Chapter 2

If you think that was the end of the emotional drama, then you haven't been paying attention. When one of the crazies was involved, it never ended. Trust me. I wish the drama were over more than you do.

Just in case you have no idea where you are, I'll bring you up to date. I am a dog. I'm not like the movie with Lisa Carbanola which had me played as a cartoon dog with mixed dog and human features. If you put me in a kennel, I would look just like the rest of them. Worse yet, I am a Great Dane. If you wanted to choose a dog with the worst possible physique to try and utilize human-centric furnishings and equipment, then you would choose a Great Dane. Big and lumbering with a body that tapers down into a thin almost razor-sharp butt. There is no way to comfortably sit in a chair and driving a car was out of the question. Dumbass Anunnaki. Back when the show was running, we priced getting a car fitted out so that I could use it. They offered a bargain basement cost: just a little more than it would take to buy Montana. Needless to say, I don't drive.

And my boy, Shaggy, and his main squeeze, Velma, are environmentally conscientious and carpool whenever they can. Which boils down to the three of us driving home together in one car on the evening of the day when Shaggy found out that Velma had sexually propositioned Marcie Fleach. I was totally comfortable, of course. Nothing awkward about that. We were driving Shaggy's big American car which he had gotten by accident when he put in an incredibly low bid at a police auction just for the hell of it. But I liked the old gas guzzler because it had a big, roomy back seat with vinyl seats. Easily washable for those nights when I went a little heavy on the Mexican food. It beat the heck out of squeezing into the back of Velma's little two-door rice burner with the cloth seats. I tried to lie in the backseat and think happy thoughts but they were few and far between. The first two minutes of the drive were the tense and silent calm before the storm.

Velma broke first, "I'm sorry."

For someone who wasn't stupid, Shaggy did an excellent impression, "For what?" Pawn to king's knight four.

"For not telling you about Marcie."

I wondered for a fleeting second if Shaggy would be able to go off-script and find a way to slow this train that was speeding toward destruction.

"It's none of my business."

Nope. Now it was just the countdown to when we would all find out why this was Shaggy's fault.

"You're right. It's not, but…" I was feeling really hopeful until the 'but', "…I should have told you." Pawn to king's three.

Shaggy apparently never watched movies written and directed by women, "I assume that it happened when you and I weren't dating, so it'-s none of my business. You didn't have to tell me then and you don't have to tell me now." That last would be true since Marcie had already told him… and everybody. Pawn to king's bishop four.

"It was right after you broke up with me." Queen to king's rook five. Checkmate.

Shaggy tried but the game was lost, "I didn't break up with you. You broke up with me."

"Regardless, you chose Scooby over me…"

"You forced me to choose."

"… and I was confused and hurt and wondering if maybe everything I thought was wrong. So, I considered trying something different. Maybe you had rejected me…"

"I didn't reject you."

"…because I just wasn't doing anything right. And maybe it was because I was supposed to be doing something… else… completely. So, I decided an experiment was in order. I had always assumed that Marcie was gay since I had never seen her with any men and there were always those rumors about her in high school. I asked her if she would help me."

At this point, the conversation appeared to be completely out of control but, once again, I had underestimated Shaggy. We were sitting at a red light. Shaggy and Velma both looked calm and anyone would have thought that it was a man and woman and a dog driving to the park for an outing rather than a deep – and deeply annoying – emotional conversation.

"And that conversation didn't go well." I made a mental note for when I had my next exhausting emotional conversation with Amanda. Shaggy was no longer defending himself. He was now listening to her. Shaggy is the master.

"No. It did not go well. Apparently, Marcie was not gay but simply could not get any men interested in her because of her tendency to never comb her hair and to smell like hot dog water. It seemed that she had her own issues with this and they had been imprinted on her soundly by Sarah Handler and the mean girls in high school. I hit that button pretty hard when I asked her to have sex with me and her reaction was… explosive."

"She lost it?"

"She completely lost it. Yelling and screaming and throwing things. She hit me three times but she had no muscle mass so it didn't leave more than a few small bruises. She told me that she hated me and that she would never talk to me again. Which was true until today. And today was awful."

"She was your best friend."

"No. You were my best friend. She was second. And I screwed up both of those relationships."

"That was then. This is now. You used to be a Velma that screwed up relationships. Now you're a Velma that unscrews them. Maybe this is your chance with Marcie."

I'm not a big cryer but… damn. I am not going to go into biological details but, as a dog, I can smell things. And what I was smelling told me that it would be best to try and leave these two alone in the apartment for a while. Velma's psychological issues had caused the idea of sex to be abhorrent to her until just a few weeks ago. That meant that she had spent 15 years between puberty and recent times completely celibate. And now the little dynamo was making up for lost time.

