Chapter 05

"Well… that's different." In Velma's jargon, the word 'different' had a very negative connotation. Velma did not like things to be different. In her perfect world, things weren't different and never changed. But the Vancouver Park Terrace Hotel was different. It was very old with a chaotic architecture which bespoke multiple poorly planned and funded additions and renovations. From the outside, the nicest parts of the building would best be described as 'badly maintained."

It was a huge, sprawling complex with a single building that spread out over a large lot surrounded by a long continuous parking lot which curled around the building and rejoined itself in the front. Quick mental math as they drove the full loop gave Velma an estimate of over 400 rooms.

Always a glutton for punishment, she pulled up the hotel reviews on her A-Eye.

Review 1: The room was not very clean. The toilet was dirty and there was a lot of hair in the shower. The faucet for the shower was broken, held together with some blue tape. There wasn't any soap, toilet paper or tissue in the room. The front desk had a human clerk which seemed like a quaint throwback until she was not helpful and in fact was a bit rude as if I was bothering her asking for help.

Review 2: There were dead bugs in bathroom. Heater did not work. Gaps in door when you closed it. Also, extra security lock was broken. Overall terrible stay slept couple of hours and left could not take shower - too grossed out

She read through three or four more and then glanced over another dozen which were all one-star. Scrolling back up, shed re-read The front desk clerk was not helpful and in fact was a bit rude and then looked over at Shaggy, "You better handle the talking."

"No problem." Shaggy pulled the car up under the canopy at the front door. He parked behind a large shuttle P-van which had its hood open and someone working on the engine manually.

They stepped into the lobby, and she was surprised that it had been more recently renovated with the bright, primary colors which were last year's trend in interior décor. To her, it looked like a nursery school room, but this trend would fade, and they would return to drab greys or browns. Choose your poison.

A woman in her mid-forties was manning the desk. She looked back and forth between Shaggy and Velma and said, "May I help you?" Her tone was professional without being happy and there was no smile. They were four words into the conversation and she had not quite lived up to the review about being rude. So far, so good.

Shaggy looked around and realized there was no motel A-Eye console. He adapted and gave a broad smile, "We have a reservation under the name of Rogers."

"Just a moment." A holographic keyboard and screen popped up in front of the woman. Shaggy was startled when she typed in the name. This place was years behind.

She did not look up from the screen above her A-Eye, "Right. You're here for three nights?"

"That is correct."

She didn't look up, "Your room number is 2101. It's on the second floor and then you follow the signs."

Shaggy pulled out his best smile, "Would it be possible for us to speak with the manager?"

The reception clerk's head jerked up, "Already! What did I do?"

Velma almost breathed a sigh of relief. Since reading the review, the pressure of waiting for the clerk to do something rude had been building. Now that it was out in the open, she could relax a little. Especially since Velma didn't have to say anything.

Shaggy maintained the steady smile and pulled up his PI license on his A-Eye, "It's nothing like that. We were hoping to ask them and you about a guest who stayed here some time back."

She looked at the license, "Private investigator? Like on the old holo shows? Is that still a thing?"

"There are some dinosaurs still roaming the earth."

She stepped back away from the desk and stuck her head into an office immediately behind, "Hey Stan? There's a private detective out here that wants to talk with you."

A disembodied voice came out of the office, "Send it to my A-Eye."

"No, I mean like he's standing here. Like a human."

The voice carried back, "No shit? That hasn't happened in a while."

By this time, two other guests were waiting in line to be helped while grumbling about the shocking inconvenience of having to actually check in.

The clerk stepped back to the desk while Shaggy and Velma stepped over to the side of the counter. They were disheartened when the manager turned out to be a man in his mid-thirties. When Scooby Doo had last stayed here, the manager was busy being born. Pretty good alibi.

"You people actually private detectives? I thought all that stuff was handled by computers and cameras now."

Shaggy couldn't use the 'dinosaur' line again, "Yep. We're few and far between but we still turn up every now and then. We're here investigating a missing person case. How far do your guest registration files go back?"

"Canadian law requires us to maintain records for five years. After that, they're purged from the system."

'Purging' in computer speak meant that the data was put in a queue to be overwritten when additional storage space was needed. Even after it was overwritten, some parts of the data remained in corrupted form and could be retrieved. Velma had done all of that yesterday and found just enough to confirm what they already knew. Scooby had been here.

"So, there are no paper files from, say, 35 years ago?"

"35 years ago! You're trying to find someone who stayed here 35 years ago?"

The clerk found the manager's outburst much more interesting than the guest she was checking in and stepped away from the guest to listen it. The manager made no effort to order her back to work.

Shaggy nodded, "Yes, but this would be pretty memorable. The guest we're interested in was Scooby Doo."

Two blank stares.

So, The Gang's fifteen minutes of fame had clearly passed. Shaggy persisted, "Scooby Doo? The talking dog?"

