The Case of the Faithful Frenchie

by B R Snow

  “Because he doesn’t fit the model of the normal bank robber?” I said, fishing.

  “I have no idea what that even means, Suzy,” he said, laughing. “But, then again, normal and bank robber don’t often show up in the same sentence.”

  “So why don’t you think he was involved in the robbery?”

  “Because he called me a couple of days ago and said that he thought someone was trying to kill him.”

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Yeah, it was a strange phone call. He was ranting and raving and sounded like he’d been drinking,” Detective Abrams said. “Now, I’m sorry I didn’t take him a bit more seriously.”

  “Why on earth would Buggy call you?”

  “Because Rooster told him to.”

  “Really?” I said, baffled by the notion. “I’ve known Rooster since I was a kid, and he’s always made his distrust of all things cop abundantly clear.”

  “I know,” he said, nodding. “Imagine my surprise when Buggy told me that.”

  “Something very strange is going on,” I said.

  “And your mom wants you to poke around a bit at dinner tonight and see what you can snoop out?”

  “Snoop is such an unattractive term, Detective Abrams.”

  “Okay, call it whatever you want,” he said, laughing. “Look, I need to get Wally home. Thanks again. And be careful with the Winters. They’ve got more money than they know what to do with, and several loose screws scattered around the family tree.”

  “So, despite their money and standing, I take it you’re not a big fan of the Winters?”

  “I think they’re a bunch of wingnuts.”

  “Wingnuts. That’s funny. Is there anything specific you want to share with me?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Tell you what,” he said, climbing into the driver seat. “After you have dinner, give me a call tomorrow, and we’ll compare notes.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said, peering into the backseat. “You be a good boy, Wally. And try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Detective Abrams said, starting the car. “And make sure you take your own advice. I’d hate for Josie to have to put a neck cone on you.”

  “Funny. You should try your hand at standup.”

  “No, I’ve got my eyes on another job at the moment,” he said.

  “Really? Do tell.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll hear all about it soon enough.”

  With that, he put the car in reverse, then turned around and headed out of the parking lot. I headed for the house with a head full of questions and designs on getting out of this pirate costume and into a long, hot shower.

  Chapter 7

  We arrived at C’s a few minutes before eight and headed for the lounge to say hello to our head bartender Rocco, someone we’d first met a few months earlier when we were dealing with the death of an area mobster named Jimmy Calducci. Rocco had once worked for Calducci, but had turned his life around and had quickly become someone we trusted and was now one of our favorite people. The bar was crowded, but he spotted us and headed our way.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said. “Congratulations. I hear the dog parade was a huge success.”

  “Thanks, Rocco,” I said. “It went well.”

  “Thirteen dogs got adopted,” Josie said, glancing around the lounge then waving excitedly.

  “You guys are amazing. Great job,” he said, then he paused to watch someone heading our way. Rocco gave him a small wave. “Hey, Summerman.”

  “How’s it going, Rocco?” Summerman said. “Hi, Suzy.”

  Summerman flashed me a smile, then completely focused on Josie. They embraced and shared a kiss that lasted long enough for Rocco to pour me a glass of wine while we waited it out.

  “You look fantastic,” Summerman said, nuzzling Josie’s neck. Then they remembered where they were and released each other and gave us goofy looks. “Sorry. I can’t help myself.”

  “No need to explain,” I deadpanned. “But try to make it through dinner, okay?” I looked at Rocco. “By the way, have you seen my mother?”

  “Yeah, she’s already at her table.”

  “Is she alone?” I said.

  “No,” Rocco said, giving me a small smile. “The whole gang is in there with her.”

  “Do you know the Winters?”

  “Personally, I’ve only met one of them. But everybody knows who that family is, right?”

  “Yeah, pretty much,” I said. “Which one did you meet?”

  “I think his name is Bentley.”

  “How did you meet him?” I said.

  “It was a long time ago when I was still doing the occasional favor for Calducci. Jimmy asked me to pay Bentley a little visit.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Gambling debt, right?”

