The Case of the Unfettered Utonagan

by B R Snow

  “Geez, Suzy. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how many companies there are down here. And some of the corporate structures are very complex.”

  “I understand, Gerald. I truly do. But if you could do me just this one tiny favor, I’d be in your debt forever.”

  “I think we both know that’s not true,” he said, laughing again. “But nice try.”

  “Please.”

  “Do you really think this guy might have killed someone?” Gerald said.

  “We think it’s a distinct possibility,” I said.

  “We?”

  “Oh, I probably should have mentioned that I’m here with Chief Abrams and Detective Williams from the state police.”

  “Hi, Gerald,” the Chief said.

  “Hey, Chief. How’s it going?” Gerald said. “Detective Williams. I think we met at the wedding, right?”

  “We did,” the detective said. “We’d really appreciate any help you could give us, sir.”

  “Sir?” Gerald said. “How official.”

  “I wasn’t going to presume familiarity, sir,” Detective Williams said.

  “You really need to make a trip to the Islands, Detective,” Gerald said. “A week down here will knock that right out of you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Premier.”

  “Okay, Suzy. I’ll play. But it’s gonna cost you at least two dinners. One at the restaurant. And a barbecue at your mom’s place.”

  “And a box of Cubans, right?”

  “You know me so well. What’s the guy’s name?”

  “Charles Howard,” I said.

  A lengthy silence ensued, and I exchanged confused looks with both cops as we waited it out.

  “You still there, Gerald?”

  “I am,” he whispered. “Did you say Charles Howard?”

  “Here we go,” I said. “Touched a nerve, huh?”

  “You did indeed,” Gerald said.

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s one of my biggest campaign contributors.”

  “Really? What does he do?”

  “You mean, apart from throw money at me?”

  “Yeah. Apart from that.”

  “I have no idea,” Gerald said. “I know he has a web of companies registered down here, but I’ve only met him a few times.”

  “You barely know him, and he just decided to give you a bunch of money?” I said, confused.

  “He’s one of those guys who consider political contributions part of the ongoing cost of doing business,” Gerald said. “I love those guys.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I said, grinning at both cops. Then I had an idea. “How would it play in the press if word got out one of your biggest contributors was involved in a murder?”

  “You read my mind,” Gerald said. “At a minimum, it would be a major distraction.”

  “But if it got out that you helped law enforcement officials over here apprehend a dangerous criminal, I can see all sorts of ways you could spin that to your advantage.”

  “I do like the way your brain works,” Gerald said. “Okay, when do you need the information?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something.”

  “Thanks, Gerald. I really appreciate it.”

  “I know you do,” he said. “And that’s one of the reasons I’m willing to help.”

  “You’re a good friend.”

  “Just remember to tell that to the reporters when they call you,” he said.

  “You think they’re going to call?”

  “Unless my press secretary wants to start looking for another job, they better,” he said, then ended the call with another booming laugh.

  “Okay,” I said, glancing back and forth at them. “What’s next?”

  “The wife said during her interview she wanted to get a look at Cabot Lodge,” Detective Williams said.

  I gave his comment some thought then nodded when my neurons flared.

  “What a good idea. Actually, I think all the beneficiaries should see the place,” I said.

  “How do you plan on making that happen?” Detective Williams said.

  “By inviting them all out for a dinner party.”

  “What are you gonna serve?” the Chief said.

  “No idea,” I said. “But I’m sure Chef Claire will think of something.”

  Chapter 20

  With spoons at the ready, Josie and I hovered near the stove where Chef Claire was putting the final touches on a large pot of soup. She added a splash of brandy, about half a cup of cream then stirred it with a wooden spoon. She leaned over the pot, took a sniff then nodded to herself. She glanced over and laughed at our expressions.

  “You look like you haven’t eaten in a week,” she said, shaking her head. “Go ahead. Give it a taste and let me know if it needs anything.”

  “It’s so green,” Josie said as she stared into the pot.

  “Well, that tends to happen when you use a lot of peas and spinach,” Chef Claire said.

  “Everyone’s a comedian,” Josie said, gently nudging Chef Claire to one side.

  We both sampled a spoonful and savored it. I looked at Josie who beamed back.

  “It’s incredible, Chef Claire,” I said. “Bacon?”

  “Close,” she said. “I went with the jamón ibérico.”

  “Expensive soup,” I said.

  “I had some I wanted to use up,” Chef Claire said, then fixed a stare on Josie. “And I could have sworn we had more left.”

  “Probably mice,” Josie said, slicing off the end piece of a loaf of rustic Italian. “Now for the real challenge. How well does this soup hold up to the dunk test?” Josie turned back toward the stove and dropped the piece of bread on the floor. She bent down and picked it up.

  “Josie,” Chef Claire said, her voice rising in warning. “I swear, if you try to dunk that piece of bread in my soup after it’s been on the floor, I’m going to hit you with my bat.”

  “Hey, it’s not like I’ve got a communicable disease,” Josie said. “Besides, who would ever know?”

  “I would,” Chef Claire said.

  “Then I’ll just drizzle a spoonful of soup over the bread,” Josie said.

