Whoville PD.

We were working the graveyard when a call came in to the station. The jing-tingle of the phone startled Detective Joey Who, who almost dropped his cards on the floor -- and he had just pulled to an inside straight. I could tell by the way his whiskers twitched.

"Precinct," said Desk Sgt. Flinia Who. "What? Robbery? On Christmas Eve? Gotta be a mistake."

My ears pricked up. This sounded like trouble.

"No, no, Mr. Who, that's all right. I'm sure your daughter's not lying. Gimme the address and we'll get out there right now. Thanks." She jotted the information on a pad.

Joey and I got up, the game forgotten. At least for us; the other players, janitor Squeaky Cleen Who and town drunk Booey Who, took a look at our cards. The doctor on call, a guy named Who, would have done just as much, but he wasn't there that night. He disappears on us sometimes.

"What's the story, Flinia?" I asked, getting my coat.

"This guy says his daughter saw Santa Claus in her living room," she said.

"So?"

"Well, Santa gives her a drink and sends her to bed, right? So, of course, an hour later she has to use the euphemism. Then she sees that this so-called Santa has taken everything! All the presents, the tree, the food, everything."

"Not the Who Hash?"

"Everything to the last crumb. So she's upset and her father's having a fit. You better get over there, Harry."

"On the way. C'mon, Joey."

We headed out into the cold night. Whoville PD has a rep to uphold, for crack service.

By the time we got to East Who Street, the whole block was in an uproar, everyone milling around outside. This Who guy had been going around to his neighbors, and it turned out they'd had everything stolen, too.

"About time you got here!" he said. "I'm Townshend Who, and this is my daughter, Cindy-Lou. She saw the culprit."

"Okay if I talk with her?"

"Yes, go ahead."

I sent Joey around to check if anyone else'd seen the perp while I jawed with the kid. "All right, little girl, thank you for alerting your folks," I said, trying to sound calm. "So you met someone claiming to be Santa, right?"

"Uh-huh," she said. A perky little kid, not shy or anything. "I heard him stuffing the tree up our chimbley and I asked him why he was taking it. He said something about a light being broken. But then why did he take everything?"

"Good question. What did he look like? Red suit, beard?"

"No beard. He was green."

"Wait, he was wearing a green suit?"

"No, a red suit. He was green."

"Well, I'll be a-- Cindy, you've been a great help. Why don't you folks go inside and get warm? We're on the case."

"Do you know who did it already?" asked the dad.

"Not Who," I said. "More of a what."

I talked to a couple of other people, but Cindy-Lou was the only eyewitness. A peek in the windows confirmed their stories -- nothing left, no presents, no decorations, no yule log, nothing but hooks and some wire.

Joey's findings confirmed my suspicions.

"I looked around the snow," he said. "Reindeer tracks, you know? Found 'em, but with the snow falling looked like three or four hours ago. Sled tracks too."

"You're like a one-man Whoville CSI, you know that?"

"But there was second sled, more recent, and no reindeer tracks. You know what I seen instead?"

"Dog tracks."

"Yeah."

"The three words that best describe this case," I said, "are as follows, and I quote: stink, stank, stunk."

"Grinch," he said.

"Call it in," I said. "If he's hit all these houses, he might be working the whole town, trying to steal Christmas."

"We're probably too late," grumbled Joey. "Grinches are strong, fast, and sneaky. He's probably heading back up Mount Crumpit with the loot already. We'll never find him up there."

"You're right," I said, "but these kids are gonna be crushed when they see there's no floofloovers, no tartookas, no whohoopers or gardookas. What'll they do without trumtookas, slooslunkas, or blumbloopas? And the whowonkas! That's the hottest toy this year!"

"I know, I know," said Joey. "And what's Christmas without a game of zoozittacarzay?"

I shook my head. No Christmas was coming. And no breakfast. Everyone on the block said that the green jerk took all the food. This was gonna be a hungry town.

Then I got an idea.

"Hey, Joey," I said. "You still on the PBA choir?"

"Yeah."

"And you guys know the other singing groups in town, right?"

"Yeah... where you going with this?"

"Y'know," I said, "the problem with Grinches is their tiny little hearts. Sad, shriveled little things. But they're suckers for music."

Joey started to smile. "You're a good detective, Harry Who."

I smiled back. "Quick," I said, "before he dumps everything. Get everyone in the town square. We got some Fahoo Forays to sing!"

----

Author's Note: I haven't seen the new Grinch cartoon yet, or in fact the Ron Howard Grinch movie, and I have no idea if either features the detective work of the Whoville PD. If either movie used any of the above gags, rest assured they somehow stole my idea. That goes double for reader Mr. Philbin.