Captain Noonan, the Bearded Holmes of the Sandersonville Police Department was stuck on a five-letter word for German cars ending in s. The closest he could come was “Benz” which did not, alas, end in an s. Personally he could have cared less which German cars ended in s. But his wife did. And she was going to call after her Bridge Club soiree which, oddly, was in the afternoon, even though soirees, from the French, are in the evenings. The clue being the term soir, in French, for evening.

He was so intent on contemplating the German car possibilities he failed to look at the incoming call notification reading on his electronic Beelzebub, the tool of Satan which both his wife and his commissioner demanded he keep with him at all times. As his commissioner was, blessedly, in Virginia Beach at some publicity gathering, that left his wife with the only one with his cell number­—and in the case of Noonan—cell had a double meaning.

“The closest I can come to a five-letter word for German cars is Benz but it only has four letters.”

“Add an s,” a strange woman’s voice said. “In crossword puzzles, when it asks for a plural, automatically add an s. That reduces the letters to four and thus Benz fits.”

“Great,” said Noonan as he rubbed out the BMWs and the scratch paper on his desk and then looked at the incoming call notification. It was his wife’s Mephistopheles. “Why do you have my wife’s phone?”

“She told me to call. This is Rachel Bangladesh, spelling just the like the country with none of the problems. I’m at the Bridge Club soiree in Nags Head and mentioned an odd occurrence to your wife and she told me to call.”

“OK,” Noonan rolled his eyes. He could just imagine what was coming next. A missing cat? Or someone stealing a spare tire from her garage. “I see. And what is this strange occurrence?”

“I volunteer at the Nags Head Value Village and Thrift Shop. Someone stole all of our shoes.”

* * *

This was certainly a first for Noonan. Shoes in a thrift shop? What were shoes in a thrift shop worth? Couldn’t you buy a pair for two or three dollars? That’s not a lot of street value.

“Your shoes?”

“Yes. You know, the shoes we have for sale. Someone broke into the thrift shop one night and stole all the shoes.”

“Just the shoes?”

“That’s all we could find that was missing.”

“Are we are talking about a break-in or did someone come in a shoplift the shoes?”

“Oh no, it was a break-in. We came in one morning last week and all the shoes were gone.”

“Do you have any kind of security on the store?”

“Not the way you mean it. We don’t have top-notch security because we remove all the money every night. The rest of the store is just clothes. We keep a weak lock on the back door because we get broken into so often. Usually it’s a homeless person looking for a warm place to spend the night and a place to get a free jacket or pair of pants. We’re accustomed to that so we have a cheap door and a cheaper lock on the back door. We don’t want to ruin a $100 door because someone wanted a jacket we got for free and are trying to sell for $3.”

“But no security camera?”

“Why? There isn’t anything of value in the store. We are a thrift shop, you know.”

“Just the shoes?”

“Just the shoes.”

“Any particular sizes?”

“All sizes. They just swept clean four shelves: children’s, men’s, women’s, boots, high heels and tenny sneakers.”

“How many pair we talking about?”

“All totaled, maybe 40.”

“So, cash wise, you are out about $150.”

“If we sold them, yes.”

Noonan was silent for a moment. “Give me your phone number and I’ll see what I can do.”

Shoes? Noonan muttered to himself as he wrote down Bangladesh’s number.

* * *

Then things more odd.

Since he didn’t know anything about thrift stores, he put a call into someone who did: Omar Zeffirelli. Zeffirelli was the owner of a small mall in Sandersonville—and aren’t all the malls in Sandersonville small?­—and asked about thrift thefts.

“Seriously?”

“Well, Captain. It is Captain, isn’t it?”

“No. Not until there’s a crime. Until then it’s Heinz.”

“Ok, Heinz. How much do you know about the thrift business?”

“It’s for people who have very little money who badly need things.”

“Good enough. Yes, that’s a good description of our clients. Thrift stores do not make money. They are not in the business of making money. They are in the business of keeping poor people alive. I donate the space for the Sandersonville Thrift Mart and cover water and sewer charges. I’m betting electricity and gas are donated . . . and solid waste. Everything in the Thrift Mart has been donated. The only real-world expenses are the employees. There is no money to be made in the thrift business.”

“Is stealing from a thrift shop unusual?”

