The Case of the Brokenhearted Bulldog

by B R Snow

  “I bet you are,” a woman from the audience called out.

  Laughter burst out, and John smiled and let the joke play itself out. As I said earlier, John has quite the well-established reputation.

  “There goes your chance at a tour, Sally,” John said, laughing. “And although he had to take off right after his performance, I’d like to thank Summerman for agreeing to play today.”

  Applause broke out, led by Josie’s enthusiastic claps and whistles.

  “And he played for free,” John said. “I’m not even going to tell you how much money that saved me.”

  Another short burst of laughter broke out. Then John turned serious.

  “Apart from being a day to say goodbye to summer and each other, today is about doing something for a very special program that Suzy and Josie run on behalf of dogs who need help. Their ongoing commitment to these rescue dogs and their unfailing commitment to a No Kill policy is commendable and needs our support. And it is my pleasure to present this check to them. Josie, please join us on stage so we can get some photos.”

  Thankfully, Josie didn’t embarrass me by hopping up onto the stage. She climbed the stairs, and we stood on either side of John and posed for photos.

  “And I have to thank all of you for supporting this year’s raffle. We sold over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in tickets, and local support was so strong that my company decided we would match, dollar for dollar, the total ticket sales. So it’s my pleasure to present the owners of the Thousand Islands Doggy Inn with this check for three hundred and eight thousand dollars.”

  Everyone in the audience gasped, including Josie and me. We both hugged him and stared at the check. I felt tears sliding down my face, and I watched Josie brush back her own.

  “John,” I said. “This is too much.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said, touching my arm.

  “You just fed and protected countless animals, John,” Josie said.

  “That’s why we’re here, right?” he said, gesturing for me to speak to the crowd.

  I moved behind the podium and struggled for something to say. I glanced down at my note cards, then pushed them aside. I leaned forward toward the microphone and had just managed to get my mouth open when a blood-curdling scream erupted. It sounded like it came from the area near the dock.

  I glanced at John and Josie who were both squinting through the darkness in the direction of the scream. I looked out at the crowd that had turned in their seats and craned their necks. The Chief, who’d been standing near the back with Sluggo, raced along the lawn with Sluggo valiantly chugging behind trying to keep up. He raced along the dock, clamored up the stairway that led onto the yacht and disappeared.

  Josie and John raced in the direction of the screams. I scooped Chloe up in my arms, then handed her to a friend sitting in the front row and followed Josie and John. When we arrived at the dock, we heard another sound. This one was a combination of a howl and a throaty high-pitched squawk.

  “What on earth is that?” John said, racing along the dock.

  “That’s Sluggo,” I said, running as fast as my legs would carry me.

  In case you’re wondering, it wasn’t very fast. I blamed my last trip through the buffet line.

  “It certainly is,” Josie said, racing past both of us like we were standing still. “And he’s in trouble.”

  Josie climbed the stairway with John following close behind. I eventually reached the stairway and gasped and wheezed as I completed the short climb. I found Josie below deck in what I assumed was the master stateroom of the yacht. Spread across the bed was Roger the Engineer, his head bent at an odd angle, and a vacant stare plastered on his face. On the floor nearby, the Chief was lying in a pool of blood that was oozing from a wound on the back of his head. Sluggo continued his distress cry as he nudged the Chief with his head and paws. Josie bent down and picked Sluggo up. He kicked at her and snapped his jaws, then realized who was holding him and calmed down a bit. But he continued staring down at the Chief and whimpering softly.

  The partygoers began arriving but stayed back from the scene. Others craned their necks around tight corners or through the windows that ran alongside the upper deck of the yacht. I caught a glimpse of Alice and Chef Claire in the crowd, but my eyes kept returning to my gravely injured friend.

  The whole scene was a surreal kaleidoscope displaying an alternate reality, and it broke my heart. I knelt down to see if there was anything I could do to help Jackson, who seemed to be unconscious. John was already on the phone requesting an ambulance.

  Chloe seemed to appear out of nowhere at my feet, and I reached down to pick her up. I held her tight and heard the sound of an ambulance getting louder by the second.

  Chapter 5

  When the ambulance arrived, the decision was quickly made to transport Jackson to the Upstate Medical Center for emergency surgery. The medical staff wheeled our unconscious friend who was strapped tight to a stretcher down the dock and then into the back of the ambulance. It roared off to begin the one hour journey with its siren blaring.

  My legs trembled as I made my way down the stairway back onto the dock. Josie was already there holding Sluggo who continued his heartbreaking cries and whimpers. I set Chloe down, and she looked up at Sluggo, then back at me. She barked once, but like the rest of us seemed to feel helpless.

  “Should we stick around and see if the police want to talk to us?” I said.

  Josie thought about my question, then Sluggo whimpered again.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Josie said. “They know where to find us.”

  I nodded and noticed the amount of blood that was smeared all over her and Sluggo. Dazed, we headed for my SUV, waving half-heartedly to other partygoers who were as shocked as we were. I drove slowly, and when we arrived at the Inn, we headed straight for the bathing room and began the task of washing Sluggo. Josie was going through the motions like a zombie.