They were patient enough to let me use the restroom and freshen up a bit but they followed me to the door on my way out with the expectant look of alligators about to be thrown a chicken. I made my way over to Amanda's apartment which was two buildings over and walked up the breezeway stairs. I probably should have warned her that I was on my way but, after our rough patch, the relationship was settling into something a little more comfortable.

I knocked. There were footsteps inside and her voice called out from the other side of the locked door, "Who is it?"

"Rit's ree." I called back.

The door opened and she stood there. A vision of loveliness wearing a white chiffon evening gown with a single strap over one milky white shoulder and a backline which plunged to the depths that dreams were made of. Or maybe not. It might be more accurate to say that she was wearing blue jeans, a very dirty t-shirt, and something wrapped around her head that the fashion industry had no name for. It also might be accurate to add that she had on rubber gloves and was holding a toilet brush. She worked four tens and had week-ends off to be with Bettie. With her ex now in prison, week-ends were not shared. Her day off during the week rotated and she usually let Bettie stay with her grandparents on these days and they were her cleaning and chore day. But there was something about a beautiful woman caught in the act of just being a person that was stunning. I basked in it for a minute.

Exactly one minute and then she tilted her head slightly and spoke, "Come on in. I need to finish up the bathroom and then maybe we can order a pizza."

Like I said. The relationship was getting comfortable. There had been a chef that had worked at the restaurant who had showed up one day and said, "You know that the romance is gone when you're in the bathroom brushing your teeth and your wife comes in and takes a dump." We weren't that comfortable and, with any luck at all, we never would be.

I went ahead and ordered the pizzas. It usually took about three pies. She had two slices and I had 22. After which, I stayed the night at Amanda's place. Our routine when I did this was that we would stay up late watching movies and fall asleep on the couch. She apparently had noticed that, during the night, I climbed down off the couch and slept on the floor so that she could stretch out. Her aversion to physical contact was maintained by her subconscious. Without saying anything, she had purchased a thick and very comfortable rug which was now placed on the floor in front of the couch. But what could she actually say? I bought my boyfriend a rug so he would be more comfortable sleeping on the floor? There were things about a human-dog relationship that created odd sentence structure.

The following morning being a work day, she got up early to get ready and I got up early to go back to my apartment for a quick nap (I avoid the use of the word catnap for obvious reasons) before having to get going myself. As usual, Velma had already made herself coffee and was in their bathroom showering. Shaggy was sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at a cooling cup of coffee, and looking like death warmed over. Don't worry. This was nothing unusual. My roommate was not a morning person.

I decided to try and bring him into the land of the living, "Rood rorning, Raggy."

His response was three syllables of complete gibberish and he had yet to blink as far as I could tell. He appeared to be practicing his lines for a zombie movie audition.

I stood up, shook him, and pushed his coffee cup closer, "Roffee. Rink." Breaking things down into simple single-word concepts seemed to break through and his hands shakily reached out to the cup.

Three sips in, he responded to my initial greeting, "Good morning, Scoob." My job complete, I could now grab a quick ten-minute nap while the hot water recovered from Velma's shower.

45 minutes later, we arrived at the office looking like functional adults. We fool everybody that way. Velma was not only accepting the challenge of trying to beat Daphne at her own game but relishing the opportunity. I mentioned that she was competitive, right? Her spirits appeared high as well as I could tell her spirits and, in her mind, the chances that we would actually have to go to New York were slim to none. I also might have mentioned that our Velma has an ego.

The first thing on my agenda was to check in with Fred and Daphne and answer the most important question of the case: Can Marcia Fleach afford to pay us? Like most mornings, Fred and Daphne had beat us in to the office and were both working at their desks. Their body language was somehow different than normal and they seemed to be pointedly not looking at each other. I filed this information under None of my Business and walked up to Fred's desk, "Did roo ret the rinancials on Rarcie?" I love it when I get to sound all managery.

Fred looked up and there were shadows of dark circles under his eyes. Obviously, he had a late night. More information for the None of my Business file. He put on his business-like voice, "In a nutshell, yes. Marcie can afford to pay us. She can afford to buy us. She just sold the rights for a new pharmaceutical she is developing for more money than NASA's budget with a percentage stakehold in future profits." Across the room, Velma made a grumpy noise. I don't know exactly how to describe what a grumpy noise is, but she made them a lot. Fred continued, "Daphne ran her history."

On cue, I turned to Daphne who had more base make-up on under her eyes than usual which probably meant a late night for her, too. That file was filling up. She was looking at her computer screen as she recited, "After leaving us a few years ago, Marcie was able to get accepted into a small community college in north Riley. She completed the two-year physical sciences program in a single semester and published two papers. This got her on the radar of Efton University in upstate New York where she completed her bachelors, got her masters, and defended her PhD thesis in three and a half years." Another grumpy noise from Velma. I really wish that I could describe that better. It's an interesting noise.

