looked concerned as he wrote down the information. "Well, what is it?" I asked.

He answered, "It's not good. Looks like there's been a major theft of lawn ornaments."

Thats when the calls started coming in as fast as hungry people phoning in quiche orders during the Miss America contest. Flamingos had flown; gnomes gone; lawn jockeys liberated. And even the little man that chops wood in the wind, had walked.

I told the dispatcher "put out a TOLO right away (theft of lawn ornaments)." The sarge and I conferred and we decided that this would require a full-all hands on deck-old fashioned red alert. 

As the night dragged on, nobody had a clue, which wasn't unusual for us; we never do, but hints were as scarce as vegans at a pig roast. Then just around daybreak, as the earth was giving birth to the sun on the horizon, the call came in. "You can find your little creatures near the highway at [exit] 54."

"Who took them? Had you known him?" I asked.

"What?" the caller said. "Yeah the gnomes are there too." 

I jumped in my waiting squad car then got out because I had gotten in the back seat. I jumped in the front and headed straight for exit 54. As I sped there with my strobe lights probing the dawn and my siren sirening, I wondered what I would find. My adrenalin was high test now as I arrived in a cloud of smoke and burnt rubber. I had driven past the town dump on the way and the pollution was clinging to my car like chiggers on a dog. And then, there were all the happy creatures lined up like commuters trying to get on the highway behind a little old lady who thinks merge and yield are something fast woman do in the back seats of cars. The flamingos and the gnomes were all present and accounted for. And as the sun opened its eyes and stretched, I knew all was well again in our little corner of America.