by B R Snow
“Thanks, Mrs. C.,” Josie said, hugging her. “How do the plans look?”
“They are simply amazing,” my mother said. “Suzy, Josie, I’d like you to meet Ray Waterbury, architect extraordinaire.”
“Nice to meet you, ladies,” Ray said, his eyes lingering on Josie. “I think you’re really going to like what we’re doing here.”
“We can’t wait,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to see what was taking Chef Claire so long to find her coat. “Would you two like to join us for lunch, Mom?”
“Oh, I’d love to, darling, but Ray and I already have plans,” she said, laughing. “And if we were all at the same table, I wouldn’t be able to tell all my juicy stories about you behind your back, would I?”
“I wouldn’t believe too much of what comes out of my mother’s mouth, Ray. She’s a drinker.”
“Funny, darling.”
I hugged her again, and we headed for the door where Chef Claire was waiting for us. She was wearing a parka, wool cap, gloves, and a thick scarf wrapped and tied tight around her neck.
“Think you’ll be warm enough?” Josie deadpanned, nodding at her ensemble.
“Hey, it’s freezing out there,” Chef Claire said.
“It’s not even officially winter yet,” Josie said.
“Tell that to my feet.”
“C’mon, let’s go,” I said. “If you guys are going to argue, at least do it from the comfort of a warm restaurant.”
We climbed in the SUV and made the short drive to the Water’s Edge. The owner, Millie, and her German Shepherd, Barkley, greeted us at the door.
“Hi, folks,” Millie said. “Where’s Chloe, Suzy?”
Chloe was my Australian shepherd that Josie and I had rescued from the River one early morning about six months earlier. I understood why Millie asked the question; Chloe and I were inseparable.
“When I left the house, she was stretched out in front of the fire,” I said.
“Smart dog,” Chef Claire said, removing her gloves and heading for a table in the back near the fireplace.
“She’s helping Sammy keep an eye on a litter of puppies,” I said, reaching down to greet Barkley.
“Yeah, I heard about that puppy mill,” Millie said. “Who could do something like that?”
“Someone with a death wish,” Josie said, picking up a menu, scanning it briefly, then setting it down.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about getting another dog to keep Barkley company,” Millie said.
“If you’re looking for another German Shepherd, we’re going to have a litter pretty soon,” Josie said.
“Really?” Millie said, wiping down the table. “I may just have to take one of those off your hands.”
“Take two,” Josie said, laughing. “They’re small.”
“Yeah, but they don’t stay that way very long, do they?”
“No, they certainly don’t. Okay, I’m ready to order,” Josie said.
“Let me guess,” Millie said, laughing. “French onion soup, cheeseburger, the combo of fries and onion rings, and a slice of coconut cream pie for dessert.”
“I told you she was clairvoyant,” Josie said, glancing at me.
I laughed, glanced at Chef Claire who nodded, and I held up three fingers at Millie.
“You got it,” Millie said. “What would you like to drink?”
We all ordered coffee and water and settled in.
“What’s this guy Ray like?” I said.
“He seems nice, and I think your mom kind of likes him,” Chef Claire said.
“Kind of likes him? So he’s definitely not a keeper, huh?” I said.
“No. Ray’s definitely catch and release,” Chef Claire said.
We all laughed. My mother’s dating philosophy often reminded me of fast food. At first, you felt satisfied, but soon you felt a lump in the pit of your stomach and left you wishing you’d made a smarter choice.
Another food analogy?
Man, I was heading south in a hurry.
What’s keeping my French onion soup?
“How do you suggest we get started?” Josie said.
“I usually work my way through the cheese and the croutons first,” I said, staring into the roaring fire.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Josie said, staring at me.
“Oh, you meant getting started finding out who was operating the puppy mill,” I said, refocusing on my lunch companions. “Sorry about that.”
Millie approached carrying a tray with three large bowls. She served us and headed back to the kitchen.
“So, Sherlock,” Josie said, digging into her steaming bowl of soup. “What’s the plan?”
“I have no idea,” I said, starting my battle with another long string of melted mozzarella.
“This is really good,” Chef Claire said.
I slurped a spoonful of soup and didn’t spill a drop. Then something sitting on the table next to us caught my eye. I got up, grabbed the newspaper, and sat down.
“You’re interrupting your lunch to read the newspaper?” Josie said, again staring at me.
“Hang on,” I said, flipping to the classifieds. “Wouldn’t this be a good place to start? People are always advertising dogs for sale in the paper.”
“Actually, that’s a really good idea,” Josie said. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks. It’s what I do.”
I made it through my soup, then the rest of my lunch with one hand on my food, the other on the pen I used to circle various classified ads. By the time I was done, I was stuffed, and we had seven leads to start working on. They weren’t necessarily good leads, but they were better than doing nothing.
I paid for lunch, and the three of us headed back to the Inn. Chef Claire headed to the house while Josie and I checked in with our staff. The male lab with the bad hip seemed to be responding to Josie’s treatments and was able to hop to his feet when he saw us enter the condos. The three adult females were starting to put weight on, and two of them seemed to be producing enough milk to feed their pups. But Josie instructed Sammy and Jill to maintain our hand feeding schedule for a few more days. We spent a couple of hours saying hello to all forty-seven dogs, then called it quits for the day and headed for the house.
