II
Fred, Velma and Daphne stood inside the grooming area, talking with Marc Wyndham. "Thank you so much for inviting us," said Daphne. "We're really thrilled to be here." She bent over and scratched the golden yellow Great Dane behind its ears. "Hello, Kala," Daphne cooed, "it's great to see you again, too."
Marc finished running a grooming glove over the dog's smooth, glossy coat, then turned to face the gang. "It was the least I could do to thank you guys for recovering Kala's puppies and for helping to expedite my divorce case." The man did a doubletake as he noticed that the gang was one member short. "Speaking of Kala's puppies," Marc continued, "where is Scooby?"
As if on cue, the dog in question appeared in the doorway, sporting high-heels, a floppy hat and the remnants of his dress; Marc Wyndham's jaw dropped in disbelief at the sight of Scooby's costume. "Why on earth is he dressed like that?" the older man asked, a hint of disdained intrigue detectable in his voice.
Shaggy shrugged. "Oh, like, it's a long story, man," he explained, removing the last shreds of Scooby's dress and wiping away the lipstick and makeup.
"Reah," the Great Dane echoed, "rong story."
"So, like, when does Kala here enter the show ring?" asked Shaggy. "We want to make sure we don't miss it."
The older man shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that's just it; I'm debating on whether or not I even want to take her into the ring."
"Why's that, Mr. Wyndham?" asked Fred, puzzled by the man's response.
"Well, lately, there have been some really strange things going on around here. In the last two days, three top prospect dogs have mysteriously vanished from the judging ring."
"Disappeared?" asked Velma, in disbelief, "how can a dog simply disappear from the ring—and in front of a crowd of spectators, too?"
Marc hesitated for a moment before continuing his story, "Well, those who have witnessed the incidents reported seeing a strange, luminous specter floating below the ceiling just before the dogs vanished. The people on the kennel club's board of directors call this specter 'the Westminster Witch.'" The sound of the word 'witch' sent Shaggy and Scooby into convulsions of fear, while at the same time, piquing the interest of the stauncher members of Mystery Inc.
"Witch?" asked Velma, her voice brightening at the mention of a potential mystery, "what's this about a witch?"
"It's a story that dates back to the show's origins in the United Kingdom," explained Marc. "A disgruntled handler put a curse on the show simply because her dog did not win, and the curse supposedly lingers to this day."
"But that's only a story, isn't it?" queried Daphne.
"Supposedly," replied Marc, "but no one is taking any chances. All of the dogs that have vanished thus far have been high profile show champions, and many handlers are withdrawing for fear that their dog might be the next victim of this curse. I was never one to believe in curses, but I don't want to take a chance; that's why I'm hesitating on taking Kala into the ring. The strange thing is that in spite of the high number of withdrawals, the show superintendent refuses to cancel the show."
Velma's brain was already in high gear. In her years of solving mysteries, she and the rest of the gang (except perhaps shaggy and Scooby) had developed an almost innate ability to sense inconsistencies within a person's story, inconsistencies that she and Fred were often able to turn into clues. Velma began to ponder the situation, when her thoughts were interrupted by a voice from behind her.
"Well, if Kala withdraws from the show, I guess that means my dog and I will be taking 'best of breed' honors for the Great Dane this year."
Fred, Velma and Daphne turned around to see another handler and a dog standing in front of them. The man was about Fred's height, with a mop of equally blond hair, but where Fred's hair was straight, the older man's was wavy, and the older man sported a tie in place of Fred's ascot. A black and white, harlequin patterned Great Dane stood majestically at the man's side.
"Who are you?" Fred politely asked his older look-alike.
Marc hesitated again. "I'm sorry, I should have introduced you earlier. Kids, this is Preston Durraley, a fellow Great Dane breeder and exhibitor." Marc individually introduced the gang.
"You mean a rival breeder and exhibitor," Preston corrected. "Kala here beat out Champion Durraley's Domineering Danois Darling two years ago at this same show."
"Rurrary's Romineering Ranois Rarling?" questioned Scooby, his head spinning at the mention of such a long and complicated name. Preston Durraley shot a curious look in Scooby's direction, scowling at the sight of a non-regulation color Great Dane.
"If Kala withdraws from the show," Preston continued, "then I am almost guaranteed of winning."
"Aren't you worried about the curse befalling your dog?" asked Daphne.
"Nah. The curse of the Westminster Witch is a bunch of hooey; only an amateur would withdraw from a dog show on account of a curse." The tall man offered Marc Wyndham a slight sneer, provoking a low growl from Kala.
"I never said anything about withdrawing," Marc countered, "I'm just taking precautionary measures."
"Well curse or no curse, one thing is certain," said Fred, "and that is that three dogs have disappeared in the last two days. There is just no telling who will be the next victim; it could be your dog, it could be Kala, it could even be Scooby."
Scooby gave a scared whimper at the thought of being dognapped by a witch.
"It looks like we've got another mystery on our hands," asserted Fred. "If you don't mind, we'd like to look into this further."
Marc began mentally debating Fred's proposition. Chary of mixing business with pleasure, the older man did not want to involve the kids in a case when they were supposedly in vacation. Still, he reasoned, it would be a lot easier to explain a rash of "supernatural" dog-nappings to Mystery Inc. than to the police. After thinking it over, Marc gave the okay.
"Shaggy, Scooby and I will stay here and have a look around," began Fred, "and Velma, you and Daphne can go question the show superintendent, Marc gave you her address."
"We'll do," replied Velma, giving Fred a 'thumbs-up' signal, grateful that he had, for once, sent her off with someone other than Shaggy.
"How long do you think Shag and Scoob will survive with Fred?" the redhead asked, as they exited the arena and headed for the subway station.
"I'd give them three hours, maximum," chuckled Velma, "and when Fred cracks, I'm sure we will hear Shag and Scoob's screams all the way across town!"