  “I’ve got this,” I said to Josie. “Why don’t you take Chloe up to the house and then take a shower? You’re covered in blood.”

  “Yeah,” Josie said, staring off into the distance.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I said.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s Jackson I’m worried about.”

  I nodded. I shared the same sentiment.

  “Who was the dead guy?” Josie whispered.

  “That was Roger. The engineer.”

  “Who would want to kill him?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But who would want to hurt Jackson? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Josie said, finally managing to look at me.

  Josie gave me a small wave and exited the bathing room and whistled for Chloe to follow her. Chloe remained sitting and cocked her head at me.

  “Go with Josie, girl,” I said, rubbing her head.

  I watched Chloe trot off to join Josie and turned my attention to Sluggo. Despite our best efforts to comfort him, he continued to emit the strange wail that I was sure was going to haunt my dreams. I rinsed the last of the red-tinged shampoo off him, then sat down on the tile floor and held him tight. He continued to tremble and softly howl and wail. More than anything I wanted to make him feel better, to erase whatever images from the boat were rolling through his head, and make him whole again.

  I unfolded a large towel and wiped him dry. At this point in his bathing ritual, Sluggo would always try to grab the towel and play a game of tuggy with the person giving him his bath. But not tonight. Sluggo stood still with a vacant expression, and his chest heaved as he continuing whimpering.

  I continued to sit on the tile floor hugging him. Eventually, he stretched out and tucked his head under my arm. We remained in that position until Josie arrived a half hour later carrying two large mugs of coffee. She was dressed in sweats and had a towel draped over her shoulders. I gently moved Sluggo aside and climbed to my feet. I took a sip of coffee as I stared down at the distre
ssed bulldog.

  “How’s he doing?” Josie asked, kneeling down to pet him.

  “Not good,” I said. “Worse than us I think. And that’s pretty bad.”

  Josie walked to the other side of the room and unlocked a cabinet. Moments later she returned holding a small pill. She leaned down, gently forced Sluggo’s mouth open and worked the pill down his throat. She rubbed his head and climbed to her feet.

  “I gave him an Acepromazine,” she said. “That should calm him down. Hopefully, he’ll sleep. But let’s get him up to the house. He can stay with me in my room.”

  “We need to call Jackson’s mom and dad,” I said.

  “They called while I was up at the house,” Josie said. “They’re already heading to the hospital. They said they’d call back as soon as Jackson comes out of surgery.”

  “Brain surgery?”

  “Yeah,” Josie said.

  I managed a nod as I headed for the door. Sluggo apparently didn’t want to be alone, and he came to me without being called. We made our way out of the Inn and climbed the stairs that led to the house. Chef Claire greeted us in the kitchen, and Josie led Sluggo to her room.

  “How’s Sluggo doing?” Chef Claire said.

  “About the same as the rest of us I’m afraid,” I said.

  Chef Claire shook her head.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “For such a small town, there sure seems to be a lot of nasty business around.”

  “I think we’re just going through a rough patch,” I said.

  But Chef Claire had a point. In the few months she’d been here, her former boss and his ex-wife were murdered. And his girlfriend had come within an inch of losing her life. And tonight, one more person had been killed while another, one of our best friends, was barely hanging on. I choked back an overload of emotions and sat down. Josie entered the kitchen and sat down across from me.

  “Sluggo’s on my bed, and Chloe offered to babysit,” Josie said. “The two of them are snuggled in for the night I think.”

  “Is there going to be any room for you?” I said, managing a chuckle.

  “Oh, I’m not even going to bother fighting for bed space with those two. I’m just going to sleep on the couch,” she said, laughing.

  “Since it looks like we’re going to be up for a while, how about I make a snack?” Chef Claire said.

  I considered the offer, thought about how much food I’d consumed during the day, and shook my head. I glanced at Josie and realized she was giving it serious consideration.

  “What were you thinking about making?” Josie said.

  “I thought I’d whip up a quick batch of the bacon wrapped chilidogs,” Chef Claire said.

  I was sure that nothing could bring me out of the funk I was in at the moment, but if anything had the smallest glimmer of hope, it was a couple of Chef Claire’s chilidogs.

  “I guess I could eat,” I said, hating myself for even thinking it, much less saying it out loud.

  Chef Claire began rummaging through the fridge, and I poured wine for all of us. I checked my phone for messages for the third time in fifteen minutes, rubbed my forehead, and then heard the car roaring up the driveway. I glanced out the window at the black Mercedes.

  “Here comes the floorshow,” I said, watching my mother make her way toward the house.

  I opened the kitchen door, and my mother gave me a quick peck on the cheek as she stepped inside.

  “Hello, darling,” she said. “Any news?”

  “Hi, Mom,” I said. “No, we think he’s still in surgery.”

  “Good evening, ladies,” she said smiling at Josie and Chef Claire. Then she realized what was happening. “Darling, I watched both of you work your way through the buffet line at least three times. How could you even think about eating?”

  “Bacon wrapped chilidogs,” Josie said.

  “Oooh,” my mother said. “Well, maybe I’ll just have a little bite of yours.”