  “Not until you get a clean spoon,” Chef Claire said.

  “Yes, Commandant.”

  “You brought your bat?” I said, grabbing a clean spoon of my own.

  “You said I might be cooking dinner for a killer,” Chef Claire said with a shrug.

  “Among others,” I said, then savored another spoonful. “God, that’s so good. The mint and brandy are a great combo.”

  “Thanks,” Chef Claire said. “Does it need anything?”

  “Just a spot in the Culinary Hall of Fame,” Josie said, exhaling. “I’d be happy with just the soup and bread.” Then she beamed at Chef Claire. “But I know you have more up your sleeve. What’s the main course?”

  “Beef Wellington.”

  “Really?” I said. “I can’t remember the last time you made that.”

  “Yeah, I can’t either,” Chef Claire said. “But I’ve been thinking about doing a retro-night at the restaurant once a week this summer. You know, bring back some of the old classics. So, I thought I should start brushing up.”

  “My mother’s going to love it.”

  “It was her idea,” Chef Claire said. “Is she coming tonight?”

  “No, she and Paulie are spending a couple days in Toronto.”

  Rooster entered the kitchen and approached the stove.

  “May I?” he said.

  Chef Claire handed him a spoon, and he sampled the soup.

  “You’re a genius, Chef Claire.”

  “Aren’t you sweet. Where’s Lacey?”

  “She’s outside feeding the hybrids,” Rooster said. “So, what’s the game plan for tonight?”

  “I thought we’d go with one of the classics,” I said.

  “Feed them well, give them lots of wine then sit back and
wait for them to start talking?” Rooster said.

  “Pretty much,” I said, then turned to Josie. “Let’s go see if Lacey needs a hand.”

  “Good idea,” Josie said. “Just a sec. I’ve got a question for Rooster.”

  “Here we go,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “What’s going on with you two?”

  “Is that really any of your business?”

  “Hey, if I waited until things were my business, I’d never get a question in.”

  “Let’s say we’re still working our way through the situation and leave it at that.”

  “You’re no fun,” Josie said, gently punching him on the shoulder as she headed for the door.

  I followed Josie outside onto the porch and grabbed the railing as I began slowly working my way down the steps.

  “Take your time,” Josie said, keeping a close eye on me.

  “I’m fine,” I said, then stopped halfway down the steps to catch my breath. “I can’t wait for this to be over.”

  “It won’t be long. Just take your time and keep breathing.”

  We reached the bottom step, and I looked around. The snow was gone, and the grass was showing signs of green. But the wind was up. I zipped my jacket as we headed for the row of cages. Lacey was pushing chunks of raw meat through the slots in each cage.

  “You know what this reminds me of?” Josie said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The way Lacey is shoving food through those slots. It reminds me of dinnertime at a maximum-security prison.”

  “Actually, that’s pretty close,” I said, coming to a stop at the first cage where the male wolf inside was staring back at me. I took a step closer, and the wolf growled and bared its teeth. I checked the notes I’d made when I read Peters’ research notes. “His name is Thelonious. He’s five. Peters got him from a farmer in Wyoming.”

  “Let me guess, the farmer caught the wolf trying to kill his cattle,” Josie said, studying the animal who continued to bare its teeth at us.

  “Yeah, wolves can be a problem out there,” I said.

  “Thelonious? Strange name.”

  “The male in the next cage is called Miles. Peters must have been a jazz fan.”

  We caught up with Lacey who was standing outside the last cage and trying to get a look at the litter of puppies who were still huddled together in the doghouse structure.

  “Hi, guys,” she said, finally noticing our presence.

  “Hey,” Josie said, nodding at the puppies. “How are they doing?”

  “I think they’re doing fine,” Lacey said. “But there’s no way mama is going to let us get a closer look.”

  “What did Peters say about the litter?” Josie said.

  “Fourth-generation. He was hoping the puppies would fall somewhere between twenty-five and thirty percent wolf,” I said, checking my notes.

  “That’s way too high for any chance they could be socialized,” Lacey said, shaking her head.

  “Yeah, there’s no way,” I said, depressed by the thought of what was ahead for the puppies.

  “What are we going to do with them?” Lacey said.

  “No idea,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Well, step one is keeping the widow’s hands off them,” Josie said.

  “It shouldn’t be that hard,” I said with a grin. “Chef Claire did bring her bat.”

  “Now there’s an idea,” Josie said.

  “What?” Lacey said.

  “Nothing,” Josie said. “Can we give you a hand with anything?”

  “No, thanks. I’m pretty much done. Have our guests arrived?”

  “Not yet,” I said as we all headed back toward the lodge.

  “Do you need me to do anything tonight?” Lacey said.

  “Just be yourself and play it by ear,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” Josie deadpanned. “Rooster will be there to protect you.”

  Lacey blushed, then looked over at us.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “It’s a little hard to miss,” Josie said.

  “He’s an amazing man,” Lacey said.

  “No argument from us,” I said. “Are you worried about the age difference?”

  “I was,” Lacey said. “But less so on a daily basis.”

  “Word of advice,” I said, unable to stop the memory from returning. “Enjoy each day. Because you never know.”

