Prologue
Somebody had put a bell on the front door to the office. Probably Fred. Fred had ideas. He was the idea guy. And he got on my last nerve. The next person to make a 'Pavlov' joke was going to get a faceful of paw.
The ringing bell was an annoying sound but a usual sound. After I finished grinding my teeth together in response to the high-pitched echoes that rebounded through my brain, I settled back into the report that I was reading. As the boss, I should understand these things before attaching my John Hancock at the bottom. The sound of a coffee cup shattering on the floor was an unusual sound and that got me up from my desk. I stepped out into the main office.
As a dog, I have no particular appreciation for human female physical beauty. But after years with Daphne Jones (nee Blake) and watching Velma Dinkley's transformation from wallflower nerdling to sex symbol, I had developed a mental checklist for what a beautiful human woman looks like. And the woman standing in the front doorway of the main office checked all the boxes. The setting sun coming in from the reception area backlit her which silhouetted the shape of her body against the thin cloth of her blouse and skirt.
Daphne was a natural beauty and Velma's beauty was organic. But the beauty of this woman was the result of a multitude of carefully planned and coordinated decisions. The fact that she was at least 15 pounds underweight was carefully masked by the fact that she wore a knee-length skirt with the waist cinched in and, above that, was a button-up white blouse which blossomed out and had sleeves that covered her pencil-thin arms. The look could have been school-marmish if the blouse were not unbuttoned down to the bottom of her sternum revealing the top of an expensive brazier and also revealing a long slender unblemished white neck - the kind of neck you would see immortalized in a Michaelangelo statue.
Her rat's nest hair was now carefully coiffed in a style which added depth to her already pretty face. And the face, that had always been her best feature, now included expert make-up applied with a Daphne level of artistry which embellished the gifts that she had already been given by nature.
I knew her. I knew her well. We all did. There are some smells that a dog will never forget. And one of those smells is…
Hot dog water.
The smell of hot dog water is what remains when all of the hot dogs are gone. To a dog, that smell represents the end of dreams and the crushing of hope. And here she stood before us after nearly a decade - Marcie Fleach.
The silence was broken when I heard Velma's voice – quavering, shaken, "Marcie?"
The voice that responded included none of the nasal whine which I remembered. It was a smooth, cultured, refined voice landing somewhere between alto and tenor, "Hello V. I don't go by 'Marcie' anymore. I prefer 'Marcia' now." Marcia. Named after the God of War. It seemed fitting.
Marcie Fleach had been Velma's best friend outside of our group in their high school years. She had even helped on some of our early cases. While her mind rivaled even Velma's, Velma always managed to stay one step ahead. That became apparent when Marcie had attempted to destroy her own father's amusement park and Velma had unraveled the mystery which ended up with Fleach's arrest. The old show had stated that she had gone to prison but, in reality, her father had refused to testify for the prosecution and she had been convicted and released on time served.
With a felony conviction on her record, Fleach had been unable to find employment or complete college and Velma had passionately petitioned the rest of us to give her a job. Shaggy Rogers (the other level-headed member of the team) and I did not consider 'villain' to be much of a resume builder and voted 'no'. The bleeding-heart contingent carried the day and Fleach was brought in for a scripted story arc of redemption. It was a load of crap.
Her next words chilled my soul, "I need your help."
As she said this, she shifted her gaze from Velma to me. You see, it was my name on the front door. This was my shop and my team.
My name is Doo, Scooby Doo. And I'm a gumpaw.
Chapter 1
The absolute last thing I needed in my life right now was another crazy dame. Yeah, I know, in our modern enlightened society we don't use words like 'crazy' anymore. But if it looks like a duck… you know the rest.
I had lived the better part of my life around Velma Dinkley and would like to say that I was used to her brand of crazy. But that would be a lie. It wasn't hardly fair since her crazy kept changing. The first few years that I knew her, she was eccentric. And I could live with that. Especially since she lived at her place and Shaggy and I lived at ours. Parents notwithstanding, this was a very comfortable relationship. That applecart got turned over when she decided that she and Shaggy should become an item - as in, romantic relationship. And there is something about a romantic relationship that really brings the crazy out in a woman. Since Velma had a foot out that door already, it didn't take much for her to take the last step. This led to the explosion which ultimately disbanded The Gang. After a few years of that, The Gang and she got back together and she (to be fair, with some help) invented new levels of crazy. Until she got better. And then she moved in with Shaggy and me. Now I had to deal with her every day at work and every night at home. If this was better, then I would hate to see worse.