Daphne was working toward her conclusion, "Upon receiving her doctorate, she chose to work for a small start-up operation in pharmaceutical R&D. Her contract appears to give her controlling interest in any new products she develops. The results of the one she created were initially published about six weeks ago and a bidding war ensued which has made her a very rich woman."

Velma was now talking to herself under her breath as she pounded on her keyboard. Fred looked over at her, "Velma, those keyboards cost money." This was unusually snappish for Fred which was another item to put into the burgeoning None of my Business folder. If these two dropped any more clues, it would need its own file cabinet.

That gave me the information that I needed to do my next job as the boss. I texted Marcie:

Marcia – This is Scooby Doo. We accept your case and your terms. When can you be at the office to sign contracts and get started?

Her answer came back within a minute:

I'll be there in twenty minutes.

Why did I text her rather than calling her on the phone? Think about it.

Marcie arrived precisely twenty minutes later. Having learned my lesson the previous day, I ushered her and Velma into the conference room. I entered last and had no problem navigating to my seat. I was about to make very managerish opening remarks when Marcie cut me off, "Velma, I apologize for my actions yesterday. I am… Well, I'm me. And me can be something of an unforgiving bitch. You are right. You didn't deserve that. I hope that I didn't cause any problems between you and Shaggy."

In case you're wondering, I have never been fond of the word 'bitch' when used as an insult and recent events had made me hate it. But I held my tongue.

Velma stood, leaned over, and briefly hugged Marcie. It was probably mistimed. I personally would have said something and built to the hug, but Velma was still learning the ropes on these public displays and personal contact. She took her seat, "Shaggy and I had one awkward conversation but then he forgave me and I forgave him…"

"Rand Rye had to sleep somewhere else…" Did I say that out loud? Sometimes it's good to be ignored.

Marcie nodded, "It sounds like you finally found that something special you always wanted."

"Yes. It was right there all of the time. The problem was me."

Marcie's tone was wistful, "I can identify with that. Which leads me to another confession. I was on a roll yesterday and misrepresented my feelings toward Reggie. I had hoped that I had found what you obviously have and I want to make sure that he is okay and maybe see if there is some explanation other than what Daphne considers to be obvious. And maybe I'm holding out hope that this could have a happy ending. Don't get me wrong, if he has simply run out on me, I will ruin him. That precedent will not be allowed. But that is not the optimum resolution to this case."

Marcie was quite the poet. The angels just dance on that woman's tongue.

But then she continued, "Velma, even if Reggie has simply dumped me, if we can use this opportunity to become friends again, then it will all be worth it. I miss our friendship desperately." See! This is where the hug should be.

Velma was left with nothing to say but, "I would like that, Marcie."

We seemed to have come to the conclusion of the maudlin item on the agenda and could now get back to business, "Rokay. Rarcia…"

I was interrupted when she reached out and put her hand over my paw and gripped it gently, "Scooby, you people have known me for most of my life. I would appreciate being called 'Marcie' again." Then she smiled, "Just not 'Hot Dog Water'." I again got the feeling of being part of a scripted presentation.

"Rof rourse, Rarcie. Ree need to know rore arout rour fiancé. Relma?" That ended my part of the program. And mine was certainly scripted. Maybe I should cut the woman some slack.

Velma opened her laptop and typed a couple of passwords, "What is the full name of your fiancé?"

"Reginald Allen Myung."

"Date of Birth."

"November 25th, 1989."

"Place of Birth."

"Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."

"Height."

"Five foot nine inches."

"Weight."

"150 pounds, plus or minus."

"Eyes."

"Brown."

"Hair."

"Dark brown."

"Distinguishing characteristics."

"Pacific Asian facial features. Particularly Korean. He wore glasses – Buddy Holly hornrims, for some reason. It was like he was trying to look like a nerd, which he wasn't, at all."

"What do you mean, he wasn't a nerd?"

"He was very outgoing. Funny, witty, charming. Loved being around people. Loved parties. There was something about the nerdy affectation over the top of the obvious extraverted personality that made him absolutely sexy as hell. And it wasn't just me. He had women fawning all over him. And I will admit to some jealous episodes on my part."

Velma raised her face and looked Marcie up and down, "Is there cause and effect between these jealous episodes and the obvious efforts that you now put into your appearance?"

"Well… duh." I was beginning to remember why Velma and Marcie had been friends. The same glib tongue.

Velma was undeterred by the sarcasm, apparently settling into what had once been her and Marcie's normal communication patterns, "Home address."

"We live at 307 W 27th Street, New York, 10001."