“Shoplifting is probably as common as in other stores. I don’t’ know but I’m guessing the employees turn a blind eye to a lot of it. I mean, the people doing the shoplifting really need the jackets, shoes and whatever they abscond with. Wasting police and court time on a homeless shoplifter is probably not worth anyone’s time so the blind eye.”

“Maybe,” Noonan said and then added. “But in this case, the theft is four shelves of shoes.”

“Pardon?”

“Shoes. Four shelves of shoes. Someone broke into the Nags Head Value Village and Thrift Shop and stole about 40 pair of shoes.”

“Why?”

“That’s what I thought you could tell me?”

“I can’t think of a reason anyone would want 40 pair of old shoes. The best I can do is tell you to call the North Carolina Thrift Association. In Raleigh. They might know because I sure don’t.”

The Director of the North Carolina Thrift Association thought Noonan was kidding.

“Someone stole 40 pair of shoes. Why?”

“I was hoping you could tell me?”

“Is this a gag call?”

“No, actually. I really am Captain Noonan of the Sandersonville Police Department and this is an official call.”

“Wow! OK. I, we, don’t know anything about any theft of shoes. And I can’t think of reason anyone would steal used shoes.”

“Any other thrift shops in North Carolina report thefts?”

“Not as far as I know. But then again, if someone stole something from a store it would be reported to the local police, we would never hear about it.”

“How many thrift stores are part of you association?”

“Sixty-seven, but they are not all thrift stores the way you probably think of them.”

“But you are in touch with your members?”

“Of course.”

“Will you send out an email asking if any of them have had thefts?”

“I can. Sure. Anything else?”

Noonan thought for a moment. “Yes, as a matter of fact. As if anything unusual has happened over, say, the last month.”

“What do you mean by unusual?”

“Out of the ordinary, odd, strange. I don’t know. Hopefully one of your members will have a clue to why someone would steal 40 pairs of used shoes.”

“You’re the boss.”

“I like your attitude. Here’s my office email.”

* * *

Three days later Harriett came into Noonan’s office with three sheets of paper. She kind of/sort of held them against her chest and leaned forward with a humorous gleam in her eyes. “Tell me, oh, ‘Bearded Holmes,’ what a stuffed alligator, 15 beach towels, 16 used baseball caps, 30 brassieres, two dozen t-shirts, a dozen pair of pants of different sizes have to do with 15 pair of men’s underwear and 30 pair of men’s and women’s socks – and,” Harriet waggled the sheets of paper, “enough children’s clothing to start a nursery have in common?”

Noonan thought for moment and then muttered, “Methodist Spring Break?”

“Very funny,” Harriet sniped. “And I’m a recovering Methodist. Or is it an Episcopal? I can’t remember. No, it’s a list sent over by Omar Zeffirelli. I didn’t know you knew him.”

“I don’t. But then again, this is Sandersonville. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone else’s business even if they’ve never met.”

“Another ha-ha. That’s all that’s on this list. Nothing else.”

“I guess I have to give him a call.”

“Good idea. And ask if he’s a Methodist.”

Zeffirelli might have been a Methodist but since Noonan didn’t ask, Harriet would never know the answer. The answer Noonan was seeking was “what’s with the list you sent over?”

“Odd, isn’t it.”

“An understatement. What am I looking at?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. I got a phone call from the Director of the North Carolina Thrift Association. She didn’t believe you were really who you said you were so she sent an email out and got this list. But she sent it to me because, . . .”

“Yeah,” Noonan shook his head. “She doesn’t know from blue cheese.”

“That’s not the way I would have said it but, yeah. But there’s an unusual wrinkle in this list. It’s not things that have been stolen. It’s a list of the things the same people have been buying.”

“Sorry?”

“I had a long talk with the Director. When it comes to crime, as in theft, other than the usual shoplifting, there has been zip in the last year. And the year before that. No one could even remember a theft. But when she asked about odd occurrences—you asked her to ask that, right?”

“Yes.”

“When it comes to oddities, a lot of thrift shops had the same answer. The oddity was not so much what was bought as who was buying it.”

“I guess I missed that.”

“Apparently there are two men, quite noticeable, who have been making unusual purchases. That’s the list I sent you.”

“What do you mean by noticeable?”

