The Case of the Faithful Frenchie

by B R Snow

  “Were you and Buggy a couple?”

  She let loose with a manic cackle that definitely put me on edge, then she stopped, calmed down, and glanced over at me.

  “We were a couple of something,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” I said, grasping the steering wheel tighter as I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “I’m sorry,” Claudine said. “That’s the sort of thing that happens when my meds get out of whack.”

  “You’re not out, are you?” I said.

  I must have come across as a bit frightened because she started laughing again. I didn’t find it that funny, but I wasn’t about to argue with her.

  “No, you can relax, Suzy. I have some in my bag.”

  She reached into the filthy canvas bag she had looped over her head and held up several plastic bottles for me to see. She shook them, and I felt a bit better when I heard them rattle.

  “But I am getting low,” she said. “I’ll need to refill my meds soon. How I’m going to pay for them is another question altogether. Buggy always took care of that for me.”

  I remembered Rooster telling me that Buggy would occasionally come to him for money when he was desperate. And I wondered if Buggy’s primary reason was to have enough to pay for Claudine’s medications and keep her on an even keel. Or at least keep her head above the waterline. Regardless, I was willing to bet that Buggy considered her meds money a sound investment.

  “Don’t worry about that,” I said, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “I’m sure we can figure out a way to take care of it.”

  “Relax, Suzy,” she said, shaking her head. “I may be a total wingnut, but I’m rarely dangerous.”

  The fact that she considered herself only occasionally dangerous didn’t really help me relax, but the term she used to describe herself intrigued me.

  “Wingnut is an interesting term to use,” I said.

  “It was one of Buggy’s favorites,” she said. “He always used it to describe his family.”

  “How did the two of you meet?”

  “He saved me,” Claudine whispered. “Buggy was volunteering at a shelter, and one night I got dropped off in front of the building.”

  “By who?”

  “I have no idea,” she said, suddenly turning dark and sullen. “It was during one of those times when I’d go on a complete bender for weeks on end.”

  “And he saved you?”

  “Yes, a couple of the other residents thought it would be fun to initiate the new girl,” she said, suddenly gasping for breath.

  “We don’t have to talk about this,” I said.

  She sat for several moments taking deep breaths, then she shook her head violently.

  “Whew. That was a bad one. But it passed. I’ll be okay,” she said, turning her head toward me. “After that, Buggy and I were inseparable. Actually, I wouldn’t leave him alone. And after we became a couple, he also became my teacher.”

  “Teacher?”

  “Yeah, Buggy had spent most of his life volunteering and working with people like me. You know, trying to help us get back on our feet and get our life together. I sort of became his pet project. As if I were somehow fixable.”

  “Unfixable? I’m sure that’s an exaggeration, Claudine.”

  “It’s not,” she said, giving me a hard stare. Then she softened and continued with her story. “Buggy had his own demons he dealt with on a daily basis, but he was at least able to function. And he kept working with me until I’d managed to quit drinking. When I did, that’s when I finally got my meds sorted out and got healthy.”

  “Were you able to hold down a job, or maybe go back to school?”

  She let loose with another mad cackle, and I stared straight ahead and squeezed the steering wheel tight. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye as she again started to hyperventilate. She forced herself to calm down, then sighed and looked over at me.

  “I said I got healthy, not sane,” she said, chuckling softly.

  After ten minutes in the car with her, I decided to rename the deceased Wilbur Winters, Saint Buggy.

  “How did you get Otto?”

  “He was a birthday present from Buggy. He’d promised me that when I was finally able to prove I could take care of myself, I could have a dog. Buggy found Otto wandering the streets one day and brought him back to where we were living at that time.”

  “A homeless shelter?”

  “No, under a railroad bridge,” she said, apparently finding the memory a pleasant one. She smiled and caught my eye. “It’s fine about six months out of the year. You know, it’s relatively safe, and you can stay dry. But it’s definitely not a place I’d recommend during the Montreal winter.”

  I found myself thinking about my own winter experiences and how the freezing temperatures and howling winds always chilled me to the bone. I did my best to put myself in Claudine’s shoes, but I was a woman of privilege who lived in comfort and could easily fend off winter simply by returning home to sit in front of a roaring fire surrounded by dogs with a mug of hot chocolate or a brandy snifter in my hand. A wave of guilt washed over me as I looked at the filthy, mentally-imbalanced woman of twenty-four in the passenger seat.

  And then a lightbulb went off in my head.

  “Buggy’s primary demon was trying to deal with his guilt, wasn’t it?”

  Claudine stared at me, then slowly nodded.

  “Did you know Buggy?”

  “No, I never met him. In fact, until a couple of days ago, I didn’t even know he existed.”

  “Then how did you know that?”

  “Lucky guess,” I said, shrugging as I hoped my own personal demons about being blessed with so much while others had nothing wouldn’t again raise their ugly head.

  Normally, I was able to suppress my own guilt because of the amount of time and resources I happily provided to our dogs. But occasionally, I came face to face with the stark realities people like Claudine faced on a daily basis, and it always cut deep.

