Gerald Hoffsteader woke up on Wednesday morning, poured his coffee, shuffled to the front window to admire his garden as he does every day, and immediately dropped his mug. The coffee survived. Gerald's composure did not. Mr. Pemberton was gone.
For those unfamiliar with Whiskey Pines' most distinguished ceramic resident, Mr. Pemberton is a three-foot-tall garden gnome that has stood sentinel in Gerald's front yard for twenty-seven years. He wears a red hat. He holds a tiny fishing rod. He has a smile that Gerald describes as "enigmatic" and that everyone else describes as "mildly unsettling, but in a charming way."
Mr. Pemberton weighs approximately forty pounds. He is not the sort of thing that blows away in a stiff breeze. He is, Gerald insists, the sort of thing that gets stolen by "someone with a truck, a plan, and absolutely no respect for the sanctity of lawn ornaments."
Sheriff Hank Waverly arrived at the Hoffsteader residence with his notepad, his pencil, and an expression that suggested he was beginning to question his career choices.
"Now, Gerald," he began, "is it possible you moved Mr. Pemberton yourself and forgot?"
The look Gerald gave him could have wilted petunias. "Henry. I have not moved Mr. Pemberton since 1998, when I repositioned him two inches to the left to improve his sight lines to the bird feeder. I documented the move. I have photographs."
He does, in fact, have photographs. He showed them to this reporter. There are many of them. Mr. Pemberton is very well documented.
Witness Statements & Community Theories
"I saw a suspicious van on Tuesday night. White. Or maybe beige. It was dark. It could have been a large car. Or a small truck. The point is, it was suspicious. It drove past Gerald's house at least twice. Maybe three times. I wasn't counting. I was watching my shows. But I noticed."
"You know who's been buying rope lately? A lot of people. That's not helpful, I realize. But someone bought forty feet of rope last week and paid cash. I don't remember who. This is a hardware store. People buy rope. I'm just saying, it's suspicious in retrospect."
"I have an alibi for every night this week. I want that on the record. I was in committee meetings. There are witnesses. I have nothing to do with this gnome situation, and I resent the implication that my ongoing disagreement with Gerald about his lawn's proximity to the parade route has anything to do with anything."
"Gnome theft is a known phenomenon. It's called 'gnoming.' People steal gnomes and take them on trips and send postcards. It's a whole thing. I saw it on the news once. In 1994. Mr. Pemberton could be anywhere by now. He could be in Aruba."
"We didn't do it. Why would we do it? That's stupid. Also, even if someone hypothetically did do it as a prank, which we're not saying happened, but hypothetically, where would someone even put a forty-pound gnome? Hypothetically. Asking for a friend."
"Maybe now people will take property crime seriously in this town. First my marmalade. Now Gerald's gnome. What's next? Who's safe? This is what happens when investigations stall, Henry."
"I just want him back. No questions asked. You can leave him on the porch. I won't press charges. He doesn't like being indoors. He gets anxious. Please. He's never been away from the garden this long. He needs fresh air. He needs his sight lines."
Gerald Hoffsteader is offering a $50 reward and a plate of his wife's brownies for information leading to Mr. Pemberton's safe return. Anyone with information is encouraged to contact Sheriff Waverly's office. The brownies, this reporter can confirm, are excellent. Solve this crime.
Updates to follow as this gnome-napping develops. This reporter will be monitoring the situation from a safe distance from Mabel Hutchins.