Velma got that glazed look she got when she was pulling something out of that enormous brain of hers, "Midtown. That's a nice address."

"I'm sure you pulled my financials."

"You can afford it."

"Damn straight."

"When was the last time you saw Reggie?"

"In person or remotely?"

Velma typed a note, "In person."

Marcie tilted her head as if she were doing mental math. This was obviously another affectation. Marcie would have known this question was coming and would have the answer down to the hour, if not minute. Then why the play-acting? Some super-geniuses affected such mannerisms in order to make those around them less-self-conscious of their relative brainpower. But she wouldn't be doing that for Velma's benefit… Oh. Right. It was for mine. I was the dummy in the room. Well, I've been the dummy in rooms a lot less smart than this one. So there.

"About 7 months."

"That's a long time."

"He went to Germany to work through the final development of a formula on which we had teamed with one of their manufacturers. It seemed like Covid was letting up so he went on one of the first flights that allowed you in on a tourist visa while they worked on his work visa. We thought that he would do about a month and then come home. Then Covid came back, Europe got all squirrelly again, and we decided that it was best that he remain there and keep working in order to avoid the risk of his not being allowed back in. We talked on Facetime nearly every night."

"When was the last time you communicated with him remotely?"

Velma had a way of wording questions to avoid leaving openings for half answers. Marcie answered immediately, "Eight days ago. He was finally coming home and he called to tell me that he was on his way to the airport. It was 4:00 AM his time and 11:00 PM my time. I pulled the call down off the company server." She poked at the screen of her phone and handed it to Velma. I leaned over and then moved to be able to see the screen without glare.

The screen was split in two with Marcie on the left and her fiancé on the right. By human standards, he was extremely attractive. The pair of them would make a nice topper on their wedding cake. That would be the only time that Marcie Fleach could ever be considered sweet.

The Marcie on the screen spoke first, "You headed back?"

Her fiancé had a light baritone up in the tenor range. It was very pleasant. His smile appeared natural, "At last I am. I've got just a minute before I need to run down for the shuttle. You have my itinerary?"

"I do. I even printed it out on paper."

"Going old school on me, Boomer." His smiled was amplified by a laugh.

"I've never seen a magnet corrupt ink on paper. I am not going to be late."

"Again." His smile was now a grin.

Her voice became slightly sheepish, "Again."

The grin returned to a smile, "I've got to go now, Marshmallow. I can't wait to see you."

"You, too. Love you."

He got out the word "I…" before the connection cut off.

Maybe after happy endings were found, Velma and I could enjoy 'Marshmallow'. But that was for later. We were professionals.

Velma was all business, "Today is Tuesday. So, this was last Monday night at 11:00 PM Eastern Time?"

"That is correct."

"When did you report it to the police?"

"Wednesday morning at 9:00 AM." Marcie's answers were succinct and precise. She was the type of person who gave directions with 'turn east or west' instead of 'right or left'. Who the hell knows which way east and west are? But she was speaking Velma's language.

"What did you do in the meantime?"

"His flight was supposed to land at 12:35 PM on Tuesday. I was there a little early and the flight landed ten minutes late. I called his cell phone after it landed and he didn't answer. I waited in baggage claim, calling him every few minutes until 2:30 PM. Then I had him paged. I went to the airline and they checked their computer. He had never checked in. I called the hotel. He had checked out at 4:15 AM and reserved a spot on the shuttle for the airport."

"Was he on the shuttle?"

"They don't keep records of that."

"Do you have his passport number?"

Marcie handed over a manilla envelope, "Photocopies of that, his driver's license, his international driver's license, and his travel itinerary are in this envelope."

I have to admit that I was nodding off a little as the envelope changed hands. Velma spoke, "Have you contacted his family? Parents? Siblings?"

"His father is deceased and he is an only child. I've spoken with his mother several times. She hasn't seen him but her contact information is in the envelope if you want to speak with her yourself."

"Did he have any close friends away from work? From college or high school?"

"The ones that I know of, I called. No one has seen him and their information is also in the envelope."

Velma finished typing, "That should be enough to get us going. We'll get started and get back with you when we know something."

Marcie was a little startled, "When are we headed to New York?"

Velma maintained her even demeanor, "With any luck. It will never come to that. The process starts with an internet search and in 91.4% of our cases we are able to locate the missing person through that means."

Marcie began to show signs of edginess, "I've already done that, Velma. I told you that."

Velma was in her element, "There's a process, Marcie."

Marcie recognized the Dinkley Prime Directive and knew that resistance was futile. Yes. I'm a trekker. Sue me.

Velma ended the conversation, "We'll call you later when we know more."

Marcie took the defeat graciously, "I will stay in town until you catch up with me and we can head to New York. Don't dawdle. The trail is getting cold."

That was usually Velma's line.