“According to the director, one is a black man about 6’ 7” and the other is short Chinese man, maybe five feet tall. The Chinese man speaks no English but the black man appears to be fluent in Chinese.”

“How do they know the short man is Chinese?”

“I don’t know. The general consensus was the short man was Chinese. They appeared together and the Chinese man picked out the product. The black man was there as a translator.”

“It’s an odd list of items?”

“I agree. What do you think in happening?”

“Not a clue.

“I don’t see a crime here.”

“Not yet,” Noonan answered. “Not yet.” And just as he said the last “not yet,” a distant bell pealed in his psyche.

Whenever Noonan had a problem to solve, an unsolvable problem, he let it slip into the back of his mind where it could ferment. There are no unsolvables when it comes to the crime so it is only a matter of time to solve the unsolvable. The importance is solving the unsolvable before time runs out.

Since there was no Square One to return to—the usual crime solving technique for detectives—Noonan had to do some off-the-wall thinking. The only common link was who was doing the buying. OK, well, what was the commonality of the items being bought? Just as important, were these two responsible for theft of the shoes or was that someone else? Good question. Assuming the black and Chinese men stole the shoes, why steal the shoes if you bought everything else?

The only answer Noonan could come up with was the two men had run out of time for whatever they were planning on doing.

Suddenly there was a ticking clock.

But for what?

Noonan had long known almost all crimes end up being about money.

So where was the money link here?

He was still mulling over the list—a stuffed alligator? —that evening when his wife dragged him a high school choral presentation. It was part of the SSS, Support Sandersonville Students, and as much as he hated gatherings, he always had time for the young. After all, when he became old and gray, the youth of today were going to be running the country he and his generation had run into the ground.

The choral presentation included some Coastal North Carolina ballads including The Ole Tar River, which Noonan had never heard:

Way down in North Car’lina,
On the banks of the Ole Tar River,
I go from there to Alabama,
For to see my ole Aunt Hannah.

Now Nancy, I must leave you,
Do not let our parting grieve you,
Dance and sing, forget your sorrow,
I’ll be back sometime tomorrow.

By the time the chorus hit sometime tomorrow, the bell in Noonan’s skull was reverberating loud enough to keep him awake for the rest of the program.

* * *

“You’re a detective so I’m not going to ask how you knew about the pair?”

“I’m psychic,” Noonan said off handedly. “Tell me about them?”

“Nothing illegal, if that’s what you are asking about. They are the face of a company out of Hong Kong that own a lot of properties in the area: warehouse space, parking lots, car rentals. In most cases they are the money behind the locals. The black man clearly speaks Chinese fluently and he’s the one who handles all of the details with the local businesses. From the way they act, the Chinese man comes across as a stumblebum. You know, kind of the odd child who has strange ideas so they send him as far from the family business as they can.”

“Sandersonville is a long from Hong Kong. What do you mean by strange ideas?”

“Well, he wanted to open a video store, which might have been a money-maker a decade ago but not today. So it failed, to no one’s surprise. Then it was high-end furniture and there are already a dozen of those stores in Greenville, so the store went belly-up. Then an exclusive liquor store which went under and now it’s a tour boat operation.”

“Tell me about the tour boat operation.”

“Nothing illegal, if that’s what you are asking. The Chinese man bought an old boat, and I do mean old, real old, and cleaned it up. Everyone at the marina here knew it was a relic and hardly seaworthy, but the Chinese man bought it anyway. Put a lot paint on the outside and not a dime of improvement on the inside. He takes it out like clockwork every weekend. Down the Tar River. Some of the other boaters have seen him in Pamlico Sound so he’s made it that far east.”

“You said his is a tour boat operation. Does he have clients?”

“That I don’t know. My guess is ‘no.’”

“Why not?”

“A bunch of reasons but it’s just a guess.”

“Humor me.”

“OK. He doesn’t advertise anywhere I’ve seen and I’m in the business. Second, I’ve never seen anyone get on or off the Elizabeth City.”

“That’s the name of the boat?”

“Yeah. Used to be the Forget Me Knot, not spelled with a k. It’s bad luck to change the name of boat.”

“In more ways than one.”

“OK. You want more reasons?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve never seen him in a bait shop and no one at the marina has seen him with fishing gear. He’s not the sailing type or the fishing type or the tourism type. He’s just, well, just a guy who gets in a boat one a week and sails down to Pamlico Sound by himself for whatever reason I do not know. The only thing I’ve seen him load onto the boat are boxes”

“Boxes?”

