VI

Daphne reported her ringside observations to Fred and Velma. The bespectacled girl listened, then gave her expert assessment. "Ve--e—ry interesting."

"Yeah," replied Daphne, "it is, considering that most 'curses' strike indiscriminently; this is the first one I've heard of that is so selective." Abruptly changing the subject, she queried, "What did you guys find out?"

"Well, James Preston, the head of scheduling, has legitimate reasons for wanting the dog show cancelled rather than postponed," reported Fred. "It seems that the scheduling constraints at this venue are very tight."

"So, like, did you find out where they store the ice for the hockey arena?" asked Shaggy, partly serious and partly in jest, "Scoob and me were wondering if we could raid the stash and make some Sno-cones."

"As a matter of fact," replied Fred, completely oblivious to Shaggy's joke, "we did. Underneath this floor are offices and storage facilities that are off limits to all but the performers and athletes who frequent this arena. If someone wanted to hide something, then that would be the ideal location to do so." He turned and faced the rest of the gang. "We need to check out that storage area, so, we'll have to split up again."

"Split up?" Shaggy and Scooby whined. "Again?" Shaggy knew that his complaint was legitimate; every time the gang split up, Fred, Velma and Daphne always got to pick the safer situation, leaving the former to search the more dangerous and much spookier location; and to him, nothing was spookier than an underground storage facility. "Like, can't we stick together for once?"

"But we can't be in two places at once," Fred averred.

Shaggy had to admit that the blond man had a pretty good point.

"Besides," continued Velma, "in order to resolve the case in the most expedient manner possible, we need to designate specific tasks to each individual; if we all stayed together, we would reduce our expediency by half, thereby taking twice as long to solve any given cases."

The skinny man and his dog sighed. "Okay, so, we'll split up. But, like Scoob and I are not searching the creepy underground and backstage areas of this arena by ourselves."

"For once I agree with you," said Fred.

Shaggy and Scooby wiped their brows, heaving audible sighs of relief.

"You two are not going to walk around this arena by yourselves, because you'd spend all of your time either raiding the concession stands or running like chickens and you'd never get anything done."

The pair's shoulders drooped at the sound of Fred's admonition, even though, they had to admit, there was a grain of truth to it.

"Velma's going with you, while Daphne and I have a chat with Melissa at her apartment."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Melissa's apartment was located on the penthouse of a high rise on Park Avenue. A maroon colored canopy hung above the entrance to the building, and a similarly colored carpet, emblazoned with the words "Marlo Towers, extended from the doors out to the curb. A smartly dressed doorman in a matching uniform stood in front of the automatic doors, as though guarding the entrance to the urban chateau. The blond man glanced upward at the towering structure. "Nice," he mused, punctuating his comment with a whistle. His redheaded companion shrugged, unimpressed; opulence and luxury were nothing new to her, having grown up in a mansion.

The previously statuesque doorman came to life as the couple approached the entrance to the apartment complex. "May I help you?" he intoned, seemingly surprised that two casually dressed youngsters would be seeking entrance to such an exclusive apartment complex.

"We're going up to Melissa McDaniels' apartment," Fred explained, "she is expecting us."

The doorman shrugged. "Go ahead," he answered, gesturing towards the elevator block, then returning to his sentinel position at the door.

The interior of the apartment was a testament to the couple's success and affluence. Looking at the décor, it wasn't difficult to deduce that Melissa's husband was in the music industry. A large, decorative guitar hung on the wall, surrounded by framed album covers and several gold records. On an adjacent wall in the same room hung pictures from Jeremy McDaniels' different concerts around the world.

"Can I offer you kids anything?" inquired Melissa, "a soda water, perhaps?" Fred declined, but Daphne accepted, taking advantage of the woman's momentary absence to scan the room for any possible clues. The redhead surveyed the environs; her eyes immediately gravitated to a large antique bookcase. In a crystal frame, on one of the shelves, was Melissa's wedding picture; she immediately recognized the woman, and surmised that the others in the picture were members of the wedding party. Daphne stepped forward for a closer look; one of the guests in the picture looked vaguely familiar, but the redhead could not figure out where she had seen that person's likeness before.

