The Case of the Abandoned Aussie

by B R Snow

  “No,” Jerry said, shaking his head. “That was Roxanne. After you had left, she and Mrs. Crawford got into a screaming match, and Roxanne took off in one of the boats just to get away for a while. She didn’t even know how to turn the lights on, let alone drive it. She was lucky she made it back alive. I guess you guys were pretty lucky, too.”

  Exhausted, I sat back in my chair.

  “The key is for a safe deposit box, isn’t it?”

  Jerry nodded.

  “Do you mind telling me what’s in it?” I said.

  “I thought if I put together enough information from different sources I could convince Crawford that everyone had a lot to lose if it all came out. And I was going to try to have the same conversation with Rosaline. And Mrs. Crawford if it came to that. It was a crazy idea, but I figured that if nobody could come out a winner, then maybe the whole thing could be put to rest and everyone could just move on. And with the right help, maybe Rosaline could get better.”

  “Boy, were you wrong,” I deadpanned.

  Jerry laughed long and hard.

  “Yeah, I definitely whiffed on that one, didn’t I?” he said, rubbing his forehead.

  “So what’s in the safe deposit box?”

  “There’s a copy of Rosaline’s complete psychiatric history I was able to get my hands on. Don’t ask me how. I can’t divulge where I got it because it would create enormous problems for the person who gave it to me.”

  I nodded and waited.

  “And there are a lot of Mr. and Mrs. Crawford’s financial transactions. Many of them tawdry. Some of them highly illegal.”

  “And nothing they’d want to read about in the newspaper.”

  “Correct. The other item in the box is my mom’s diary,” he said, staring off into the distance. “She kept a very detailed journal about her life that includes the history of her affair with Crawford, her thoughts about being a mother, and a host of other things that aren’t flattering to anyone. I was devastated when I read it.”

  “Where on earth did you get your hands on that?”

  “The private investigator who eventually tracked me down found it in an evidence box at the police station in Smithville. They were the ones who investigated the murder-suicide, and it was an open and shut case and such a horrific story for a small town like that to deal with, they just took a bunch of stuff from the house, stuffed it into some boxes, and tried to forget all about it. The PI took the diary without anyone noticing and gave it to me when we met. She thought I should have it. I guess she took pity on me. Either that or she knew that Rosaline would go completely off the tracks if she ever saw it.”

  “So Rosaline doesn’t know about the diary?”

  “No,” he said, leaning forward to grasp my hands. This time, I squeezed back. “And whatever happens, you have to promise me that she never will.”

  “Okay,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’ll do my best.”

  “But I guess I don’t have to worry about that,” he said, letting go of my hands and sitting back in his chair. “The key’s disappeared. I guess it’s probably somewhere at the bottom of the River.”

  “Uh, actually,” I said, coughing nervously. “I have it.”

  “What?”

  “I mean I did have it. I turned it over to the cops.”

  “Where on earth did you find it?”

  “It was sewn into Chloe’s collar,” I said.

  “Serves me right for not being a dog lover,” he said, shaking his head. “Wow. That changes things.”

  “So where’s this safe deposit box?”

  “You were just there,” he said.

  “Smithville?”

  “Yup. Smithville First National. I thought that hiding it there provided perfect symmetry.”

  I reached down and entered KMN and sent the text to Josie. Moments later she and Jackson strolled out of the bar and headed our way.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Jackson said, trying to feign surprise and failing miserably. “Look who’s here.”

  “Don’t worry about the charade, Jackson. Just have a seat,” I said.

  “Hi, Chief,” Jerry said, gesturing to the empty chair next to him. “Hello, Josie. I’d tell you how beautiful you look tonight, but by now you’re probably tired of hearing that.”

  “See?” Josie said, smiling at Jackson. “That’s how it’s done.”

  Jackson flushed with embarrassment.

  “Let’s have a drink,” Jerry said.

