This is the story of the tomato caper, a mystery that was only solved after we were awakened at close to midnight Tuesday.

Ollie set up such a racket that my first thought was to secure the house and call 911, for surely we had come under attack. He was racing from room to room, wide eyed, quivering with excitement and howling as if possessed.

“Stop,” I yelled at a volume that probably woke the neighbors. Ollie wasn’t impressed. I didn’t slow him down. I grabbed him by the collar and commanded “sit.” I might as well have asked him to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Actually, I may have gotten further with a song request, as he does join in when singing happy birthday to our grandchildren.

Ollie strained at my grip as Carol hurriedly closed the second story windows giving out on the kitchen roof.

Now that’s where the tomatoes come in, although Carol didn’t put it all together until a day later.

Carol has a passion for fresh tomatoes and anxiously waits for their ripening on the vine. Over the years we haven’t had much success with Early Girl, Big Boy and Jet Star, resorting to planting cherry tomatoes that somehow – thankfully – do just fine. The harvest is sufficiently large to share and spread over the summer so that just about any time there’s a handful for salads. This year, however, we ventured to go for something larger than a grape.

The plants were doing fine, a testament to Carol’s attention and diligent weeding and watering. It looked like we would be able to pick red tomatoes, warm to the touch from the sun and, knowing no sprays had been used, bite through their soft skin for a rush of juice.

We watched the green tomatoes the size of Granny Smith apples transform to hues of red and yellow. Carol would give me reports when I got home from the office, and then she presented me with a disturbing discovery. She held up one of the nearly ripened tomatoes. A bite-sized chunk was missing. She had found it outside the fenced garden lying on the lawn.

“Squirrels,” she said with the conviction of a mother who had just caught her son with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Well, at least they left you something.” Carol wasn’t amused at my humor. When more tomatoes ended up half eaten on the lawn, she took action. She picked the green tomatoes and brought them in on a tray that she moved from window to window depending on the time of day. This wasn’t going to be as good as fresh from the vine, but they were going to be homegrown and ours.

Tomatoes were the furthest thing from our minds as Ollie, in a midnight serenade, howled and strained to get to a window. We strained to see what could have possibly gotten him so worked up.

“It looks like a cat,” Carol said. She got a flashlight while I held Ollie. He was revved up, frantic. Had we not closed the windows, I’m sure he would have jumped through the screens onto the roof.

I trained the light in the direction Carol indicated, and a pair of shiny eyes stared back at me.

“It’s a coon,” she declared. At the word, Ollie emitted a high-pitched howl.

“Guess I shouldn’t have used that word,” she said, for after all, Ollie is a rescue coonhound from North Carolina.

The coon held its ground five feet from the window. Ollie was locked in on his intended prey on the other side of the window. It was a standoff that I knew had to end if we hoped to get any sleep.

I lowered the top half of the window and threw a glass of water at the coon. It didn’t seem to mind the shower, but by the second glass ambled to a cedar at the corner of the roof and made its retreat. Ollie was still hyped up until we finally put him in his crate and closed the grate.

I figured the episode was over until Carol excitedly reached me on my cell the next day.

“Remember the tomatoes?” she started off. “I haven’t been able to find them until now.”

I was confounded. Who would steal a tray of green tomatoes or, for that matter, how could you lose them?

Carol had the explanation. The tomatoes had been sitting on a radiator in front of the second story window where Ollie spotted the coon. In his excitement he had upset the tray, sending it and the tomatoes behind the radiator.

Of course, he had saved the tomatoes and exposed the thief.

We should have known all along that’s what he was telling us at midnight.