After dinner, we started making calls to our seven leads ostensibly to enquire about purchasing a dog. Four of the leads turned out to be families whose dog had delivered a litter of pups. Two other leads were for legitimate local breeders we were familiar with. When I called the seventh number, I got a recorded message that the number was no longer in service.
I immediately called Jackson and gave him the number requesting him to track down the person who’d had it. He called back an hour later.
“Hey, Jackson,” I said, putting the phone on speaker.
“What are you folks doing?” he said.
“Watching a movie, drinking wine, playing with the dogs, snacking,” I said, grabbing a handful of parmesan-garlic popcorn. “You want to come over?”
“I’d love to, but I’m buried in this murder case at the moment.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “I’m sure Chef Claire would love to see you.”
“Shut up, Suzy,” Chef Claire said, grabbing the bowl of popcorn and setting it down out of my reach.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” I said, laughing.
Chef Claire grabbed a handful of popcorn and chewed it while staring at me.
Well played. Score a point for Chef Claire.
“I found the owner of that phone number,” Jackson said.
“That’s great,” I said, reaching for my pen. “Who is it?”
“The recently deceased Jerome Jefferson.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. So I guess that’s the end of that trail,” Jackson said.
“Yeah, it certainly looks that way,” I said.
“Wait a minute,” Josie said, her own bowl of popcorn tucked carefully in her lap. “How did Jerome the Dead mana
ge to call the phone company to cancel his service after he caught one in the brainpan?”
“Caught one in the brainpan?” I said, staring at her. “Who are you?”
“I saw it on an old episode of Columbo and have been dying to work it into a conversation,” Josie said. “Good one, huh?”
“No,” I said. “And stop it.”
Josie made a face at me and then turned to Jackson.
“My point is, if the number was in his name, how did it get disconnected so soon? More importantly, who told them to disconnect it?”
“I hate to say this,” Jackson said. “But that’s a very good question, Josie.”
“Sometimes my brainpan has its moments,” she said, tossing back another handful of popcorn.
“Is there any way you could find out who was paying the phone bill?” I said.
“As soon as I get off this call,” Jackson said. “I should have already done that. I must be slipping.”
“Unrequited lust will do that to you,” I said, grinning at Chef Claire.
“Don’t listen to her, Chef Claire,” Jackson said. “Everybody knows she’s unstable.”
“So now you’re saying you aren’t interested in Chef Claire, Jackson?” Josie said.
Chef Claire snatched Josie’s bowl of popcorn out of her lap and moved to the far end of the couch.
“Hey, you bring that back,” Josie said.
Chef Claire made a point of eating from both bowls as she glared at us.
She was definitely on her game tonight.
“I’ll call you back as soon as I hear anything,” Jackson said. “Or I could just swing by on my way home.”
Chef Claire slowly shook her head back and forth and pointed at her watch. I was so tempted to invite Jackson over, but I knew that, if I did, my last hope for getting another shot at the popcorn would disappear.
“No, it’s getting late,” I said, folding like a bad flan. “And we’ll be going to bed soon.”
“Okay,” Jackson said. “I’ll just leave you a message. Goodnight.”
I tossed my phone on the coffee table and rubbed the sleeping Chloe’s head.
“Well done,” Chef Claire said, returning the two bowls of popcorn to their rightful owners.”
“So, what’s the deal with Freddie and Jackson?” Josie said.
“What do you mean?” Chef Claire said.
“Are you eventually going to agree to date either one of them?” Josie said, reaching for her wine glass.
“Who says I haven’t already agreed?” Chef Claire said, grinning at us.
“Really?” Josie said, glancing at me. “Which one?”
“Why both of them, of course,” Chef Claire said.
“What?” Josie said.
“And you never said a word to us?” I said, going for mock indignation, but sounding a bit too shrill to my own ears.
“I swore myself to secrecy,” Chef Claire said. “And you can’t say a word. They don’t know.”
“You little devil,” Josie said, laughing.
“So, you’ve got your own version of catch and release going on,” I said.
“No, that’s the problem,” Chef Claire said, turning serious. “Actually, I’m afraid I might be dealing with two potential keepers. I like them both. A lot.”
“Wow. Now that’s a surprise,” I said. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Yeah,” Chef Claire said, staring at TV. “Pass the popcorn.”
Chapter 7
I was eating breakfast with Josie and Chef Claire when I finally remembered to check my phone messages. I thought about listening to it right away but remembered that my detective skills always worked better on a full stomach.
In the interest of full disclosure for those of you wondering: whole wheat walnut pancakes, apple butter syrup, bacon, and apple slices sauteed in nutmeg and cinnamon. Final score on the pancakes: Josie 4; Suzy 3. But I did manage to hold my own on the bacon front.
I cleared the breakfast dishes and stacked the dishwasher then sat back down at the table and listened to Jackson’s message. I jotted down the information and slid my phone into my pocket.