Next on my looney tunes hit parade is Amanda Black. To get an idea of Amanda's level of crazy, take Velma-level and double it. Amanda was unable to express emotion or even fake it and she had a near-psychotic aversion to being touched by anyone other than her daughter – and a discomfort even with that. But the biggest problem with Amanda was that I had fallen for her like Newton's apple. Which left me wrestling with the age-old dilemma of whether I could love someone that I didn't trust. It wasn't that I thought she would empty my bank account, steal my identity, or slit my throat in my sleep. I could trust her not to do any of those things. But she was a human and I was a dog. And if she were forced to choose between her fellow humanity or the world's only talking dog, I think that I would come out on the short end of that decision. Please notice that I didn't say 'stick'. I try to keep dog puns to a minimum.
The final corner in the triangle of crazy was Marcie (now Marcia, for some reason) Fleach. I don't need to explain much more about her particular brand of insanity. As the reason for her visit became more apparent, it would probably speak for itself.
While Amanda was above-average in intelligence, she was on par with neither Velma nor Marcie. The one thing that the three clearly had in common was that they were all, by human standards, beautiful women. Which bore the question, are beautiful woman all crazy or are crazy women all beautiful? I'll let more philosophical minds than mine tackle that one.
We were all still waiting for someone to be the first to reply to Marcie's request for help. It was clearly not going to be Velma since she was frozen in place, standing amongst the ceramic shards of her coffee cup with the spreading pool of her coffee surrounding her tennis shoes.
I guess it's my name on the door, "Row can ree relp roo, Marcie?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she shifted her gaze to me. The eyes were the same tiny dark cold orbs that I remembered. "It's Marcia." Apparently, she wasn't going to turn loose of that.
"Rorry Marcia. Row can ree relp roo?"
She checked around the room to make sure that all eyes were on her. A player strutting and fretting her hour upon the stage. "My fiancé is missing and I want you to find him."
With the exception of Velma, the expectant tension drained from the room. This was now straightforward – a missing person case – Daphne's domain. I beckoned to Daphne and responded to Marcie, "Rou'll be working rith Raphne. If roo'll follow us…" I was turning toward my office when she stopped me cold.
"I want Velma."
Velma had relaxed enough on finding out it would be Daphne's case that she was bending down to start picking up the remains of her coffee cup. Marcie's statement caught her off guard, "Say what now?" That was my expression. When did she co-opt it?
Marcie continued and we began to find out that her crazy levels were still as high as ever, "I don't want Daphne. Daphne is stupid…"
Fred - being Fred - jumped to his feet, "Hey!" Daphne calmed him with a hand laid gently on his forearm. Those two could be so sweet sometimes that I worried about diabetes. There was something off in their relationship since the Herring case but they would work through it... or they wouldn't.
Marcie had expected – probably wanted – the reaction and continued without pausing, "…and this is going to be a very challenging case. I want your smartest. And your smartest is Velma. Nothing personal, Daphne."
Daphne responded with an icy calm professionalism, "Marcia, since we know you, the concept that someone who is faced with the idea of marrying you would run as far and as fast as they can is the most logical reason for his disappearance. Nothing personal."
I am not one to be able to appreciate beauty in human women, but I could appreciate when something is hot. And Daphne turning both barrels of her high society sarcasm on Marcie was hot. Smokin' hot.
Marcie ceased talking with Daphne and aimed her words at Velma who was once again frozen, this time in a partially knees-bent position near the floor as she was caught gathering shards. It was a testimony to the time she spent in the gym that she could hold that position for this long. I couldn't. But, of course, my knees bend backwards. Or maybe yours do. It depends on perspective.
Her voice rang out like Franklin Roosevelt on December 8, 1941, "And if he has, indeed, run out on me, then I want it confirmed. We have an agreement that he will marry me and if he fails to live up to that agreement, then I intend to take him for everything he's worth."
