“Sorry about that. I really did try to stop them before coming back here.”
“No worries,” I yawned, as sat upright and looked at the two wriggling dogs on the bed. I should also mention that sand and dirt were everywhere. “Nice, guys. This is gonna take some explaining to the housekeepers.”
“Zachary, you need to come see what we found!”
I focused a bleary eye on my girlfriend and gave her a smile, “Exactly how long have you been awake? I mean, what time is it now?”
“It’s just after 7am,” Jillian told me.
“Feels a lot earlier,” I decided.
“Hurry, get dressed! You need to see this.”
Showered, shaved, and (mostly) presentable, I followed Jillian as she headed outside and – presumably – back to the water.
“Where’s Harry and Julie?”
“They’re not up yet.”
“Have you always been this much of a morning person?” I asked.
Jillian looked at me and gave me a million dollar smile, “Of course. You aren’t?”
“Umm, I’m probably more of a night owl. But, the dogs don’t typically let me sleep in anymore.”
“That’s why I let myself out and took Sherlock and Watson with me,” Jillian told me. “Anyway, I took the dogs for a walk. Sherlock wanted to go back to the water, so we headed towards McAbee Beach again. And, sure enough, the otters were back, just as playful as ever.”
“That explains the wet dogs,” I mused. “Wait. Watson was wet, too. Did she go in?”
“Almost immediately after Sherlock did, yes. I even think she’s a better swimmer than Sherlock.”
“I wouldn’t have called that,” I decided.
“Me, either. Did you know that otters are a part of the Mustelid family?”
“How much coffee have you had?”
“One or two cups. I forget. So, about the otters. They’re in the Mustelid family!”
“And Mustelids are what, exactly?” I wanted to know.
“Weasels actually,” Jillian answered. “Otters and weasels are related. I didn’t know that. Did you know that? Anyway, I also found out a group of otters, floating together on the water, is called a ‘raft’. But, if you put those same otters on dry land, they’ll then become a ‘romp’.”
“A romp and raft,” I slowly repeated.
“And otter nests are called ‘holts’.”
“Did you watch a PBS special on otters?” I asked, amazed. “How have you become an otter expert all of a sudden?”
“I did wake up rather early,” Jillian finally admitted. “I wanted to let you sleep in, so I started watching videos on my iPad. I was curious about otters, so I did some research. And that, unfortunately, must have awakened the dogs.”
“It’s okay,” I assured her.
Twenty minutes later, I was as presentable as I felt like becoming, and was ready to see what Jillian had discovered.
“Do you think the police have found any prints from Jack Carlton’s office?” Jillian asked, as we left the hotel parking lot and headed toward the beach where we had seen those otters a few times.
“Well, Mary seemed to think they might be able to find a print or two. After all, according to her, typical ransacked crime scenes will have something to offer. There was just too many items in there that had been knocked over, or touched. Plus, I overheard her telling someone, probably Officer Lewis, that she was planning on pulling in some additional officers to help process the scene.”
“I just wish the most recent dive log would have still been there,” Jillian said. “I mean, the older ones were there, but clearly, someone didn’t want his most recent diving trips known. I’m with the director. I want to know where the last place Jack Carlton went diving and who he went diving with. But, I think Mary was right. I think that record was what the thief was after.”
“Now that I think about it,” I thoughtfully mused, “wouldn’t the trashed office suggest they couldn’t find the most recent dive log?”
“Or else they were looking for something else, in addition to that dive log,” Jillian suggested.
“The aquarium does have video surveillance,” I recalled. “Jon said he and the security team were going to search the footage to see if there’s any chance the perp who pulled it off was caught on tape. Hopefully, they’ll be able to spot whether or not the perp was holding anything.”
“I don’t think they’ll find anything,” Jillian said. “Do you remember what Jon asked? He wanted to know how someone could have made it behind the scenes and been able to open the door leading into those three offices.”
“He thinks it was an inside job,” I recalled.