  “You’re good,” Rocco said, smiling. “Yeah, a big gambling debt. The guy had a serious problem.”

  “From what we hear, he still does,” I said.

  “Did you collect?” Josie said.

  “What do you think?” Rocco said. “It took a couple of visits and a little rearranging of some of his metatarsals, but he eventually paid up.”

  “Metatarsal,” I said, frowning as I tried to remember some basic anatomy. “Hands, right?”

  “Oooh, so close,” Josie said, laughing. “Feet.”

  “You broke his feet?” I said, staring at Rocco.

  “Only one. Jimmy said to let him off easy as long as he paid up. But the foot was supposed to serve as a reminder that while the horses Bentley was betting on could really run, he couldn’t,” Rocco said, casually wiping down the bar. “He’s a weird guy. Can I ask you why you and your mother are having dinner with them?”

  “It’s a little hard to explain,” I said. “But it’s related to what happened at the bank.”

  “And you plan on doing a little snooping?” he said.

  “Maybe. But this time is different.”

  “Do tell,” Rocco said, laughing.

  “She’s actually being encouraged to do it,” Josie said.

  “Really? Encouraged by who?”

  “Well, my mom. Rooster. And Detective Abrams from the state police.”

  “That’s interesting,” Rocco said, frowning. “Try to keep me in the loop, okay?”

  Ever since Rocco had saved me during my recent encounter with our former mayor in the restaurant kitchen where he was planning to stuff me in the freezer and lock it from the outside, Rocco had appointed himself as my protector in chief.

  And who was I to argue with a former mobster?

  “Will do. You’ll be the first one I call,” I said, turning to Josie. “You ready?”

  “Let’s do this,” she said, grabbing Summerman’s hand and heading for the dining room.

  I waved goodbye to Rocco and followed Josie and Summerman to the far corner of the dining room where my mother was sitting at her table surrounded by several people I didn’t know, and two others I did. I wasn’t surprised when I saw Bentley at the table, but I was shocked when the woman who was sitting with her back to us turned around as we approached. Josie was chatting with Summerman and didn’t see her at first, so I poked her in the ribs and nodded at the table. Her mouth dropped, and I could only assume that to the other people at the table we looked like a matching pair.

  “Roxanne?” I said, completely baffled by seeing her sitting at the table.

  “Hi, Suzy. Josie. Surprise,” she said, laughing.

  We’d met Roxanne when we were trying to figure out who had killed the candy magnate, Crawford. At the time, she’d been his girlfriend and was one of our early suspects. But Roxanne had proven to be nothing more than someone looking to get away from her previous life as a struggling actress. She’d starred in several late night cable movies that were less than family fare. We’d also learned that she had supplemented her income during those days as an escort, but had apparently given all that up when she’d met the rich candy magnate.


  During her time with Crawford on his island, she’d started seeing Carl the Gardener, and Roxanne had convinced herself that she was in love. Several months ago, she and Carl had started an exotic flower business that failed miserably soon after it opened, and the two of them went their separate ways and left the area. But apparently, Roxanne hadn’t made it too far before she found another suitor that would enable her to maintain the lifestyle Crawford had spoiled her with.

  “So how is the dog business?” Roxanne said, beaming at us.

  “It’s good,” I managed to get out.

  “Yeah, it’s great,” Josie said, staring blankly at Roxanne.

  Before I could formulate a question about how on earth she had ended up at the table, Roxanne’s excitement level kicked into overdrive.

  “You’re Summerman Lawless,” she said, her tongue flitting across her lips as she stared at him.

  “Yes, I am. It’s nice to meet you, Roxanne,” he said, then gave my mom a small wave.

  “Brock, do you know who this is?” Roxanne said, tugging the sleeve of the man sitting next to her.

  The man called Brock shook his arm loose and turned halfway around to take a quick glance before refocusing on the menu.

  “No,” Brock said.

