The Case of the Wrong Coat

I run the coat check at the Riverside Dinner Theater. On a rainy Saturday night, we hosted a charity gala to raise money for new theater seats, and the coat check had been busy from six o’clock on. By eleven o’clock the lobby had emptied, the band had gone home, and one coat was still hanging in my room: a charcoal wool coat, with no claim ticket on it.

Before I heard from anyone, I looked the coat over. In the inside breast pocket I found a single-ride bus ticket stub: Route 9, 7:15 that evening, already used. On the collar were a few long golden hairs, the kind a golden retriever leaves behind. And the left pocket was torn open at the seam.

I also remembered checking this coat in. The lobby was busy that night, but I remembered this one, because when its owner handed it to me at half past seven, I was surprised: the coat was bone dry, on a night when the rain had been pouring since five o’clock.

I hung the coat on its own hook and waited to see if anyone came back for it. Then four people came back to claim it, and each one told me a story.

Mara came first. She is a painter, and she said the coat was hers. She told me she had driven to the theater and parked at a quarter to seven, and that she had not been on a bus in months.

Dev came next. He said he had ridden the Route 9 bus at 7:15, then walked ten minutes from the bus stop to the theater in the rain, with no umbrella and no poncho. He said he has a golden retriever named Biscuit, and he was sure the coat was his.

Priya came third. She said she had ridden the Route 4 bus, and she had an umbrella. She said she keeps no pets at all, and she is badly allergic to dogs — she crosses the street to avoid them. She was sure the coat was hers.

Sam came last. He said he had ridden the Route 9 bus at 7:15, wearing a rain poncho over the coat, which was why it had stayed dry. He said he has a golden retriever named Maple. And he said the left pocket tore last week, when he caught it on a nail.

One of these four stories fits every detail of the coat. The other three each run into a fact they cannot get past. So: whose coat is it?