Jillian nodded, “Precisely. Look at the facts. He clearly knew where the office was located. He must have access to keys, because there was no sign of forced entry. And, he knew which office was Jack Carlton’s.”
“They said Jack had tons of admirers there at the aquarium,” I recalled. “There’s gotta be someone who either didn’t like him very much, or else was jealous of his popularity. It always happens.”
I knew we were nearing the water, because first of all, I could hear the chirps and squeals the otters were making. But, the dead giveaway was how anxious my two dogs were in trying to rejoin their friends. Both of them morphed into their Clydesdale personas and forcefully pulled me to the water’s edge.
Sure enough, the group of otters, er, make that the raft of otters, was still there, including the small youngster that had taken a liking to the dogs. The young otter, called a ‘pup’ for all you otter aficionados, swam close, chirped and cooed, and then dove beneath the surface. Moments later, the pup was back, and he was still peering straight at the dogs.
“They want to play with them again,” Jillian told me. “Should we?”
“They did okay the last time?” I warily asked.
Jillian nodded, “They did. There was no signs of aggression on either part.”
“They’re already wet. Go ahead. I’ve got my swim trunks on again, just in case.”
“I remember,” Jillian teased. “It was my idea. Look at Watson go! I hope the otters play with them again. It’s what I wanted you to see. They are adorable together!”
I shook my head as I stared at the swimming corgis. And Watson? She was swimming like a pro! In fact…
“She’s swimming faster than Sherlock,” I said, amazed, “and I don’t think he likes that one bit!”
Watching the dogs play, Jillian and I sat back on the same rock we had sat upon before. While the dogs continued to play with the young otter, our attention drifted to the rest of the group, er, raft. I sighed. A raft of otters. It just doesn’t roll off the tongue, does it?
“What’s the matter?” Jillian asked, concerned. “Are you okay? Is your shoulder bothering you again?”
I automatically flexed my right shoulder and shook my head, “It’s all right. I was actually thinking about the term ‘raft.’ It just doesn’t sound right.”
Jillian shrugged, “Well, I didn’t come up with the term. Oh, Zachary, look! Do you see the otter closest to us? The one that just resurfaced? Do you see him? He’s holding a clam in his front paws.”
The otter in question was currently floating on its back and was rotating the clam this way and that, as though it was looking for a weak spot. Right about then, a rock was produced, and the otter began to bang the rock against the shell. After a few moments, the shell broke, and the otter enjoyed its meal.
“I wonder where the rock came from,” I pondered. “He was holding that clam before. If I didn’t know any better, then I’d say he pulled that rock out of thin air.”
“I’m so glad you asked,” Jillian exclaimed. “Under the otter’s front legs is a loose pouch of skin. They can store excess food and typically, a small rock, with which to help them break open clams and crabs.”
“A small pouch, huh?”
“Usually under their left front paw.”
“You’re something, do yo
u know that?”
“I was bored this morning. Plus, the documentary was interesting. I’m just surprised I didn’t wake you up. It was rather loud.”
“I’ve been known to sleep through WWIII,” I advised, with a chuckle.
A glint of light caught my eye. Looking out at the otters, I could see that the young otter, finished playing with the dogs, had now acquired his own meal, that of a small crab, and was busy trying to break open the crustacean’s shell with his own rock. The dogs had returned to shore, and were both stretched out in the sand, watching the otters.
“I’m glad we brought their shampoo along,” I mused. “We’re gonna be needing it before I allow them back on the bed.”
Another glint of light caught my eye. I looked back at the young otter, but this time, my attention was drawn to the otter’s weapon of choice, namely his rock. Only, bits of his rock were reflecting light! How was that possible? Unless… unless it was some type of metal?
“Do you see that?” I asked, as I pointed at Sherlock’s pal, the otter pup. “I think the rock that otter is using has some type of metal on it.”