  “Are you okay?” Jackson said me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Actually, I’m feeling pretty good.”

  Jerry and I smiled at each other. It was an odd moment, and I was convinced the evening couldn’t get any stranger.

  Then Jerry turned to the table of four cops sitting nearby and pointed at our table.

  “Would you folks care to join us for a cocktail?” he said, sliding his chair toward Jackson.

  The four cops looked at each other, then shrugged and pulled their chairs up to our table. And for the next two hours, five cops, a man about to be charged with accessory to murder, and the bewildered owners of the Thousand Islands Doggy Inn, drank, occasionally laughed, and wondered aloud what the future might hold.

  And about my earlier comment regarding how the evening couldn’t get any stranger?

  Boy, was I wrong.

  Epilogue

  Things settled down around town after that and Josie and I got a chance to focus on our dogs instead of murder. As much as I love a good mystery, it was a welcome change. And Chloe continues to grow like a weed and is pretty much the center of my social life. But I’m keeping my fingers crossed on that front.

  Rosaline’s trial was quick but eventful. During sentencing, as Josie likes to say, she completely lost the plot and tried to climb the judge’s bench and beat him with his gavel. Rosaline was subdued, sedated, and then sentenced in absentia to spend the rest of her life in a very secure facility for the criminally insane.

  But her mother’s diary never surfaced at her trial. I owe Jackson big time for that one.

  Jerry the Lawyer pled guilty to accessory to the two murders, but due to his life story and some other mitigating factors, he only received a ten-year sentence with the possibility of parole after five. Maybe he will get the chance to open his charter fishing business after all.

  Roxanne, while still hobbled, is going to make a full recovery. Every time she sees us, she makes it a point to apologize for almost killing us that night on the River. We’ve forgiven her, but she still hasn’t been able to forgive herself. She and Carl are joined at the hip and planning to open an exotic flower business in town. I’m still waiting to see if it’s possible for orchids to bloom in the Thousand Islands in February, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed for them. Josie gives it a year; the flower business, not their relationship. She gives that six months.

  Sammy decided that he’d like to pursue a career working with animals and has joined our staff on a full-time basis. Josie has a feeling he might not have the intellectual chops to get into vet school, but she does concede that since he has stopped making frat jokes and crude observations about women, at least in our presence, he has demonstrated a willingness and ability to learn.

  As I predicted, my mother’s relationship with the veterinarian flamed out. She was already starting to get bored with him and his incessant prattling about various animal surgeries he’d performed over the years. But the last flicker of light burned out one evening when she’d gone in for a romantic hug a little too quickly, and his overprotective Rottweiler had nipped her hand. So it was back into the dating pool for Mom. Now she’s active on seven different online dating sites and driving a new Porsche. But she’s only dating on this side of the border. She still hasn’t quite worked up enough nerve to go back to Canada.

  Jackson and Freddie, our medical examiner extraordinaire, continue their energetic, yet fruitless, pursuit of Josie who continues to deflect their affections with a gentle smile. As they both should have figu
red out by now, if either one of them had a shot with her, she would have let them know by now. But it is a lot of fun watching them fall over themselves trying and if it makes them happy, knock yourself out, guys.

  Chef Claire was released and set free of all charges. Since she was unsure about what she wanted to do next, we invited her to stay with us at the house until she figured it out. Given her cooking skills, she can take all the time she wants.

  But at the moment, I’m hoping she hurries up. She promised to make breakfast before the three of us head out on the River to enjoy a beautiful fall day. The leaves are turning and the weather, while cooling down, is perfect for a boat ride and maybe a little fishing if the mood strikes. While waiting, I packed a picnic basket, and Chloe kept a close eye on me to make sure I didn’t forget her apple slices.

  Josie entered the kitchen, picked Chloe up for a good morning hug, something that was getting harder to do on a daily basis, then set her down and poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “It’s a beautiful day to be out on the River,” she said.