Up close, Daphne could now see the bookshelves' other contents; nestled amongst the leather bound volumes and paperbacks were several small, statuettes, each mounted on a pseudo-marble base. On a shelf in an adjoining bookcase were two large, silver platters and a silver loving cup.

"I see you are admiring my trophy collection."

Melissa's comment caught the redhead by surprise, and Daphne jumped back, partly out of surprise, and partly out of fright. "Oh, uhm, yes. You certainly have quite an impressive collection."

"Thank you," Melissa replied, handing Daphne a bottle of Perrier. "I was a gymnast when I was in college--went to the NCAA nationals three years in a row—that's where I won those. "

"I love the music décor in here too," commented Fred, hoping to engage Melissa in a conversation about her husband's profession. "I used to dream of being in a rock band, but I never could play the guitar well enough." Daphne cringed as she remembered the blond man's one-time suggestion that the four of them form a rock group instead of a detective agency; the idea was quickly dropped on the grounds of Fred's musical inabilities and Velma, Daphne and Shaggy's lack of interest therein.

Fred stared intently at the Dead Strawberries' concert photos. Each picture featured Jeremy with one hand on his guitar and the other raised skyward, fist clenched, Jimmy Hendrix style. Behind the band flashed a barrage of lighting effects, ranging from brightly colored magnesium flare sparkles to psychedelic strobe lighting. In one photo, the background effects were so bright that the band members appeared only as dimly lit silhouettes. Beneath each photograph was an engraved plaque, bearing the city and date of the concert: London, 2001; Washington D.C., 2000; Sydney, 2001. "Wow, The Dead Strawberries hold nothing back when they perform," Fred remarked, "is every concert like that with all the lighting and special effects?"

"Oh yes," replied Melissa. "Jeremy is really big on special effects and elaborate staging--you know, holograms, trap doors, strobe lighting, dry ice--some critics say his effects are more impressive than his music, but as far as Jeremy is concerned, the flashier, the better."

"I bet that requires a lot of work."

"Huh, tell me about it. The Dead Strawberries have a crew of 60 electricians and engineers who travel with them, and every one of them has their work cut out for them. Jeremy always tries to top his past concerts effects-wise. In fact, for his 'Walls of Jericho' concert, he wanted a three-dimensional holographic image of Jay Jay to accompany him across the stage."

Daphne quickly changed the subject back to dogs and dog showing. "Aren't you worried about Jay Jay being dog-napped by the witch? She seems to have a fondness for terriers."

"It's not really my concern," Melissa intoned, monotonously.

"Well, you certainly seemed concerned when you spoke to Mister Dale," commented Fred.

Melissa shrugged. "Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't; it really isn't any business of yours. Besides, if that witch keeps snatching terriers, that means less competition for Jay Jay; he'd almost be a sure fire winner."

Daphne gave a subvvocalized response, carefully analyzing what she had just heard.

"Speaking of dog shows, I've got to get back to the Garden; I'd be happy to give you both a lift back there if you'd like…"

Fred politely turned down the offer. "Thank you, but actually, we were thinking of doing some sight seeing on the way back; we'd hate to impose upon your schedule, madam." He and Daphne thanked Melissa for her hospitality as she showed them out the door and to the elevator bank.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The bowels of the arena were remarkably well lit for unused places, but that didn't stop Shaggy and Scooby from quaking in fear; to them, the thought of walking anywhere, other than above ground in broad daylight, was terrifying. And with their overactive imaginations, even the mundane could turn into the terrifying. Occasionally, a drip of water would fall from one of the overhead pipes, causing the Great Dane to yelp in fear; his voice would then echo off the walls, the reverberation striking even more fear into his and his owner's hearts.