“I’ve seen it, too,” Jillian confirmed, as she rose to her feet. She shaded her eyes and studied the floating otter. “From this distance, it does look like a rock, only… Zachary? Does that look like a coin of some sort to you?”
“It looks too big to be a coin,” I decided. “I guess it could be a medallion? Maybe a pendant? I’m not sure.”
“I wish I knew what it was,” Jillian wistfully said.
At that moment, both dogs bolted back into the water, startling the otters. The entire group of them – yeah, that’s right, I’m calling ‘em group, and not raft – disappeared underwater. The young otter was one of them, only we both noticed the otter had dropped his ‘rock’ before swimming away.
“Now’s our chance!” Jillian excitedly told me.
“Now’s our chance for what?” I cautiously asked.
My girlfriend pointed out at the water.
“You’re wearing swim trunks. We wanted to see what the otter was holding, and we both saw him drop it. What do you think? Can you find it?”
“Out there??” I exclaimed, as I pointed a finger at the waves gently lapping at the shore. “Can we say, needle in a haystack?”
“You should look for it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. I’ve seen you get wet before. Your clothes always seem to dry in record time. I’ve never been able to figure that out.”
Not knowing how to respond to that, I shrugged helplessly.
“Would you try looking?” Jillian pleaded. “For me?”
“We have no idea how deep that is,” I protested.
Jillian batted her eyes at me. I sighed. Women should not be allowed to pull out their Bambi eyes on the opposite sex. How are we ever supposed to say no?
“Thank you, Zachary,” Jillian said, as I grudgingly stripped off my shirt.
I waded into the water and stifled a curse. Holy freakin’ hell, was that water cold. The sun may have been out, and it might have been a balmy 70°F or so, but in the water? It felt as though I’d see a passing iceberg at any moment.
“A little more to your right,” Jillian called from shore. “A little more. Okay, that’s perfect. Now, head out to sea.”
“The things I do for love,” I sputtered, as I felt the ground drop away from under my feet. That, of course, meant I was now treading water. I meant what I said earlier. I’d sink like a stone if I stopped moving, which means the simple act of keeping my head above water was a chore for me.
“It’s not far, Zachary. Good, you’re almost there. There! That’s perfect! The otter was right where you are!”
Here we go, I silently mused. I took a deep breath and dipped below the surface.
I’m going to pause here a moment and remind you, the reader, about something. You heard me mention that the temperature of the water felt like it was freezing? Well, that was nothing to what I was experiencing now. I had always heard that your head will put off a lot of heat. Take that heat source and dip it in ice water, and you’ll find that you’re having a most unpleasant day.
The cold water hit me like a brutal slap in the face. Trying to find the otter’s rock dropped to a very low ranking on the Totem Pole of Priorities. What was number 1? Getting my ass out of the water just as soon as possible. Based on the headache that had just erupted with the force of a freight train, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay in the water for too long much longer, let alone stay underwater. So, if I had any hope of finding this coin, it had better be within the next five minutes.
Actually, it took me eight.
Holding the rock in my hand victoriously above my head as I surfaced, I let out a loud whoop and hurriedly swam for shore.
“You found it!” Jillian exclaimed.
“Y-y-you s-s-sound s-surprised,” I said, through chattering teeth.
Jillian laid a hand on my arm and her eyes opened wide.
“I had no idea the water was so cold. You’re freezing!”
“Y-y-you d-d-don’t s-s-say.”
“Come on. Let’s go back to the hotel and get you warmed up.”
There definitely wouldn’t be any arguments from me. As I have gone on record as saying before, I’m frequently wrong. In this case, I was in a full-on raging argument less than fifteen minutes later. What was it about? Well, Jillian had decreed that I needed a hot beverage, to help warm me up from the inside. She had determined – correctly, I might add – that my core temp had dropped significantly while I was in the water. So, she took it upon herself to make something for me to drink.