  I nodded as I stared out the window at the dark blue water accented by the red and yellow foliage.

  “Life is good,” Josie said, taking a sip of coffee. “But your coffee still needs a lot of work.”

  I punched her gently on the arm and noticed Chef Claire coming down the stairs.

  “Good morning,” I said. “Nice to see you.”

  “I know, I know,” she said, laughing. “I’m late getting breakfast started.”

  “There’s no hurry,” I said, feeling my stomach rumble.

  “Speak for yourself,” Josie said.

  I glanced out through the window when I heard the UPS truck pull into the driveway.

  “Are we expecting a package?” I said.

  “I don’t think so,” Josie said.

  The driver climbed the stairs, and I greeted him at the door and signed for the box. I set it down on the table and checked the address. It was mailed from Smithville.

  “I wonder what it is,” I said, tearing open the box.

  Inside the carefully wrapped package were a solitary glass bottle and a handwritten note. I turned the bottle around and laughed when I saw the label.

  “Well, would you look at that? A bottle of the famous Sugarland Farms syrup,” I said, opening the note. It read as follows:

  Dear ladies,

  I was in my downstairs cellar the other day making room for my new batch of preserves when I found this bottle tucked away in a corner. It’s never been opened, and I don’t think maple syrup that’s been properly stored ever goes bad, but I’ll leave that decision up to you. At a minimum, I thought you might like the bottle as a reminder.

  I’ve been following the Crawford events closely and reprinting some of the stories in the Gazette given the Smithville connection. I’m glad that it’s been resolved and that you’re both safe and sound.

  And if you ever make your way back to our little town, please make sure you drop by and say hello. Wishing you the best.

  Liz Johnson

  “What a sweet thing to do. She’s such a nice woman,” Josie said, examining the bottle. “What do you think?”

  “About eating it? I’m not sure. It has to be thirty years old,” I said, glancing at Chef Claire.

  “I think it might be okay,” Chef Claire said. “And we’ll know as soon as we open it if it isn’t.”

  “I’m willing to give it a shot,” I said. “After all, it’s the least we can do since we’ve heard so much about how good it is.”

  “I suppose I could whip up a batch of French toast,” Chef Claire said.

  “The kind where you toss the blueberries into the batter?” I said.

  “That’s the one,” Chef Claire said.

  “With bacon wrapped sausage?” I said, glancing at Josie.

  “Sure, why not?” Chef Claire said, laughing.

  “What do you say, Josie?” I said, sitting down at the table.

  Josie sat down, nodded her head vigorously, and rolled up her sleeves.

  “I could eat.”

  Here’s an excerpt from the next installment in B.R. Snow’s Thousand Islands Doggy Inn Mystery series:

  The Case of the

  Brokenhearted Bulldog

  Chapter 1

  I stretched out on one of the lounge chairs surrounding the massive swimming pool. Being late September, the pool was empty, and I knew that after this annual end of summer soiree ended, the pool would be covered and the lounge chairs stored away until May. Or if winter behaved like the last person at a party who refused to take the hint and leave, the chairs might not make another appearance until June.

  Chloe, my gorgeous Australian Shepherd Josie and I had rescued from the River a few months ago, took my prone position as an invitation to climb up on my full stomach and stretch out. I groaned from her weight, but couldn’t say no to her. I pulled myself into more or less an upright position and Chloe took the hint, moved down, and repositioned herself until she was draped over my legs. She propped her head on top of her crossed front paws and surveyed the scene.

  A couple of hundred people filled the lawn of the Clay Bay Yacht Club. It was an interesting mix of locals, summer residents, and boat owners and their crew about to depart for warmer climates. Dozens of dogs mingled through the crowd on the prowl for food and friendship. I surveyed the scene and reviewed my notes for the speech I had to make later. I hated public speaking more than just about anything, but since John Gordon, owner of Gordon Yachts and president of the Clay Bay Yacht Club, always included a fundraising component for the Thousand Islands Doggy Inn rescue program as part of his annual end of summer party, it was the least I could do.