“Cardboard. About two at a time. I don’t know what’s in them but it’s not food because he never has any clients I have seen.”

“The black man never goes with him?”

“Never seen him on the boat. Always on shore. Sharp man. I’d say his kind of the business bodyguard for the loser son. Speaks the language the Chinese man doesn’t. Translator as opposed to a business partner.”

“I see. One more question, is the Elizabeth City out today?”

“Left this morning. Odd thing, now that you ask about the boat. I saw the owner with a life preserver.”

* * *

“Nurk? I’ve never heard the term.” There was a look of confusion on the North Carolina State Troopers face. “What does that term have to do with the shipwreck?”

“Nurk, Captain, is an old English term. The best translation to today is the runt of the litter. The worst of the litter and the last to be sold.”

“And that has to do with the wreck of the Elizabeth City?” He ended the line with a lift indicating he expected more.

“There will be no wreck of the Elizabeth City. It’s a scam about to occur.”

“Let me get this straight, you’re reporting a wreck before it happens? And if it’s a boat, the Coast Guard will be the first on the scene.”

“True, true,” Noonan added. “But this is an insurance scam. I’m betting the boat wreckage will appear within a day or two and there will be a widespread search for survivors. None will be found and the owner of the Elizabeth City will file an insurance claim.”

“But if there were people on board, they will have families who will end up suing the owners of the Elizabeth City.”

“There were no people on board. Like I said, it was a scam. It is just a moneymaking scheme by the nurk of the Chinese family in Hong Kong. The guy has failed at every idea he’s had. So he went big time for his last harrah. My bet, he’s out of the country. He took the Elizabeth City out onto Pamlico Sound and sank it. The surface is going to be littered with debris – clothing, shoes, baseball caps­—and that’s supposed to fool the Coast Guard into believing there were people on board. When the search finds no one, the boat will be declared a total loss and the Hong Kong company will collect insurance. No passengers means no lawsuits. It’s just a scam.”

* * *

“I see his lordship, our Commissioner of Homeland Security, has made the paper again.” Harriet folded the Sandersonville Express to the front-page article and handed it Noonan. “Seems he and he alone broke up a Chinese extortion ring.”

“Really?” Noonan did not bother to look at the paper.

“Odd,” Harriet said with a false look of confusion on her face. “Not a single word about his staff. Us. Just that he—and he alone—broke up the extortion ring.”

“Well, a ring is one thing so I guess you could say one person is a ring’”

“You could. But not the way he’s said it,” Harriet tapped the paper with her right index finger. “And it says he—and he alone—saved hundreds of thousands of dollars on a futile search for survivors of a wreck that never happened.”

“All in a day’s work,” Noonan said as he smiled.

“Let me guess; the debris was all that stuff in the list I gave you last week.”

“Probably.”

“Probably?!”

“Most likely.”

“OK, ohhhhh ‘bearded Holmes,’ then why the shoe theft?”

“Interesting you should ask. All criminals make mistakes. My guess, our Chinese ring,” with an edge to ring, “had a time table. If I were making a bet I’d say the shoe thievery was the last of the effort by the ring. The flight out of town had already been bought and the ring ran out of time buying things for the shipwreck. The ring needed shoes so they just stole them all at once rather than buying them a few pair at a time. The ring didn’t care about the investigation of the shoe theft because the ringleader would be long gone before there was a wrap-up.”

“Well,” Harriett tapped the folded paper against Noonan’s desk. “According to this story, the perpetrators have fled the country.”

“Isn’t that wonderful,” Noonan smiled. “Case closed.”

Harriett smiled sardonically. “Not for the record, just the two of us. What tipped you this was an insurance scam?”

“The stuffed alligator. It would float. So would everything else. Ergo, whatever was planned had to do with water. It would be debris. Then I just called the six different marinas on the Tar River.”

“Why the Tar River?”

Noonan broke into song:
Way down in North Car’lina,
On the banks of the Ole Tar River,
I go from there to Alabama,
For to see my ole Aunt Hannah.

Now Nancy, I must leave you,
Do not let our parting grieve you,
Dance and sing, forget your sorrow,
I’ll be back sometime tomorrow.