III
Valerie Lamar sat behind her desk in the Manhattan office of the Westminster Kennel Club. A, dark-hared woman in her early fifties, she had worked her way up through the ranks of the dog show world, first as a breeder, then as a handler then as a kennel club administrator, eventually earning a post as superintendent of the most prestigious dog show in the country. The walls of her office attested to her past accomplishments, displaying photographs of past show winners, merit certificates and a framed, mounted collection of multi-colored rosette ribbons that she won during her days as a handler. Valerie's assistant knocked on the door. "Excuse me, Ms.Lamar, there are two young women from Mystery Inc. here to see you; they want to talk to you about the dog show."
"Send them in," Valerie replied, motioning for Velma and Daphne to come into the office. "Make yourselves comfortable," the older woman invited, "I assume you're here about the witch."
"Yes, we are," said Velma, "and if you don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions."
"What's there really to say—it's self explanatory." It was not the response that the bespectacled girl had been expecting, but from her experience, she knew that it was not uncommon for people to be reticent about such an unbelievable phenomenon as a dognapping witch.
"Those are some really beautiful dogs in those pictures," commented Daphne, taking an alternate approach to engaging the woman in a conversation.
"And they should be," answered Valerie. "Those are the 'Best in Show' winners from Westminster from the past twenty years." Valerie got up from her desk and walked over to the "wall of fame" and began describing every dog's accomplishments in detail. "That's Champion Race the Wind's Kahlua Crème, the Great Dane who won two years ago; that's Champion Goforit's Michigan J., the German Shepherd from three years ago; and that's Champion Jerimiah's Jumping Jericho, the Jack Russell Terrier that won last year."
"I thought last year's winner was an Afghan Hound," queried Velma, "why isn't that dog's picture up there?"
A knock on the door interrupted Valerie's potential response, as her assistant once again peered into the office. "I'm sorry to interrupt again, Ms. Lamar, James Preston from Madison Square Garden events scheduling is on the phone."
Valerie gave a disgusted sigh. "Put him through," she intoned, monotonously, cursing under her breath just before picking up the phone. "Hello…look, Mister Preston, if I told you once, I told you a thousand times, I am not canceling the dog show on account of some idiot pulling a Halloween prank in February; I will allow a postponement, but that is all…I said no; do not call me again, Mister Prescott, that is not a request. Good bye." Valerie slammed down the phone with a disgusted sigh as she sank down in her chair.
"What was that all about?" asked Daphne, curious.
"The brass up at Madison Square Garden keep pestering me to cancel the show, and I've said a thousand times that I refuse to do so."
"But why?" asked Velma. "From what Marc Wyndham has told us, handlers are withdrawing their dogs from the show at an alarming rate because they fear that the witch might steal their dog next."
"Well, that's their loss," Valerie replied, "if they are too scared to compete, then that gives another handler a chance. Anyway, do you realize how stupid it would look if I were to cancel the most prestigious dog show in the country on account of some silly Halloween prank gone awry? I'd be disgraced!" The disgruntled woman faced Velma and Daphne. "Now unless you have some constructive questions for me, I'll have to ask you to leave."
The two girls faced each other and shrugged. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Lamar," said Velma, attempting to soften the inquisition to which she and Daphne had just subjected the woman.
Valerie said nothing; she was all too happy to have the meddling girls out of her office.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Scooby gave a contented sigh as he looked around the arena. There were just so many things to check out, so many dogs to see, so many new scents to smell and so many concession stands to raid; it was the closest he could get to canine heaven without first dying. With his nose to the ground, Scooby began his quest to sniff out every square inch of Madison Square Garden, never once raising his head, which made it difficult for him to see the source of the scent. He was so engrossed in his sniffing that he didn't realize he was committing a human faux-pas as he raised his head to look physically upon the source of the scent. Scooby was immediately jarred from his dream-like state as he felt a hand push his head away, and heard a stern, booming voice utter, "Can I help you?" Horrified and embarrassed by his dog's behavior, Shaggy grabbed Scooby by the collar and quickly dragged him back before he could do any more damage to the man's black trousers.