  “Buggy was ashamed of himself that he wasn’t able to convince his parents to put all that money to better use,” Claudine said. “But more than anything, he was ashamed of his family.”

  “Because they have so much, share so little, and always want more,” I said, reciting one of my mother’s favorite sayings about some of the rich people she knew and despised.

  “Yes,” Claudine whispered.

  “And that’s why his family eventually threw him out and disowned him.”

  “Yes. Buggy was about twelve when he first started pointing out all the inequalities and unfairness he was starting to understand. At first, his parents thought he was just going through a phase and that he would eventually get comfortable with the comfort. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “More than you know,” I said, staring out through the windshield.

  Claudine stared at me with a quizzical look on her face.

  “Are you rich?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Judging by your SUV, it looks like you do your best to hide it,” she said, laughing.

  “Yeah, I get that a lot. But don’t worry, I can spend with the best of them,” I said, smiling as I glanced over at her in the passenger seat. “So, how did you end up in Clay Bay?”

  “Buggy recently broke up with me,” she said, her breathing starting to become more rapid. “Two things happened at the same time, and we just fell apart.”

  “He heard that his father had died, right?”

  “Yes. And the same day, I had a major slip,” she said, tearing up.

  “You started drinking again?”

  “Yes, and I haven’t stopped since,” she said, the tears starting to flow. “When he got the news about his dad, Buggy just lost it. And when I staggered back drunk to our spot under the railroad bridge, he got angry and started ranting and raving about what a screwup I was and how I didn’t deserve to have a dog as special as Otto.”

  “That must have been horri
ble,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, her shoulders starting to quake. “And he scared me. He’d never reacted like that with me before. But I was so drunk, I just passed out. And when I eventually came to, he and Otto were gone.”

  Now her tears flowed freely, and her breathing pattern accelerated dramatically.

  “I took a guess that he would come home, so I decided to come here.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I’m not sure,” Claudine said, gasping for breath. “I vaguely remember hitchhiking, and a couple of truck rides, but not much else.”

  “Let’s take a break,” I said, reaching out to pat her hand. “We don’t need to do this.”

  She pulled her hand away and started pulling at her ratty hair.

  “He left me, and now he’s gone. How could he do that to me? He promised he’d never leave me.”

  And then she started pounding her fists on the console in front of her. As she hammered away at it, Claudine continued to scream.

  “He promised he’d never leave me! He promised he’d never leave me! He promised he’d never leave me!”

  Then she stopped pounding the console, stared at me with the widest pair of eyes I’d ever seen and whispered, “He promised he’d never leave me.”

  Her screams had scared me, but it was the whisper that sent chills down my spine.

  And then the front console of my SUV, unable to withstand Claudine’s attack, dropped into her lap. She stared down at it as if wondering how it had gotten there.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, immediately calming down.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, opening my door. “I needed to upgrade anyway. Come on, let’s get you a hot shower and then I’ll take you to Otto.”

  “That sounds good,” she said, pulling her filthy hoodie away from her skin. “I don’t have any other clothes with me.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, climbing out of the vehicle. “Clothes I have.”

  She followed me up the steps, and we went inside and found Josie and Chef Claire eating a late breakfast in the kitchen. I glanced at the clock and noticed that it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. But I felt like I’d already put in a full day.

  “Hey,” Josie said, glancing back and forth between Claudine and me.

  “This is Claudine,” I said. “And this is Josie and Chef Claire.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Chef Claire said, giving the stranger a tentative smile.

  “Let’s get you set up,” I said, gesturing for Claudine to follow me. “I’ll be right back. Save a couple pieces of the quiche, please.”

  I left Claudine in the bathroom with a fresh set of clothes and headed back to the kitchen.

  “Should I even ask?” Josie said.

  “She was Buggy’s girlfriend,” I said, helping myself to a fresh cup of coffee. “And Otto belongs to her.”

  “Really?” Josie said. “How long is the story?”

  “Very,” I said, taking a sip.

  “Just give us the short version. I’ve got surgery in half an hour.”

  I did, and Josie and Chef Claire listened without interrupting. When I finished, Josie rubbed her forehead, then nodded.

  “Okay,” she said. “Do you plan on having her stay here with us until the cops figure out what to do with her?”

  “That was my original thought,” I said. “But I’ve changed my mind. I think that would be a bad idea.”

  “Is she that unstable?” Chef Claire said.

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so,” I said, waving off Josie’s offer of a piece of toast.

  “Do you think she could have been the one who killed Buggy?” Josie said.

  “I didn’t,” I said. “But then she went off the rails a couple of times, and I hate to say it, but I think it’s possible.

  “But you don’t want to send her back to jail,” Josie said.

  “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I said. “She’s all over the map at the moment, but swears that as long as she stays sober and on her meds, she’s fine.”

  “Okay,” Josie said softly. “What do you suggest?”

  “I’m thinking about putting her up at Johnson’s motel for a few days. It’s close to town, and they accept dogs. It’s also close enough for Jackson to keep an eye on her.”

