The Case of the Caged Cockers

by B R Snow

  “We’ve got a bunch of that chicken chili left from the other night,” Chef Claire said.

  “Perfect,” I said.

  “I could eat.”

  Chapter 9

  After we had each devoured a plate of home fries, two English muffins and a Western omelet the size of a Frisbee, Josie and I started working on Jackson. By the time we were finished, he was huddled in the corner on his side of the booth and picking at his breakfast. When he finally quit offering lame excuses for his behavior and promised to apologize profusely to Chef Claire, we relented and focused on our hot chocolate.

  Jackson glanced up when he heard the Café door open. He scowled when he saw the two men.

  “Great,” he said. “I wonder who the genius was that decided to let those two out.”

  “Who is it?” Josie said, turning around for a look.

  I turned around, recognized the men, then shook my head.

  “What?” Josie said, glancing back and forth at our reactions.

  “It’s the Baxter Brothers,” Jackson said. “Billy and Bobby.”

  “Now those are two ugly human beings,” Josie said, sneaking another peek. “Which one’s which?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “There’s not a bit of difference.”

  “I think Billy might be piled a bit higher,” Jackson said, laughing.

  “I’ve never seen them before,” Josie said. “Are they locals?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “When they aren’t in jail.” I looked at Jackson. “I thought they got five years.”

  “They did,” Jackson said.

  “It couldn’t have been five years already,” I said.

  “Do you think the Baxter Brothers got out early for good behavior, Suzy?” Jackson said.

  “You’ve got a point there,” I said, frowning. “Wow. That was five years ago?”

  “They got five years for doing what?” Josie said.

  “They broke into an eighty-year-old woman’s house, robbed her, and then beat her up,” Jackson said.

  “And they only got five years?” Josie said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “That’s unbelievable,” Josie said.

  “Welcome to my world,” Jackson said. “Those two are a couple of beauties. They come from a long line of River smugglers. Their grandfather was a legendary bootlegger around the area during Prohibition.”

  “And after Prohibition ended, he moved into smuggling people back and forth across the border,” I said. “Apparently he used to laugh that if he’d known how much money he could make smuggling in Chinese workers, he never would have even bothered with bootlegging.”

  “Lovely,” Josie said. “And we thought that the people operating that puppy mill were the despicable ones.”

  I stared at Josie, then looked across the table at Jackson. He’d picked up on Josie’s offhand comment as well.

  “Wow, now there’s a thought,” Jackson said.

  The Baxter Brothers approached our table and stood staring down at us. They both nodded at Jackson and me and then fixed their creepy leer on Josie. Josie maintained eye contact, and eventually both brothers looked away.

  “Hey, Chief,” the brother named Billy said.

  “Hi, Billy. Bobby. When did you two get out?” Jackson said.

  “About six months ago,” Bobby said.

  “Really? How about that? And you’re still out walking the street,” Jackson said.

  “You always were pretty funny for a small town cop, Chief.”

  “So what have you two been up to?” Jackson said.

  “Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” Bobby said. “Mostly traveling. You know, catching up with friends.”

  “Well, that should have got you through Monday morning,” I said. “What did you do the rest of the six months?”

  Josie snorted.

  “Ah, little Suzy Chandler,” Billy said. “Such a pretty woman who spends all her time on dogs.”

  “Yeah, and we’re pretty busy at the moment. We just added a whole bunch of dogs to the family.”

  He eyes narrowed for a second, then he recovered.

  “Well, you always did consider yourself a bit of a saint,” Bobby said.

  “I have my moments.”

  “Are you two staying in town?” Jackson said. “I haven’t seen you around.”

  “No, we got a place out of town,” Billy said. “But we’ll be around for the holidays, so you’ll probably be seeing us.”

  “I can’t wait,” Jackson said.

  The Baxter Brother named Bobby resumed leering at Josie.

  “And what are you asking Santa for this year, cutie pie?”

  “I’m still trying to decide,” Josie said. “But if this conversation continues much longer, probably a rabies shot.”

  “Oh, would you look at that, Bobby. We got a feisty one here.” A grin of unadulterated evil appeared on his face as he looked back at Josie. “I like feisty.”

  “Like it?” Josie said. “You can’t even spell it.”

  He glared at Josie and then turned to his brother.

  “Let’s go, Billy. Never let it be said that the Baxter Brothers hang around places where they aren’t wanted.”

  “So why are you still in town?” I said.

  Josie snorted again.

  “Watch yourself, girlie,” Billy said, glaring down at me. “I don’t appreciate it when a woman tries to make a fool out of me.”

  “I can understand that,” I said. “You’ve always struck me as a do-it-yourself kind of guy.”

  “Oh, good one,” Josie whispered.

  “I don’t like rude women either,” Billy said.

  “Go away,” Jackson said.

  The Baxter Brothers stared back at him, then nodded.

  “Sure, Chief. Whatever you say,” Billy said. “Hope to see you folks around, but if we don’t cross paths, have a Merry Christmas.”

  “Catch you later,” Jackson said.

  “In your dreams,” Billy said, laughing as they headed for a booth in the back of the diner.