  Josie squeezed my hand affectionately as she led me up the steps. We found Chef Claire and Rooster chatting in the kitchen.

  “All set?” Rooster said.

  “They’re all fed and watered,” Lacey said, peering into the pot of soup. “Smells fantastic.”

  “It should be edible,” Chef Claire said. “Okay, we need to set the table. How many are coming?”

  I did the math in my head.

  “Well, let’s see. Counting the five of us, the Chief and Detective Williams, and four beneficiaries, eleven.”

  “Good job,” Josie said. “You didn’t even have to take a shoe off.”

  “Shut it.”

  “Have you seen the dining room?” Lacey said. “It’s amazing.”

  “Yeah, I snuck a peek at it earlier,” Chef Claire said. “This must have been quite a place in the old days.”

  “I could do without the animal heads,” Lacey said. “They’re enough to make you lose your appetite.”

  “Not a chance,” Josie said, grabbing a stack of dishes.

  Chapter 21

  The dining room in question was straight out of the 1950s. Dark mahogany dominated and an overhead chandelier and several stained-glass lamps provided an eerie glow that could have been the set from a classic movie. The dinner table sat two dozen easily, and the tabletop appeared to be constructed from a single piece of wood that had to be thirty feet long. The overall setting was a bit odd, but the room worked, and the entire group seemed content as we worked our way through the meal. Charlotte, the widow, set her utensils down on her empty plate then took a long sip of wine. Her eyes settled on Chef Claire.

  “What are you doing hiding out in the hinterlands?” she said. “With your skills, you should be in New York.”

  “I am in New York,” Chef Claire said, then slid the last piece of beef wellington into her mouth.

  “I mean the real New York,” Charlotte said. “Not this upstate wasteland.”

  “Wasteland?” I whispered.

  “Let it go,” Josie said, patting my hand.

  “You really should think about opening another restaurant,” Charlotte said, pressing the point.

  “We already have another restaurant,” Chef Claire said with a shrug then reached for her wine.

  “Really? Where?” Charlotte said.

  “The Cayman Islands,” Chef Claire said.

  “The C’s on Grand Cayman is your restaurant?” Charles Howard said, surprised.

  “It is,” Chef Claire said. “Actually, there’s four of us that own both of them.”

  “I eat there every time I’m on the island,” Charles Howard said.

  “Most people do,” Josie said.

  “You do that amazing grilled Dorado.”

  “That’s us,” Chef Claire said, nodding.

  “Dorado?” P-Squared said.

  “Mahi-mahi,” Charles Howard said. “That’s what they call it down there.”

  “Do you visit Cayman a lot?” I said, seizing the opening.

  “A couple times a year.”

  “On business?” I said, going for casual.

  “A bit of both,” he said.

  “We have a place down there,” I said, patting my belly. “But for obvious reasons, we didn’t get down this winter.”

  I was about to press forward when Charlotte reentered the conversation. Miffed, I sat back and waited out the interruption.

  “You really should think about opening a restaurant in New York,” she said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table.

  “Why would we want to do
that?” Chef Claire said between sips of wine.

  “To get your name out there. Continue to build your reputation,” Charlotte said.

  “Nah, plenty of people know who I am.”

  “Then how about to make a lot of money?”

  “I already make more than enough,” Chef Claire said. “And I can’t spend what I make now.”

  “Obviously,” Charlotte said with a laugh. “You aren’t trying hard enough.”

  “I think I’ll pass, Charlotte,” Chef Claire said. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

  Lacey caught my eye, and I returned her look with a slight nod. Lacey glanced around the table then tossed back what was left in her wine glass.

  “Okay, who’s ready for a tour?” she said, getting to her feet.

  “I can’t wait to see the place,” Charles said.

  “What a good idea,” I said, using both hands to push myself up from the table. “After the tour, we’ll have coffee and dessert in front of the fire.”

  “Works for me,” P-Squared said, pushing his chair back from the table.

  Charlotte, along with Charles Howard and Clarissa, got up and followed Lacey out of the dining room. At the door, Clarissa stopped and turned back to us.

  “You want some help with the dishes?” she said.

  “No, you guys go ahead,” I said. “We’ve got it under control.”

  I waited until I heard the sound of footsteps going up the stairs then focused on the collection of dirty dishes on the table.

  “Wine glasses,” I said in a low voice. “Make sure to grab them by the stems.” I turned to Detective Abrams. “Did you remember to bring some evidence bags?”

  “What am I, an idiot?” he said, rolling his eyes at me.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Let’s do it in the kitchen. Rooster, do you mind keeping an eye out for them?”

  “You got it,” he said, heading into the kitchen.

  We all followed and quickly put the wine glasses into plastic bags. Detective Williams sealed them then jotted the names on the outside in magic marker.

  “You think you’ll find anything new about them?” Josie said, picking at a corner of the chocolate torte sitting on the counter. Then she flinched and grabbed her hand. “Ow. Hey, knock it off.”

  “Don’t pick at the cake with your fingers,” Chef Claire said as she waved a wooden spoon at the cake thief. “What is wrong with you?”