The clerk's face didn't change but the manager brightened a little, "The talking dog from the old television show when I was a kid? That was all fake."

"No. Scooby Doo was very real and he stayed at this hotel on May 5th and 6th, 35 years ago."

The manager was shaking his head, "Huh? Who'd of thought that? But I don't know what we can do for you."

Two more guests were now waiting behind the ones the clerk had walked away from. The natives were getting restless. The clerk looked at the manager, "What about Joe?"

Shaggy jumped on it, "Joe?"

The manager shrugged, "I don't know how long he worked here exactly but Joe Morrow was the old security guard who worked here until last year. His folks died and left him some money and he was able to retire. I thought he was going to die in this place."

A voice came from one of the waiting guests, "I'm thinking the same about me."

The clerk looked over her shoulder, "Keep your shirt on! I'll be right with you." She turned back to Shaggy, "We have his address on file."

"That would be great. Thank you."

The manager took over, "I'll get the address. You get back to the guests."

The clerk nodded, "Yeah, I feel a lost reservation coming on."

Velma was glad that they had gotten checked in before asking the question. The queue at the desk was up to five people with one getting very surly at the front of the line. After getting the address transferred to his A-Eye, they went back outside and pulled the car into the nearest spot which was halfway around the building.

When Shaggy opened the trunk, Velma said, "Let's leave our luggage in the car until we see the room."

"Makes sense."

The decision turned out to be the correct one as they found that the new renovation stopped at the lobby and the corridors leading to the rooms were dingy and dark and then the room included all of the hairballs, dead bugs, and broken appurtenances promised in the reviews. Shaggy made reservations at Vancouver's Mysterno Tower Hotel and they immediately left the Vancouver Park Terrace Motel, hopefully never to return.

Rather than heading to the new hotel, they got back to the basics of private investigating and headed directly to the address of Joseph R. Morrow, former security guard. The rule is: don't give anyone at the motel the chance to call him and warn him they were coming. After a thirty-minute drive, they found the address to be in an old but well-maintained neighborhood of small houses on small lots. His house was not one of the better maintained on the street and definitely needed a coat of paint and some landscaping work.

There was no snow on the ground, but the front yard was still muddy from the latest thaw and the concrete stepping stones leading to the front door had sunk into the ground and were puddles which made matters worse. The did their best to minimize the mud on their shoes by a tip-toed ballet around the worst of the mud and knocked on the front door which was painted with a dried out peeling turquoise color.

The man who answered the door was about 6'-1" and heavy with long, grey hair hanging down to his shoulders, "Are you the private detective?" Best laid plans… The man was a little older than Shaggy and Velma and probably around seventy.

Shaggy held up his A-Eye with his license showing, "That's us."

The retired guard looked closely at the license, "Norville Rogers. Are you Shaggy Rogers?"

At least someone still remembered the show, "That's me."

Joe Morrow looked down at Velma, "And you're Velma Dinkley."

She nodded, "Yes, I am."

He looked back at Shaggy, "You're taller than I would have thought." He then looked down at Velma. She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. Morrow said, "You're about right. Come on in." Velma didn't know why, but for some reason she felt insulted.

The house which appeared ill-maintained from the outside was an absolute disaster on the inside. Empty pizza boxes, food wrappers, and beer bottles were everywhere. There was an odor of foul garbage about the place and, when they passed the small bathroom off the main living room, there were long strands of grey hair stuck to the wall.

"I'd offer you something but I ain't got nothing. Just throw stuff on the floor and have a seat."

Velma wrinkled her nose, "We'll stand, thank you."

"Suit yourself. Joan told me that you wanted to talk about when Scooby Doo stayed at the motel."

Both Shaggy and Velma became alert. Velma spoke, "Do you remember that?"

Joe sat in a badly stained and worn reclining chair. He didn't recline, "Oh yeah. I had just been working at the motel for a couple years and still had my dreams of being an artist. Even back then, the place was a shithole. I worked from 11 PM to 7 AM five days a week and spent my time dealing with drunk guests, chasing homeless folks off the premises, and evicting prostitutes – that was before they called them 'sex workers' and made it legal. The manager at the time made my job that much harder by being one the last hotels in Vancouver to accept cash for payment. Needless to say, we didn't get many celebrities."

He reached over his shoulder to scratch an itch behind his neck as he continued, "Donna was at the desk that night – she was a good one, a lot of the desk clerks were lazy and wanted me to do their job for them. I wasn't supposed to be in the lobby unless needed. I was posted in my car out front where I could see people coming and going and then I would take a walk around the entire building once per hour.

"It was about 2:00 in the morning and I saw an Uber pull up and a dog got out. I waited to see who got out with the dog and it was nobody. The dog was alone. The dog then went into the lobby by itself. This was an unusual situation and that was my job, so I got out of my car and went in.