  “Summerman is a famous rock star,” Roxanne said, unable to take her eyes off him.

  “Good for Summerman,” Brock said.

  “This is my husband, Brock,” Roxanne said. “Brock, this is Suzy and Josie. They run the doggy Inn people are always talking about.”

  “Yeah, nice to meet you,” Brock said. “I hate dogs.”

  “Now there’s a surprise,” Josie whispered.

  “Oh, this is going to be so much fun,” I said.

  I sat down next to my mother, and Josie slid into the chair next to Roxanne who seemed disappointed with the seating arrangement. She continued to beam at Summerman even after he sat down between Josie and me.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Did we miss anything?”

  “Hello, darling,” she said, then leaned in close and whispered. “Take a look around the table. Does it look like you’ve missed anything?”

  I snuck a quick glance at the sullen faces who were either silently studying their menus or pounding cocktails.

  “Let’s do introductions,” my mother said, conjuring up a smile she reserved for uncomfortable moments like this one. “This is my daughter, Suzy. Next to her is Summerman. And sitting next to him is Josie.” My mother paused, and I assumed she was trying to make sure she got all the names right. “Okay, on my right is Priscilla Winters, who, along with all her children, will be celebrating her ninety-fifth birthday next week.”

  Brock snorted and spilled some of his drink. He ignored the spill and drained the rest of his cocktail.

  “Ninety-five?” I said, smiling at the ancient woman. “That’s an amazing accomplishment, Mrs. Winters.”

  “Why? All I have to do is keep breathing.”

  “Hard to argue with her logic,” Josie whispered.

  “What did you say?” the old woman said, glaring at Josie.

  “I said that it was hard to argue with your logic, Mrs. Winters,” Josie said.

  “Liar,” the old woman said, then focused her glare on Summerman. “Your last name is Lawless?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The Lawless family that bought the island upriver back in the thirties?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s the one.”

  “I knew your grandfather,” she said, her sunken eyes narrowing into tiny slits.

  “Really?” Summerman said, leaning forward. “I never got a chance to meet him, but I hear he was quite the character.”

  “He was a disgusting bootlegger,” she said, dismissing Summerman with a quick wave of the back of her hand. “What do I have to do to get another drink around here?”

  “Now, Mom, just try to relax.”

  I glanced at the woman sitting to the immediate right of the old woman. She was embarrassed by her mother’s outburst and glanced at Summerman and shrugged an apology.

  “I’m Lucinda,” she said. “It’s nice to meet all of you. And this is my husband, Oliver. Say hello, Oliver.”

  “Hello, Oliver,” he said, staring off into space.

  I smiled at Oliver who at the moment seemed to have his blink button stuck in the on position. I watched his eyelids flutter non-stop until I was forced to look away.

  “Is he drunk or just stupid?” Josie whispered.

  “I’m gonna go with both,” I whispered back.

  My mother leaned over and whispered in my ear.

  “Now you see why I needed you here.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Mom.”

  Then she continued with the introductions.

  “And you’ve already met, Bentley,” my mother said, smiling.

  “It’s so nice to see you again,” Bentley said, slurring his words.

  “Hi, Bentley,” I said. “Did you enjoy the parade today?”

  “I did until I lost every single bet I made,” he said, frowning. “I knew I should have bet on the big bruiser carrying the keg of rum.”

  “I guess sometimes you just have to go with your first instinct,” Josie said.

  “Exactly,” Bentley said, raising his glass in salute. “Spoken like a true player. Do you like to gamble?”

  “Only on men,” she said, laughing and giving Summerman a quick hug.

  “Funny,” Summerman said, nuzzling close and placing a hand on Josie’s leg.

  “Stop that,” the old woman snapped. “I won’t allow that at the dinner table. Public displays of affection are disgusting.”

  “If that bothers her, it’s lucky for her she never sees what we do in private,” Roxanne said, nudging her husband with an elbow.”