  Jackson paid our bill, and we left.

  On the way back to the Inn, Josie and I discussed the Baxter Brothers in less than glowing terms. Although we did decide that we were definitely going to have to come up with a plan to see them again shortly.

  We were still going back and forth about the need for a preemptive rabies shot.

  Chapter 10

  We had initially believed that spotting and following the Baxter Brothers in and around a small town like Clay Bay would be a slam dunk. On a side note, I was doing my best to avoid using the term piece of cake around Josie since every time I did, Josie reacted like a Pavlovian dog trained to respond to a bell and added a stop at Paterson’s bakery to our itinerary. But locating the infamous pair for the purpose of tracking their movements had proven harder than either of us had believed possible.

  For the past three evenings, we had driven past every bar, club, and restaurant we could think of within a thirty-mile radius hoping to spot their truck but had come up empty. We didn’t even know if following the Baxter Brothers around would help us identify the operators of the puppy mill and who had killed Jerome Jefferson, but it was all we had.

  “I think I need help,” I said as I stretched out on the couch and realized my jeans were fighting back. “Nobody should eat that much food. I can barely fit into these pants.”

  “You just washed them, right?” Josie said, easing herself into one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace.

  “Yeah, but what does that have to do with my eating everything within reach?” I said.

  “The jeans probably just shrunk in the dryer. They’ll stretch out,” she said.

  “Not as much as my stomach is stretching. But maybe you’re right,” I said, feeling a bit better about what I knew was starting to become a problem.

  I’d gained another three pounds since Thanksgiving and while my table manners had marginally improved, the changes I’d m
ade at the table to appear more ladylike, as my mother insists on calling it, hadn’t made a dent in my overall consumption.

  “We’ll deal with it after the holidays,” Josie said. “No sane person starts a diet this time of year.”

  I wasn’t even going to try arguing with rock-solid logic like that.

  “We must be doing something wrong,” I said, moving off the dreaded weight gain topic.

  “Yeah, those two cretins can’t be that hard to find,” Josie said. “And they’re definitely not the stay at home type. What are we missing?”

  “Maybe all their criminal buddies are throwing Christmas parties, and that’s keeping them out of the bars,” I said.

  “Geez, can you imagine that?” Josie said, laughing. “A keg, tequila shooters, and a little game of B&E Yankee Swap.”

  “Don’t make me laugh,” I said, holding my stomach. “I’m too full.”

  “So if the Baxter Brothers aren’t out celebrating the holidays, what are they doing?”

  “Probably working,” I said.

  Wow. Where did that come from? Thank you, Ms. Subconscious.

  I sat up on the couch, waking Chloe in the process. She gave me the evil eye and removed herself from my lap and found going solo on the remaining two-thirds of the couch more to her liking.

  “And if they’re working, they’re out committing crimes,” I said. “But Jackson said yesterday that things are very quiet at the moment.”

  “Maybe the Baxter boys are robbing the houses of people who are away for the holidays,” Josie said. “Maybe nobody has noticed yet.”

  “Could be,” I said. “But I have a feeling that those two have moved onto something bigger and more lucrative than simple burglary.”

  “Well, they do come from a family of smugglers,” Josie said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Then I had an idea and picked up my phone. I dialed Jackson and put the phone on speaker.

  “This is Jackson.”

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Hi, Suzy,” Jackson said. “What’s up?”

  “We were just sitting here talking,” I said.

  “I really wish you two would stop doing that,” Jackson said, sounding out of sorts.

  “Funny,” I said. “What prison did the Baxter Brothers just come out of?”

  “They were in Adirondack Correctional, a medium-security joint near Lake Placid,” Jackson said.

  “How about Jerome?” I said.

  “You know, since he was dead, I didn’t even bother to check,” Jackson said. “Hang on. I’m sure I’ve got it here somewhere.”

  We heard the sound of papers being shuffled around interspersed with Jackson’s mild cursing. Then he came back on the line.

  “Bingo. Jerome was at Adirondack the same time as the Baxter Brothers.”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Yes, it certainly is,” Jackson said. “I should have connected the dots on that one.”

  “Well,” I said, grinning at Josie. “You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”

  “Don’t start,” Jackson said.

  “How did your apology tour go?”

  “You know exactly how it went,” Jackson said. “Now is there anything else you need from me or can I get back to feeling sorry for myself?”

  “Just one more thing,” I said. “Have there been any crimes reported lately?”

  “You mean since you asked me yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. Can I go now?”

  “Sure. Have a good evening, Jackson.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Well, ho-ho-ho to you, too.”

  I ended the call and got up to toss another log on the fire. It flared and woke Chloe. Deciding a nap in front of the fireplace sounded like a good idea, she hopped off the couch and stretched out in front of the fire.

  “So now we know that the Baxter Brothers knew Jerome,” I said.

  “And Jerome came here after he got fired by Fullerton Security,” Josie said. “It couldn’t have just been a coincidence.”

  “Not a chance,” I said, starting to feel a bit better as my digestive system started working overtime on my dinner.

  “So what do we do with that bit of information?” Josie said.