That was the vicious, take-no-prisoners Marcie Fleach that I remembered. Velma seemed to be recovering, at least enough to stand and speak, "Marcie, Daphne specializes in missing person cases. Her track record is extraordinary. She is the right person for this."
"If someone like Daphne could figure it out, then I would have already done so." This wasn't getting any better for Daphne, but she held her peace. Marcie kept going, "Since I haven't been able to figure it out, then I need someone who brings more to the table than I do. And you're the only person that I know that fits that description."
For some reason, Shaggy decided to speak, "Daphne's theory is sounding more and more plausible."
Marcie and Velma ignored this. I watched as the conversation focused between the two of them. Velma was trying to get some confidence into her voice. It wasn't working, "Marcie, are you comfortable working with me? We didn't exactly end our friendship on good terms."
"Oh, you mean because you wanted to have sex with me? Water under the bridge."
My ears perked up. This was suddenly very interesting. Not in a physical way. The mental image of two humans engaged in anything more physical than a card game turned my stomach. But the mental image of the conversation in which Velma broached such a subject to Marcie?... priceless. The particular shade of crimson which was blossoming on Velma's cheeks was a deeper hue than I had ever seen. But then I watched as her eyes darted from Marcie to Shaggy and back. It was obvious that she had never told any of this to Shaggy and that she was humiliated and terrified about what his reaction might be. This was losing its humor.
Time to shut things down, "Rarcia. Relma. Please come into rye office."
Amazingly, the two confrontational crazy people did as I asked without rebuttal and the three of us squeezed into the office. Chivalry is a great thing until you're trying to get three people into a cramped office and the one whose chair is farthest from the door goes in last. After gesturing for the two ladies to precede me in, I basically climbed over their laps to get to my desk. The conference room would have been a good idea, but I'm not known for good ideas. Whatever deranged game of Twister got us there, the three of us ended up seated and Velma closed the door for some well-needed privacy.
Marcie launched in, "I take it you haven't told anyone about your little proposition back in the day?"
Velma didn't answer the question. I wished that I had Velma-Body-Language flashcards that I could use to get a reading on what she was thinking. I was clueless. But, if I were going to guess, I would guess equal parts humiliation and rage.
Whatever Marcie wanted from Velma, she hadn't gotten it yet, "Oh, look, an engagement ring? Who's the lucky girl?"
The Marcie Fleach I knew would never enter a situation without researching and knowing everything about everybody with whom she was going to come into contact. She knew about Shaggy and Velma's engagement. This was a deliberate, planned attack. Velma was not the type of person that usually needed rescuing… but there's a first time for everything.
"Rarcie, rut the ruck up."
The smile with which she greeted my statement was chilling. Not because it was a cold smile hiding anger but because it was a smile of enjoyment, maybe glee. She was reveling in the impact she was having on Velma.
Velma had taken some emotional blows, but she was not on the canvas yet, "What's this all about, Marcie?"
Marcie held the demon smile as she looked back a Velma, "This part? Well V, this part is about a little revenge - just a little - for what you put me through. Don't tell me that you don't appreciate a little revenge every now and then."
I felt like I was watching the sequel to a movie I had never seen.
Velma's voice came out unreadable, "I was young. I was confused. I asked you a simple question. Just you and me. No audience. What did I do to deserve this?"
"You believed the bullshit, V. All that shit that Sarah Handler spewed in high school. You believed it."
"Maybe I did. It wasn't illogical."
Marcie's voice came out as a low hiss, "But it was lies! The same types of lies they told about you. I never believed them! I wouldn't. Because you were my friend."
"Until I wasn't."
"Until you proved that you didn't deserve to be."
"A single mistake made when I was at an emotional low point."
"There's such a thing as an unpardonable sin, V."
"There shouldn't be."
"When the hell did you become an optimist?! Are you a forgive-and-forget type now?"
Velma's voice got very low, "I have done some things for which I have needed to be forgiven. And I have been. It changed my perspective."
I remained silent as Marcie's jaw dropped. This was between the two of them. They didn't notice me anymore. Marcie leaned down and lowered her face next to Velma's, "Velma Dinkley… what has happened to you? Maybe I should use Blake for this. You have clearly lost your spine."
Velma raised back up and spoke steadily, "No. I found my heart. You should try it some time."