However…
In a hotel room, what does a person typically find when they want to make a hot beverage? Coffee. And there are tea bags, for those that prefer it. As for me? I’m not a hot beverage type of guy, but Jillian wouldn’t hear it. She ignored my complaints and presented me with a steaming cup of coffee and a steeping mug of tea.
“Pick one. I don’t care which it is, but you’re drinking one.”
“I… I’ll b-be f-fine. J-just g-give me a f-few minutes t-to w-warm up.”
“It’s been nearly half an hour, and you’re still chattering. Which is it going to be?”
I made the mistake of looking at my two choices and adopting a defiant stance. Less than thirty seconds later, I had the mug of tea in my hand, appreciating the warmth it was returning to my fingers, while trying to choke down the bile crap that tasted like flowers.
“Stop making that face. Admit it. You’re feeling better.”
“I don’t know how I’m gonna get this taste out of my mouth.”
“Uh huh.”
“What?” I asked, growing defensive.
“You’re teeth aren’t chattering, and you’re no longer shivering. I’d say the tea is working.”
“Can I stop drinking it?”
“Is it gone?”
“No.”
“There’s your answer.”
I sighed, willed my taste buds to not revolt, and downed as much of the tea as I could. Chamomile. Blech.
“If I knew you’d drink hot soda, then I would have given that a try,” Jillian said a few minutes later, as she took the empty mug from me. “I’m sorry I did that to you.”
“You’re looking out for me. Believe it or not, I appreciate it. However…”
“…you still hate tea,” Jillian guessed, as she gave me a relieved smile.
“With the fiery passion of a hundred suns.”
An hour later, I felt well enough to take another shower, but not until I gave both dogs a bath. Only then, did I feel like I was myself again. Important safety note. If you plan on going into the waters off the California Coast, or Oregon’s, for that matter, then you had better plan on wearing a wetsuit. Hypothermia is no laughing matter.
Hanging my damp clothes out to dry on the handy-dandy clothes line thingamajig most hotel showers have, I returned to the room to see Jillian sitting at the des
k. She held the rock in her hands and was peering closely at it, no doubt attempting to determine the source of the metal we noticed earlier.
Noticing the corgis were leaving damp splotches on the bedspread, I grabbed several extra towels I had found in a cabinet and decided to try and dry them off as much as I could. One wet corgi + one determined daddy with a towel = one sassy dog who avoided me like the plague. Throw a second dog into the mix, and I had my hands full. I really don’t know what I was concerned about. Sherlock and Watson were streaking around the room at Mach 1. All I had to do was to keep it up, and the dogs would air-dry themselves. That is, until, somehow, the tables were turned and suddenly, the towel morphed into the Mortal Enemy of all Corgis and both dogs were attacking it. Sherlock managed to yank the towel out of my hands and, triumphantly, jumped up onto the bed and proceeded to start chewing on it.
“Give that back,” I ordered. “If you don’t knock it off, then this hotel is gonna charge us for those things. You want to chew on something? Here. I have something for you.”
I pulled out the honest-to-goodness diaper bag I had created for the dogs, and retrieved a bag full of their favorite chew toys. Mollified, both dogs settled down onto the bed and tore into their rawhide bones. Being close to the desk, I pulled up a chair next to the bed and positioned myself next to Jillian.
“Found anything out yet?”
Jillian nodded, “Some. Do you see this here? And over here? I can just make out some lettering. That looks like an X, and this over here looks like ANI. What do you think that means?”
“It’s gotta be some type of medallion,” I deduced. “Look at the size of it. I don’t think it could be a coin.”
“American Silver dollars are about this size,” Jillian argued.
“You think this is the same size as an Eisenhower dollar coin?” I asked.
Jillian handed me the rock so that I could judge for myself.
“No, I’d say this is bigger. I mean, look at the overall shape of this thing. I’d say it’s clear that there’s something buried within this… this… whatever this crusty stuff is. But I don’t think it’s a coin. It’s a medallion.”
Case of the Ostentatious Otters Page 8