“It’s a corporate account,” I said. “A company based in Albany.”
“Jerome probably worked there,” Josie said.
“Or he used to work there before he ended up in jail,” I said, refilling our coffee mugs.
“Or maybe he was hired after he made parole,” Josie said. “Maybe he was in some program that tries to rehabilitate criminals.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “Jackson said last night that the Albany cops lost track of Jerome soon after he got released. And if he’d been around here all that time, could he still have been employed by them?”
“What’s the name of the company?” Josie said.
I checked my hen-scratched note.
“I think it says Fullerbome Security,” I said, squinting at the piece of paper. “No, check that. It’s Fullerton Security.”
Josie shook her head at me.
“What can I say? I have a hard time listening and writing at the same time,” I said, shrugging.
“Should we just give them a call?” Josie said.
“No, it would be too easy for them to lie to us over the phone,” I said. “I want to see the reaction we get when we start asking questions.”
“Why do you assume that they are going to lie to us?” Josie said.
“I’m not assuming anything,” I said. “I’m just trying to minimize the chance they could get away with it if they try.”
“You want to drive to Albany?” Josie said.
“Sure. Why not? We can be there in about three hours. Everything is fine down at the Inn, you don’t have any surgeries scheduled, and it’s a beautiful day for a road trip.”
“They’re predicting a snowstorm for later on,” she said.
“What do they know?”
Josie shook her head at me again and checked her schedule on her phone.
“This morning I’ve got three annual checkups. After that, I’m clear. But I have to tell you, this looks like another one of your wild goose chases, Suzy.”
“Maybe.”
We were on the road by noon, armed with a fully loaded picnic basket courtesy of Chef Claire. Ten minutes into the trip, we hit 81 South and Josie poured two cups of tomato basil soup from a thermos. A half hour later, she removed two roast beef sandwiches that included a horseradish-dill mayo that almost caused me to drive off the road when I tasted it. By the time we hit 90 East that would take us to Albany, we were well into the chocolate fudge brownies and making a real mess of the inside of my SUV.
I glanced over at Josie whose face was smeared with chocolate.
“Take human bites,” I said, laughing.
“Don’t blame me,” she said. “It’s your driving.”
I handed her a napkin, then another.
We exited the Thruway and located Fullerton Security on the west side of the city. We pulled into a small parking lot in front of a modest two-story brick building and walked inside. A receptionist greeted us and remained friendly even after she learned that we didn’t have an appointment but still wanted to meet with the owner. Two minutes later, a tall, middle-aged man stepped into the reception area and greeted us. We waited out his inevitable lingering gaze at Josie, then shook hands.
“It’s nice to meet you, ladies,” Tom Fullerton said, pleasantly. “Let’s go to my office. Would you like coffee? Maybe a snack?”
“I could eat,” Josie said.
He gestured for us to continue to his office while he stopped to chat with the receptionist. As we walked, I caught Josie’s eye, and she shrugged.
“Interrogation always makes me hungry,” she said.
Fullerton entered, closed the door, and gestured at two chairs in front of his desk. We sat down and looked around. The only thing I learned from all the photos on his wall was that the man seemed to love the woman in the photos and golf. The two of them were grinning wildly on
at least two dozen different courses around the world. He noticed my interest and glanced around the display.
“That’s me and my ex-wife, Georgia, at Pebble Beach,” he said, smiling and pointing at one of the photos.
“It’s a beautiful area,” I said.
“I shot 75 that day,” he said.
All I knew about golf was that the smaller the number, the better. So I decided to go for it and rolled the dice.
“That’s a great score,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said, his smile widening.
“Good guess,” Josie whispered.
I punched her in the leg but kept smiling up at the photo.
“Sorry to hear about your marriage,” I said.
“Yeah, thanks,” he whispered. “Things happen, right? She still has a small piece of the company so it can be a bit awkward when we’re forced to see each other. But we’re getting better at being cordial.”
“I understand,” I said. “That must be hard.”
“I’m still holding out hope for reconciliation at some point,” he whispered.
It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than us, so Josie and I merely nodded our support.
“So what brings you two all the way from Clay Bay completely unannounced on a cold day like this?”
I briefly explained who Josie and I were and what we did for a living, then launched into a short overview of the puppy mill we’d discovered. He leaned back in his chair and frowned.
“They were doing that to dogs?” he said, scowling.
“Yes,” I said.
“And now you’re trying to find out who they are?”
“Yes,” Josie said.
“I can certainly understand that. It’s a despicable thing to do to defenseless animals,” he said. “But why on earth are you here?”
“We’re trying to find out some information about somebody we think used to work for you,” I said.
“Used to work here?” he said, his eyes narrowing.
“Yes. A gentleman, and I’m using that term very loosely, by the name of Jerome Jefferson,” I said.
He shook his head and exhaled loudly.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Jerome. Don’t tell me Jerome is mixed up in this thing.”
“No, actually, Jerome isn’t mixed up in anything at the moment,” Josie said. “He’s dead.”