  “Be quiet, Roxanne,” Brock said through clenched teeth.

  “Shut up, you,” the old woman said, glaring and pointing her finger at Roxanne. She turned to my mother. “The latest addition to Brock’s collection of strumpets. You’ll have to excuse my son. His taste in women seems to worsen every year.”

  “Are you going to let her talk to me like that?” an enraged Roxanne said to her husband.

  “Like I have a choice,” Brock said, staring forlornly at his empty glass.

  “You’re nothing but a horizontal gold digger,” the old woman said. “And you need to start wearing more appropriate clothing when you’re a guest in my house.”

  “I was wearing shorts and a tee shirt,” Roxanne snapped.

  “It was a disgusting sight,” the old woman said, wrapping her arms around her frail body. “All that naked skin makes my flesh crawl.”

  “How on earth did this woman have so many kids?” I whispered.

  Both my mother and Summerman heard it, and they stifled laughs. But Summerman did remove his hand from Josie’s thigh, and he folded his hands in front of him on the table.

  “Next to Bentley is his sister, Caspian,” my mother said, moving forward with the introductions.

  “Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” I said. “Caspian. That’s an interesting name. That’s from the Chronicles of Narnia, right?”

  “No, I’m quite sure I got it from my parents.”

  “I’m sorry. No, I meant it was the name of a character in one of C. S. Lewis’s books,” I said, chuckling nervously.

  Caspian had maintained the blank expression on her face since we’d sat down and apparently conversation did little to change it. She was pretty but doing an amazing job of hiding it. She was wearing a black pantsuit and an even blacker blouse. Her face was powdered pure white, and the only other makeup she was wearing was the black eyeliner she had slathered over her eyebrows. But it was her wrinkle-proof hairdo that fascinated me the most. Her hair was wrapped tight in a huge bun that sat on top of her head and secured with what looked like a chopstick. The bun was so tight it hurt my head to even look at it. The skin on her face was immobilized, and her ears seemed higher than w
ould one expect, and I wondered if that’s why her expression never seemed to change. The majority of the time she reminded me of a bizarre Goth Geisha girl, but whenever she blinked, a quirk she seemed to share with Lucinda’s husband, Oliver, she magically transformed herself into an owl.

  I gave her the best smile I could summon and sat back in my chair.

  “And you already know Roxanne, so I think we’re finished with the introductions,” my mother said, sitting back in her chair and reaching for her wine glass.

  “Wow,” I whispered. “That was just introductions. It’s gonna be a long night.”

  “Brutal,” my mother whispered over the top of her glass.

  Our waitress arrived to take our orders, a process that took twenty minutes to complete. Between several of the Winters changing their minds a couple of times, asking dozens of questions, and making special requests that I knew would drive Chef Claire nuts, I forced myself to focus on my breathing. Then a thought popped into my head I knew would distract me from the ordering ordeal that continued to play itself out at the table.

  “I saw Detective Abrams earlier today,” I said to my mother.

  “That’s nice. He’s a good man,” she said. “And he’s very good at his job, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, he’s great at it,” I said, refilling both our wine glasses. “And that’s the funny thing about our conversation. He said he was in the process of looking for a new job.”

  “Yes, he is, darling.”

  “But he’s been with the state police for years,” I said, frowning.

  “He’s retiring,” my mother said.

  “To do what?”

  She leaned close and put her hand on mine. I prepared myself for big news.

  “To become the Clay Bay chief of police,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “Shhh, darling. No one knows yet. And it won’t be announced for a couple of days yet. So please do your best to keep it quiet.”

  “Sure, sure. But what about Jackson?”

  “Jackson has finally decided to take over his parent’s grocery store,” she whispered.

  Our longtime friend Jackson had been struggling with the decision to either remain as police chief or become the new owner of his family’s store. His parents had recently divorced after decades of marriage and Jackson had been forced to make the decision he’d been putting off for a long time. All along, I had assumed that Jackson would remain a cop, and I was stunned by the news.