  “Well, it basically confirms that the three of them were working together. And since Jerome was the one who rescued the Cocker puppies, we know he had a problem with whatever scam they were working,” I said.

  “Or maybe Jerome only had a problem with part of the plan,” Josie said.

  “The part that dealt with the puppy mill?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “But if the puppy mill wasn’t their primary focus, why would they even bother with it?”

  “I don’t know,” Josie said. “A lucrative sideline, maybe. They wouldn’t get rich selling black market dogs, but they could make some decent money. Especially if they moved a lot of dogs.”

  “But to move that many, they would have to use pet stores, right?” I said.

  “Yeah, primarily. They couldn’t make enough money selling to individual families,” Josie said.

  “Since most puppy mills sell across state lines, the delivery logistics alone would have been a nightmare,” I said.

  “Yeah, I don’t see the individual family approach happening. They would have to be working with a network of pet stores. But Jackson said that the state police checked out all the pet businesses in the region and didn’t come up with anything remotely suspicious,” Josie said.

  “Hmmm,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I was just thinking that maybe we’ve been looking on the wrong side of the River,” I said.

  “But the Baxter Brothers are convicted felons. The second they showed up at Canadian Immigration, they’d be red flagged. Especially if they were driving a van full of puppies, right?”

  “Sure. If they were driving a car. You’ve lived here long enough to know that a boat is a different story altogether,” I said.

  “A boat? This time of year?”

  “Can you think of a better time?” I said.

  “Absolutely,” Josie said, laughing. “Any other time of year.”

  “For them,” I said, laughing along. “Not us. It’s perfect. Nobody would be crazy enough to be out on the River right now.”

  “Except maybe the Baxter Brothers?”

  “Yes. And that’s probably what they’re thinking. It’s absolutely freezing out there on the River, but there’s no real ice yet. At least not enough that would do any real damage to a boat, especially one that’s been built to deal with something like that.”

  “Didn’t they say at the diner that they would be around through the holidays and then taking some time off?” Josie said.

  “They did,” I said, nodding. “And that would be right around the time the shoreline freezes solid.”

  “It sounds like an awful lot of trouble to go through. I mean we’re talking about puppies.”

  “I think you were right earlier when you mentioned that the puppies might just be a sideline. To a smuggler, a couple litters of puppies would just be more one thing to deliver. To them, they’re not pets, they’re contraband.”

  “And when Jerome found out about the puppy mill, he tried to do something to stop it,” Josie said. “You think the Baxter’s are the ones who shot him?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “But for now, let’s call it a working theory.”

  “Well, if your working theory turns out to be correct, the Baxter boys wouldn’t think twice about shooting us,” Josie said.

  “They are delightful creatures, aren’t they?” I said, grinning at her.

  “I’m so glad you’re taking this seriously,” Josie said, shaking her head.

  “Relax,” I said. “We’ll never find ourselves in a position to get shot.”

  “You mean a position like bound and gagged with a pistol pointed at the back of our head?”

  “You worry too muc
h,” I said.

  “Yeah, I’m the problem here,” Josie said, getting up to stoke the fire. “But we’re still stuck with the question of how to find them.”

  “We’ve been coming at it all wrong,” I said. “If we consider the possibility that the Baxter Brothers are using a boat, there’s only one place they could be operating out of at this time of year.”

  “You lost me,” Josie said.

  “You feel like taking a drive?” I said, getting up off the couch.

  “Not really,” Josie said.

  “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  “Gee, Suzy. Why don’t I believe you?”

  Chapter 11

  Rooster Jennings was a local legend and one of my favorite people. For those who eventually came to understand and appreciate the man and why he did the things he did, Rooster was an acquired taste. And for everyone else who crossed paths with him, Rooster Jennings was a man who left a very bad taste in your mouth and was someone to be avoided at all costs.

  He’d grown up in the area, and apart from the year and a half he’d spent in Vietnam before being honorably discharged from the Army who, rumor had it, was more than happy to get rid of him, Rooster had, literally, never spent a night outside of Clay Bay. Except once for a Grateful Dead show in Ottawa in the early 80’s he still waxed on about philosophically.

  He’d returned from Vietnam with a fondness for weed, a deep mistrust of all corporate and government entities, and a commitment to black-market economies. Rooster had inherited a small stretch of shoreline on the outskirts of town from his grandparents and ran an operation that ostensibly consisted of a small engine repair business, boat storage, and a single gas pump on his dock he activated during the summer where he charged exorbitant prices to unsuspecting tourists.

  Rooster hunted out of season, fished whenever and wherever the heck he wanted to and thumbed his nose at all forms of regulatory bodies and those who worked for them on both sides of the River. Over time, those officials, and pretty much everybody else, adopted a hands-off policy when it came to Rooster. And that was just the way he liked it.

  But Rooster loved dogs and we had hit if off since we’d met when I was still a young girl.

  We found him tinkering with an old outboard motor under a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling in his makeshift workspace near his docks. Despite the time of year, there were still several boats in the water, and I heard the gurgling of the aeration machines used to keep ice from forming on the sides of the boats at night. He glanced up when he heard our approach and grinned at me.