"I'm sorry about our dog's behavior, sir," apologized Fred, "are you one of the handlers?"
"No," the man replied, "I'm a judge, actually." The man extended his hand to Fred in a friendly introductory gesture. "The name's Harry Dale, I'm one of the judges for the terrier group."
"Pleased to meet you," the blond man replied, gesturing to his two cohorts. "I'm Fred Jones. This is Shaggy Rogers and Scooby Doo." Following the introductions, he asked, "Tell me, Mister Dale, have you actually seen the witch?"
Harry's shrugged. "Unfortunately, I have; she stole one of the dogs while I was judging it—a little Cairn Terrier. The witch just swooped down from the ceiling, pointed her scepter at us, then disappeared with the dog."
"Like, maybe the wicked witch of the Westminster mistook that dog for Toto and took it back to Oz," Shaggy quipped. "Get it, Scoob? Wicked Witch of the West…minster?"
The Great Dane burst into a heavy fit of laughter, then abruptly stopped. "R'I don't get it."
"That Cairn was the third dog taken and the second terrier at that," continued Harry. "Handlers are withdrawing from the show because they fear for their dogs' safety. If anymore dogs withdraw, there will be no point in having the show, but Valerie Lamar, the show superintendent, refuses to cancel the show."
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," came a female voice. "If Ms Lamar really loves dogs as much as she claims she does, then she would worry about their safety and cancel the show." The voice belonged to a tall, dark haired woman in her in her mid thirties. She wore an expensive Chanel suit, on the lapel of which was pinned a small brooch in the shape of a Scottie dog. In her left hand, she held a thin, cloth leash, attached to the end of which was a white and brown, smooth coated Jack Russell Terrier. The little dog stood about one-third of Scooby's height, but could jump high enough to nearly land on the Great Dane's back. "Who are you?" asked Fred.
"This is Melissa McDaniels," announced Harry Dale, "she's the handler of Champion Jerimiah's Jumping Jericho."
"Last year's favorite," added Melissa, "last year's should-have-been winner, too; but I guess there's no such thing as being the 'runner up' at Westminster." The woman chuckled at her own joke, while her dog continued bouncing up and down, as if he stood on four coiled springs instead of four legs.
"Like, he's certainly an energetic little guy," commented Shaggy, noticing the dog's three-foot-high jump.
"Well that's where he gets his name," said Melissa, "but he's actually not my dog; he belongs to my husband. He's the unofficial mascot of his rock band."
"Like, your husband plays in a rock band? That's totally groovy!"
"Yeah. In fact, they even titled their album, The Walls of Jericho, after Jay Jay here."
Shaggy's eyes widened at the mention of the album title. "Oh man, you mean to tell me that your husband is Jeremy McDaniels, lead guitarist of the Dead Strawberries? Like, they're my favorite group!"
"They just played here a couple nights ago, actually, just before the dog show," said Melissa, attempting to change the conversation's topic from rock music back to dog shows. "Anyway, Mister Dale," she continued, "I am concerned about Jay Jay's well being, but I haven't decided to withdraw as of yet."
"This witch seems to have a thing about terriers," observed Fred, "maybe you should withdraw, just for Jay Jay's own safety."
Melissa frowned at the blond man. "I can make my own decisions without the advice of some meddling kid," she grumbled, scooping her dog up in her arms and walking off. "I'll be in touch, Mister Dale."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Gee, Velma. Valerie became awfully defensive when that man called and suggested canceling the show," commented Daphne, as she and Velma made their way back to the Garden. "That in itself is awfully strange."
"I agree," echoed Velma. "But we need some more information. Why don't we meet up with the boys and tell them what we found; after that, we should go and talk to mister Preston in scheduling."