  “And you’re comfortable returning Otto to her given the condition she’s in?” Josie said.

  “Yes,” I said, nodding. “And the dog might be the only thing that keeps her from going off the deep end. Otto is, quite literally, all she has.”

  “This is so sad,” Chef Claire said, getting up and heading for the fridge. “I’m going to pack her some food to take with her.”

  “Pack it all,” Josie said, then caught the smile I was giving her. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hey, we need to do a good fridge clean anyway, right?” Josie said.

  “You mind if I borrow your car?” I said. “Mine has sort of fallen apart.”

  “Finally. I suppose I should thank Claudine for that,” Josie said, laughing as she tossed me the keys.

  “I’ll be back right after I drop her off at the motel,” I said.

  “Take your time,” Josie said. “Sammy and Jill have got things covered down at the Inn.”

  “Thanks,” I said, finishing my coffee. “As soon as she’s out of the shower, I’ll take her down to get Otto, and then we’ll head for the motel. And the pharmacy. I definitely don’t want to forget I need to make a stop there.”

  Chapter 11

  Claudine’s reunion with Otto was long and joyous, but tearful.

  And just for the record, yes, I bawled like a baby.

  The Frenchie stared at us as we approached his condo and it appeared that he didn’t recognize the freshly-showered Claudine at first glance. I’d had to take a couple of looks myself at the attractive young woman when she’d reentered the kitchen. But as soon as Otto heard her voice, he started bouncing on his back legs and letting loose with a string of happy yips and snorts. My experiences with French Bulldogs had taught me that, while they weren’t known as big barkers, they definitely liked to chat and seemed to have their own language. Regardless of what he was telling Claudine, he was one happy dog and continued to hop on his back legs until Claudine scooped him up in her arms.

  We headed for the car, and I headed straight for the pharmacy where I made sure Claudine got a month supply on all of her nine prescriptions. When she wandered off to find a few other items, I slid a credit card across the counter and paid for Claudine’s meds. The total was almost four hundred dollars, which seemed like a small fortune for a homeless person to come up with each month. Again, I pondered the devotion that Buggy must have had for the troubled young woman who was standing in aisle three, unable to make a decision about what brand of shampoo to get.

  On the short drive to the motel, it started to drizzle, and I turned my wipers on. Otto wasn’t a fan of the wipers and barked and lunged toward the windshield every time the wipers flicked past his eyes.

  “This is the first time I’ve ever had him in a car,” Claudine said, laughing at his antics. “Could you turn on the radio? Sometimes he likes to sing along with the music. It’s hysterical.”

  I found a classic rock station and Otto did indeed join in. He wiggled his back half as he did his best to carry a tune. It was funny, but our laughter faded when Otto punctuated the bass line with a note of his own. Seconds later, despite the drizzle, I lowered all the windows in the car.

  “Oh, Otto,” Claudine said, cringing.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, exhaling. “It’s something the breed is known for. Wow.”

  “I didn’t know that,” she said, hugging the dog. “I thought it was just something he’d picked up living with Buggy and me.”

  “If he did, you taught him well,” I said, turning into the motel driveway.

  I got Claudine and Otto settled in, waited patiently while she thanked me several times, then headed f
or Freddie’s office. I hadn’t spoken to him about what he’d found during his examination of Buggy’s body and was anxious to get an update. I parked, pulled my jacket up over my head, and jogged through the rain into his office. He was sitting at his desk examining two small plastic bags and a stack of lab reports.

  “Hey, Freddie. How’s my favorite medical examiner?”

  “Snoopmeister,” he said, glancing up at me with a big smile. “Let me guess, you thought you’d just swing by to say hello.”

  “Of course,” I said, sitting down across from him. “And maybe get the scoop on what killed Buggy Winters.”

  “You don’t think he just happened to get killed by the explosions,” Freddie said, turning coy.

  “Buggy was still in one piece when I saw him, so I’m gonna say no.”

  “Nothing gets past you, Suzy. Buggy Winters died from three deep puncture wounds to the stomach. Maybe a big knife or a chisel. It could have even been something like a gardening tool.”

  “That doesn’t make a lot of sense, Freddie,” I said. “A bank robbery, explosives, and a gardening tool?”

  “No, you’re right,” he said. “But Buggy had been stabbed at least a couple hours before the robbery, and then somebody put him on the floor of the bank vault.”

  “Why on earth would somebody do that?” I said, frowning.

  “I have no idea. Fortunately, that is not something I’m paid to figure out,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Where have you been hiding?”

  I gave him the short version of our dinner with the Winters and my recent encounter with Claudine. He listened carefully and seemed particularly interested in hearing everything I had to say about Buggy’s mentally imbalanced girlfriend.

  “So, she was in town the night Buggy was murdered?” Freddie said.

  “Jackson said nobody remembers seeing her around,” I said. “She thinks she was, but can’t be sure. Claudine says she’s very prone to blackouts when she’s on a bender.”

  “Did you happen to notice if she had any cuts?”