Joe belched loudly but went on without excusing himself, "Donna was all leaning forward at the desk with a big smile on her face and it looked like she was talking with the dog. I walked up and asked Donna if everything was okay. The dog turns to me and says that he's just checking in.

"I was like… What the f…!"

"Donna laughed at me and so did the dog and then he introduced himself to me as Scooby Doo. And, I figured it had to be him because he was a dog, and he was talking and there was only the one… right? The dog pulled out 100 loons and gave 50 to me and 50 to Donna. He said that was to keep the fact that he was in the motel a secret. And he made a big deal out of it. Never tell anyone, even after he had left. And I never did. Not until now. I figure that 50 dollars only goes so far.

"He gave her another 50 if she would use a fake ID to check him in so that he couldn't be traced. She took it. Hey! How did you track him to the motel after all this time?"

Velma answered, "I found where he bought a fake ID on the Dark Web and then searched by that name."

"Pretty impressive. You don't think he's dead?"

Shaggy stepped in, "We don't know. That's what we're trying to find out. So, that was that the only time you saw him?"

"No. I saw him one other time."

When Joe said nothing further, Shaggy knew what was coming and spoke, "The information is pretty valuable to us."

"I was hoping it would be. The CPP pension only goes so far. I was thinking maybe 200 Loons."

"Why don't I give you 100 and then, if it's good, I'll give you 100 more."

Joe held up his A-Eye. It wasn't necessary, Shaggy's A-Eye could have read it from across the house. Shaggy spoke into his, "Transfer one hundred Canadian Dollars to Joe Morrow – proximate."

Joe's A-Eye dinged and he put it back down on his lap, "It was a quiet night. I liked the quiet nights. I would sit and watch Netflix in my car or go over to the Tim Horton's next door for a muffin and some coffee when I wasn't walking around. I went back to my car after he checked in and stayed there until 3:00 when it was time for my hourly walkaround. I was about a third of the way around the building when I saw him sitting there just kind of staring.

"I walked over and asked…

"Is everything okay?"

Scooby looked up with a sad look, "The room smells nasty. Roo they ever clean in there?"

"They have 430 rooms here and a cleaning staff of four. What do you think?"

"Rye might rust sleep in the rathtub after Rye scrub it some."

"That sounds like your best plan."

"Have roo worked here long?"

"A couple of years. I'm using this job to keep food on the table until I can start selling my art."

"Rhat do roo do?"

"A lot of streetscapes and some still life stuff."

"Rortraits?"

"Not really. It's not my strength. I do people in modern form."

"Have roo sold ruch?"

"Not much. But I'm getting a pretty good portfolio. I've been talking to some galleries around town about maybe hosting a showing."

"Good ruck with that."

"If it's none of my business, tell me. But what's a television star doing slumming it in this dump?"

"It's none of your business."

"No problem."

"Rometimes, roo just have to do romething alone. Rith no one to tell roo its wrong or right. No opinions. No rompromises. Just all by rourself."

"I can understand that."

"Rhen do roo get off?"

"Why?"

"Recause, the rext place Rye go, Rye don't want to take an Uber. Even rith the fake IDs, Rye could be traced."

"I can see that."

"Rye'll pay roo another fifty to drive ree."

Joe finished his rendition of the conversation, "I got off at 7:00 AM and drove him where he wanted to go."

"Where was that?" Velma was typing furious notes.

Joe looked over at Shaggy, "I think you can figure out that this is worth the extra hundred." He held up his A-Eye again and Shaggy transferred the money.

"As I was saying, I took him to the commercial side of the airport. A place called Johnson Aviation."

Velma was looking through her notes, "You said that Scooby mentioned fake IDs… plural. Are you sure that he said it that way? Not ID… singular?"

"No. I remember thinking that it was interesting he had more than one. It meant that he really wanted to shake whoever was after him."

Velma continued, "Did you have a conversation in the car?"

"No. He fell asleep. He snores."

"How much luggage did he have?"

"Just a small bag that he had around his neck."

"So, he didn't mention where he might be going?"

"No, nothing like that. At least not that I remember. It was a long time ago."

Shaggy tilted his head, "Are you saying there is more information and you want more money?"

Joe shook his head, "Naw. It just really was a long time ago. I only remember as much as I do because it was Scooby Doo and it was weird."

"I'm going to transfer my contact information. If you remember anything else, please call me. If it's good, we'll pay you for it."

"You've paid enough. If I remember something else, I'll call you."

Velma and Shaggy left the house and sat for a moment in the P-Car. Velma continued to work through her notes. She hummed to herself as she worked her way through the business history of Johnson Aviation. When she had her answer, she looked up, "Johnson Aviation doesn't exist anymore but it was bought out by Sealine Airways about six years ago. And Sealine Airways is still there. They might have Johnson Aviation's old files."

"We probably should schedule an appointment for that one. I'll see if they can see us in the morning. It's getting late."