  This year, John had donated a brand new fishing boat that retailed north of a hundred thousand dollars. And all summer people had been buying five dollar raffle tickets for a chance at winning it. As of this morning, the total number of tickets sold hit the thirty thousand mark. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars would shelter and feed a lot of dogs, and we owed John big time. A three-minute speech to thank him for all his support barely scratched the surface.

  But that didn’t make the thought of speaking in public any more appealing. Or less frightening. I shuffled my note cards, put them back in my pocket, and stroked Chloe’s head. She closed her eyes, and I was about to do the same when Josie, my best friend and business partner, wandered in my direction.

  As always, every pair of eyes she walked past followed her movements. A man I didn’t recognize continued to stare at Josie as he walked with his wife along the edge of the pool and almost fell in. His wife grabbed his sleeve at the last minute, and he successfully windmilled his arms until he caught his balance. She seemed to regret saving him from the cold water because she scowled and left her embarrassed husband standing by himself.

  I stifled my laughter, but Josie hadn’t seen any of it. Her focus was on the heaping plate of food she was carrying. She plopped down on the lounge chair next to mine and settled in. Chloe shifted positions and stared intensely at Josie’s plate.

  “Sorry, Chloe,” Josie said, reaching over to stroke her head. “This is people food.”

  Chloe barked once. She knew exactly what Josie was saying, but she didn’t like what she was hearing.

  Josie and I laughed. Chloe kept staring at the plate, but Josie was resolute. Chloe woofed one more time, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was beaten, and she knew it.

  “Chef Claire outdid herself,” Josie said. “These barbecue shrimp are amazing. Did you try them?” She devoured another one, then caught the expression on my face. “Dumb question. Forget I even asked.”

  Josie momentarily forgot my deep and unabiding commitment to avoid eating anything that comes from the water; either salt or fresh. But since she’s in the process of working her way into an appetizer-induced coma, I’ll forgive her temporary loss of memory.

  “I know you must have gone to town on the cheesesteak sliders,” she said, grabbing a deep
-fried stuffed mushroom from her plate.

  “Yes,” I said, rubbing my stomach. “And the mushrooms, the Italian sausage and peppers, and the chicken-corn fritters.”

  “Did you try the bacon-wrapped figs stuffed with blue cheese?”

  “Yeah,” I said, holding my stomach. “I had a couple.”

  Josie raised an eyebrow at me as she chewed.

  “Define a couple,” she said.

  “Eight. Maybe ten.”

  “Lightweight,” she said, selecting another shrimp from her plate.

  She held the plate out toward me. I shook my head and continued to rub my stomach.

  “Okay,” Josie said. “More for me.”

  Her ability to consume prodigious amounts of food without gaining a pound continued to baffle me. I’d made a solid effort today to keep up with her, but who was I kidding? If she hadn’t decided to become a veterinarian, she would have had a bright future as a competitive eater.

  “It’s a nice turnout,” Josie said. “John’s gone above and beyond what anybody could expect.”

  “He certainly has,” I said. “Have you seen him yet?”

  “Only briefly,” she said. “He seemed a bit distracted, but he’s probably just trying to get everything wrapped up for the season.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure he is,” I said, glancing down at Chloe who was focused on something on the other side of the lawn.

  “But he did say he had a surprise for later on,” Josie said, setting her empty plate on a nearby table.

  “There’s more?” I said.

  “Apparently,” she said, then stopped.

  I heard her trying to swallow a gasp and followed her eyes to the other side of the lawn.

  I recognized the man strolling our way along with a massive dog. They were both drawing a lot of attention and their progress toward us was slow.

  “Who on earth is that?” Josie said, staring intensely at the man.

  “That is the famous Summerman Lawless,” I said, climbing out of the lounge chair. “And the dog is Murray.”