"A heart? Seriously? Its job is to pump blood. I'll leave it at that."
Daphne's theory of why the fiancé left was looking better all of the time.
Velma was beginning to find her stride, "Marcie, I think it's apparent that we are not the right firm for you. We will be glad to refer you to some other good firms in the area."
"Why would I want another firm in this shithole area? I flew here from New York because I wanted you. I have only been bested once in my entire life and that was by you. I have only been given charity once in my life and that was also by you. I don't know which one of those makes me hate you more."
Time for me to interject and prove that I was not just another pretty face, "Rounds rike roo made the best of Relma's charity."
She never looked at me as she responded, "God damn straight I did! You looked down on poor pitiful Hot Dog Water and gave her a job on your stupid TV show. It was being a villain on your show that had made me unemployable in the first place."
Velma tilted her head. It was an affectation which meant that she was getting her emotions under control, "So, the problem wasn't that you were trying to destroy your own father's business – the problem was that we caught you?"
"And put it on national television. Yes."
"You're screwed in the head, Marcie."
I breathed an internal sigh of relief. Our Velma was back.
"You're not the first person to tell me that and you won't be the last. I don't give a shit."
"We're not going to take the case."
I was suddenly back in the conversation when Marcie looked directly at me, "What's her billable rate per hour?"
I was intrigued with where this was going, "Reighty dollars."
"And yours is the same?"
"Ro, rine is run hundred and twenty."
Marcie's eyes seemed to twinkle, "Really? Good for you." And there it was. The ghost-behind-the-eyes. That momentary glimpse into her real thoughts that there was a wrongness to a talking dog making more per hour than a human. How had I never seen this before? It was everywhere. She continued, "I'll take you both. Full-time. And pay you $400 per hour plus all expenses until you find Reggie."
"Rye do roo want to find him so radly?"
As frightening as her previous smile had been, the look in her eyes now topped it, "Because nobody dumps me."
Every alarm bell in my fear hit parade was going off as I looked at this women sitting so confidently in my office. But business was business and money was money, "Row rong are roo going to be in town?"
"As long as I need to be to get you and V hired. Then we will all head together back to New York where you two can get started on the investigation in earnest."
A traveling job. New York City. And quality time with Velma. I would burst into a rousing rendition of These are a Few Of My Favorite Things except that I can't sing. And they aren't. "Row do ree get in touch with roo?"
She fished a business card from her purse and handed it over, "My cell number is on this. I'm staying at the Riley Airport Sheraton."
I took it and laid it on my desk, "Ree rill riscuss the matter and ret back rith roo in the morning. Rut before roo reave, Rye have one question."
"And what's that?"
"Are roo going to stop the rullshit?"
The terrifying smile returned, "I suppose that I've had enough fun. From this point forward, it's all business. I give you my word."
"Ree rill call roo in the morning."
"Thank you." She turned from me to Velma. "V, it's always a pleasure to see you." She held out her hand.
Velma stared at it, "The pleasure's all mine." The sarcastic tone in her voice was fabricated but effective.
I watched as Marcie dropped her unshaken hand, opened the door, and walked through the large group office toward the front exit. We waited as she strode through the larger room, deliberately not looking around but knowing that all eyes were on her. The sexual confidence of her stride reminded me of a lot of things, but it did not remind me of the Marcie Fleach that I remembered. Like everything else about her, it seemed practiced and artificial. The damn bell on the front door tinkled and she was gone.
Velma immediately turned to me, "Please tell me that we are not going to consider taking this case."
I could tell her that, but I would be lying, "Rit's rough to say no to run hundred rercent billable and Four hundred dollars and hour for two of us."
"Oh my god! You sound like Fred."
"Fred roesn't have rye elegant baritone."
Speaking of Fred, his was one of three eager faces which had appeared in my door wanting to know everything.
Fred spoke first, "Wait… 100 percent billable and $400 per hour for two of us? Go over that part slowly."
Velma answered while I was still warming up the vocal cords, "We told Marcie we wouldn't take the case and that was her counteroffer."
Fred was beside himself, "Hell of a negotiation guys!"