  “I don’t like your chances, Mrs. C.,” Josie said, laughing.

  “What happened to the Porsche, Mom?” I said.

  My standing joke is that my mother changes cars more often than most people change their socks. But considering the way she was going through them the past few months, maybe it wasn’t the joke I made it out to be.

  “It wasn’t the most comfortable of rides,” she said, pouring herself a glass of wine. “The suspension was very rigid, and I could feel every bump in the road.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought that you’d feel any bumps since you always seem to be airborne every time I see you on the road.”

  “Funny, darling,” she said as she watched Chef Claire work her magic in the kitchen.

  My mother loves to drive fast; way too fast. I’m not joking about that. In fact, it’s one of the things we argue about on a regular basis. But since she used to be the mayor of Clay Bay and is still on the town council, most of the local authorities tend to let her off with a warning. And when it comes to her driving habits, I think a short stay in jail might do her a world of good, but I doubt that will ever come to pass. She has a ton of money, is on a first name basis with every judge and lawyer within a hundred mile radius, and I know for a fact she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing orange.

  My phone buzzed, and I recognized the number.

  “Hi, Mr. Frank,” I said.

  I realized everyone else in the kitchen had stopped what they were doing to listen, so I set the phone on the table and put it on speaker.

  “Hi, Suzy,” the Chief’s father said. He sounded worn out.

  “I’ve got you on speaker, Mr. Frank. I’m here with my mom, Josie, and Chef Claire. What’s the news?”

  “Not much yet,” he said. “But they’re already talking about maybe having to do a second surgery.”

  “What?” I whispered.

  “There’s still some severe swelling and a bit of blood leaking. The doctors aren’t quite sure where it’s coming from.”

  “Has he been able to talk yet?” I said.

  “No, he was unconscious, and now he’s heavily sedated. We should know more in the morning.”

  “Do you need anything?” my mother said.

  “No, I think we’re good. Thanks. Look, I need to run. I’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything.”

  He ended the call, and the four of us stared at each other.

  “Jackson’s a tough guy,” Josie said. “He’ll hang in there.

  Desperate to believe her, I nodded and glanced up at the ceiling and said a silent prayer.

  Chapter 6

  It wasn’t until around ten the next morning when Josie and I discovered we couldn’t find the check for $308,000. And since we’d learned fifteen minutes earlier that Jackson was still in critical condition and scheduled for another surgery that afternoon, the loss of the check paled by comparison to the grave condition of our friend.

  But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get our attention.

  Josie called John at his office, and we were relieved when he told her that he had the check. We checked in on activities at the Inn, made sure Sluggo and Chloe were settled in at the house with Chef Claire, and then drove into town.

  There was a flurry of police activity happening on and around the yacht and yellow crime tape sealed the investigation area off from the general public and snoops like Josie and me. We were escorted into John’s office and sat down and waited for him to finish a phone call.

  “What a mess,” he said, hanging up.

  “It’s quite a scene out there,” I said.

  “And it looks like it’s going to stay that way for a couple of days,” he said, reaching into his desk drawer. He slid a sealed envelope across the desk. “I believe this is yours.”

  Josie opened the envelope, and again the number on the check took my breath away. Josie slid the envelope into her bag, brushed her hair back from her face, and draped one leg over the other. John didn’t miss a single movement.

  Even in times
of grief, I guess players keep doing what they do.

  But the man had just raised over three hundred thousand dollars for our dog rescue program, so I decided to forgive him for a few seconds of unrequited lust. I’m not even sure Josie noticed.

  “Won’t a couple of days put a crimp in your plans to get the yacht to Florida?” I said.

  “Not really,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t remain a crime scene too long. But I do need to get a crew in there.”

  “To clean up, right?” I said.

  “That’s part of it,” John said. “But that’ll be a piece of cake.”

  At the mention of the word cake, Josie’s ears perked up, and I knew a stop at Patterson’s bakery on our way home had just been added to our itinerary.

  “I need to get a crew in there to do some remodeling,” he said.

  “What?” I said, baffled. “John, the boat is brand new, and it’s gorgeous.”

  “Yes, it is,” he said with a shrug. “But one thing you constantly face dealing with clients, especially rich ones like the guy in Florida, is their unpredictability. He took a look at the final photos we sent him and decided he wanted to make some changes.”

  “To what?” I said.

  I could understand maybe swapping out the mattress given the fact that Roger the Engineer had met his demise on it last night, but making any other changes seemed almost sacrilegious.

  “He wants to change the décor inside. At first, he couldn’t wait to see the combination of marble and Black Ironwood.”

  “Black Ironwood?” Josie said, raising an eyebrow.

  “It’s very rare and very expensive,” John said. “He just had to have it. Now he can’t wait to get rid of it. So we need to swap it and all the marble out for some crappy synthetic material he’s been reading about.”

  “How long is that going to take?” I said.

  “With the right crew, maybe a week. Two tops. With the wrong crew, probably a month. And I don’t have a month. The guy wants his new boat.”

  “You’d think he might have some patience since he’s the one who’s creating the delay,” I said.