Velma regarded the pair with a mixed sense of sympathy and disdain; every time she was paired with Shaggy and his dog, she never knew quite what to expect. She hated having to "baby sit" them, as it took time away from the search; yet, sometimes, their bumbling would uncover something that the younger girl had overlooked. She chuckled to herself, ultimately deciding that she didn't mind their companionship—it kept her spirits up kept her company.

"Brrr," Shaggy blurted, wrapping his arms across his chest, "like, it's like a freezer down here."

Velma glanced upward at the ceiling. "That's because we are directly underneath the freon pipes—it's what they use to freeze the ice for hockey games." She carefully unfolded a map of the underground storage area. "If the pipes are here," she mused to herself, "then that means we should be right around the athlete's locker rooms." Concluding that there was no significant reason to search the locker rooms, she pointed down the hallway to an unlit area. "That way," she ordered.

Her finger pointed down a dark, cavernous hallway; Shaggy and Scooby took one look and shook their heads. "No way," they uttered in unison. Velma rolled her eyes and sighed; she had expected it, but she still hated hearing it.

"Like, why can't we just search the locker rooms?" protested Shaggy, "they're lit, and, like, they probably have vending machines."

The bespectacled girl shook her head. "It's too obvious," she stated. "If I were going to hide something, I would hide it some place that is not generally in use." She pointed to their general location on the map. "That corridor is where the dressing rooms are," she stated, "it's only used when there are rock concerts and similar performances."

"Like, there was a rock concert here just a few days ago."

"Exactly. All the more reason to check out those rooms."

"Well, have fun, Velma; we'll wait for you right here."

The younger girl shook her head. "I don't think so," she chided, shining her flashlight down the corridor, "now go."

Shaggy and Scooby remained resolute in their determination not to go.

"Okay," Velma sighed, "you leave me no choice. Would you do it if I offered both of you a Scooby snack?"

Shaggy and his dog instantly perked up; Velma mechanically threw two dog biscuits in the air in opposite directions; she hated reverting to that old ploy, but there was little else she could do at the moment. Their confidence level bolstered by the treats, Shaggy and Scooby forged ahead of the younger girl, the Great Dane keeping his nose to the ground, on the alert for any unusual scents. Velma smiled. Daphne was right, she thought to herself, the way to that man's heart is through his stomach.

Scooby came to an abrupt stop in front of a door, freezing in a "point" position. "What'cha got there, old buddy?" Shaggy asked.

"Rogs."

"Dogs?"

"Ruh uh, rogs. And rogfood."

For the first time in a long while, Shaggy did not understand his dog's actions. "That's ridiculous," he scolded, "there can't be any dogs down here."

"I don't know," mused Velma, "Scooby seems awfully interested in what ever is behind that door; maybe we ought to check it out." The bespectacled girl pulled a bobby-pin from her hair and began methodically picking the lock; with an echoing creak, it swung open.

Velma scanned the flashlight around the room, illuminating various objects with the bright beam. There didn't seem to be anything unusual in the room…

"ZOINKS!" Shaggy's terrified scream caught Velma off guard, causing her to drop the flashlight.

"What is it this time?" she asked, annoyed, but also slightly apprehensive.

"Like, we're being watched!"

"Excuse me?"

Shaggy pointed to a corner of the room. "Like, there are all these red and green beady eyes staring out from the walls!"

Red and green beady eyes? thought Velma, I wonder…she shined the flashlight in the direction that Shaggy was pointing. Indeed, a row of red and green beads was looking back at them…

Scooby, however, did not agree with his owner's assessment, and neither did Velma, once she got a closer look at the "eyes."

"Jinkies! I think you may have helped to crack this case, Shaggy!"

"Huh?" replied the skinny man, "like, how?"

"I'll explain later, right now, let's head back upstairs and tell Fred and Daphne what we found."