Velma had assumed a body language position that I did know. She was slouched down in her chair with her arms crossed tightly in front of her. The nice people (Daphne) called it 'sullen'. I preferred the more accurate word 'pouting'. There was no doubt that Velma was going to speak, and she did.
"You guys weren't in here. The conversation was confrontational and bespoke an intolerable working relationship."
When Velma was pouting, we learned to take what she said with a grain of salt. All eyes turned to me. I translated, "A rong time ago, Relma hit on Rarcie. Rarcie is really pissed arout it. Rarcie rubbed it in Relma's face." I'm a detective. I figure shit out.
All eyes went back to Velma but she looked only at Shaggy. Her words were hesitant, "That's not inaccurate." I watched Velma's eyes go back down to her lap. Another one I knew. She was retiring from the conversation. I would be taking it from here.
Everyone else knew that one, too, and all heads swiveled back to me. It was like a tennis gallery. Once again, Fred came out of the blocks first, "Is Marcie still requiring that Velma take lead on the case?"
"Rhat appears ron-negotiable. She also wants ree."
Daphne's eyebrows were up. I never understood how she did so well on camera. She over-emoted everything. "You and Velma working closely together on a case?"
I might as well spring the best part on her, "Rand the case starts in Rew Rork."
Another overdone facial reaction, "You and Velma traveling alone together? Talk about a thunderdome scenario! How do you keep from killing each other?"
Velma deigned to rejoin our conversation but didn't look up, "We're professionals."
Years of experience as a sidekick came out as a reflex, "Reah, roffesionals." Why do I do that? It's actually pretty demeaning. Something I need to work on.
Velma couldn't just leave it alone and stop there, "But if you force me to work with Marcie, she might come out of it walking with a limp."
In rides Daphne on her white stallion, "Vel, it's a missing person case. We solve over 90% of those. How do we do it?"
Percentages… math… Velma couldn't keep herself from responding and correcting, "Internet search, And its 91.4%."
Daphne's point was made, "So, you probably will solve this one without ever having to leave this office and the company gets double fees."
"But I don't want to work with Marcie Fleach at all. Therefore, I refuse."
My turn, "Row arout a wager?" There were two things that Velma could not resist: a mystery and a competition… okay, she really couldn't resist a physics book either… as a matter of fact, there were dozens of things the woman couldn't resist. She was a slave to her passions. But I digress. She could not resist a competition.
"What do you mean, wager?"
I had her interest. This was now shooting fish in a barrel, "Ree take the case. If roo can rolve it on the rinternet, roo get all of the extra money arove our base rates. If roo can't, ree go to Rew Rork." As always, I had to wait and see if she understood what I said. Having a speech impediment is a pain in the ass.
Her tightly-clenched arms unclenched a little, "So, if I solve it on the internet, I get everything over base rates for both me and you."
Reeling it in, "Rat is rorrect." I could see Fred nodding his head in my peripheral vision. He was on board.
Velma was beyond a member of the pack to me since we had shared some things recently when I needed a shoulder (actually a lap) to cry on. She was family - a sister to me. That sister that annoys the crap out of you. That one. You know who I mean. Like Shaggy was a brother… and they were getting married… My brother and my sister… To each other… This is why I hate metaphors. That being said… even though I love Velma, I recognize that she is an egotistical little snot and I had her. Daphne solved 91.4% of missing person cases without leaving the office. Velma now had to prove that she could do the same. I also knew that she would be checking on Daphne's average and best solution times. The race was on.
Daphne's face was right above Velma's head, so I saw her wink at me. I couldn't wink back without Velma seeing. But it didn't matter. Velma was Velma, "I accept your wager and I know that you just manipulated me."
Regarding Amanda: Amanda is a human and I am a dog. And for those of you who are sick bastards, stop what you're thinking. The relationship is not like that. And what it is like is none of your business. I have found that most humans are sick bastards. Sick, hate-filled bastards just looking for something new to hate. Humans suck. And if you happen to be one, deal with it. You suck.
I know Shaggy better than anyone else in the world. And I knew that somewhere in that brain of his was a sick joke about what would happen with Velma and I alone together in a hotel. I also knew that there was a concerted effort going on in his head to keep it in. The third thing I knew was that, if he vocalized the joke, it would be a race between Velma and I about who would kick his scrotum into his skull first.
