The Case of the Eccentric Elkhound

by B R Snow

  “What’s the problem?” I said, laughing. “No Bresaola?”

  “Uh, you guys need to come with me,” Josie said, her voice trembling.

  “What on earth is the matter?” I said, walking toward her.

  “You need to see it for yourself,” Josie said, tears rolling down her face.

  We walked outside and saw Morrie’s refrigerated truck parked near the loading dock. Josie had left the back door open. Josie hung back while Morrie, Chef Claire and I approached the truck and peered inside.

  “Oh, no,” I whispered.

  I squeezed my eyes shut hoping to erase what I’d just seen from my memory.

  “Wow. Is that who I think it is?” Chef Claire said.

  “It certainly is,” Morrie whispered.

  I opened my eyes and took another look at the body. Fatal Franny was hanging from a meat hook and gently swaying back and forth. Her eyes, unlike mine, were wide open and she had a single bullet hole in the middle of her forehead.

  “She and Howard disappeared yesterday afternoon when they were on the River,” I said.

  “Really?” Chef Claire said, glancing back inside the truck. “I don’t see Howard in there.”

  “I wonder who shot her?” Chef Claire said.

  “That’s a good question,” Morrie said, stunned and staring at the body. “But I’ve got a better one.”

  “How did she end up hanging in your truck?” I said.

  “That’s the one,” Morrie said, exhaling loudly as he rubbed his forehead. “This is bad.”

  “Especially after you and Franny had that argument in the restaurant,” Chef Claire said.

  “Yup,” Morrie said.

  “Do you have an alibi for yesterday afternoon?” I said.

  “Not a good one,” Morrie said.

  “So, what do we do now?” Chef Claire said.

  “Well, you guys need to call the cops,” Morrie said. “I’m going to call my lawyer.”

  Ten minutes later, Jackson and Freddie, our local medical examiner, arrived in separate cars. Morrie was on the phone with his lawyer when Jackson approached, and Morrie gestured for Jackson to wait for him to finish the call. Jackson stood nearby as Morrie continued his conversation, then he looked over at us sitting on the edge of the loading dock.

  “Any word from Howard?” Jackson said.

  “No,” I said. “You heard anything?”

  Jackson shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood to wait any longer and motioned for Morrie to hurry up. Morrie finished his call, slid his phone back into his pocket, and looked at Jackson.

  “What do you need to know, Jackson?” Morrie said.

  “Gee, Morrie, where do I start?” Jackson said, glancing over his shoulder at the truck. “Let’s go with how is it possible you didn’t know she was in there?”

  “Like I told the ladies earlier, I got a late start this morning and didn’t have time to check the back of the truck.”

  “Is that unusual?” Jackson said.

  “Not really,” Morrie said. “My guys are really good about getting all the trucks organized for the next day’s deliveries.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said. “But I’ve been wondering something, Morrie, why would a guy who owns a successful restaurant supply business still be driving a truck and making deliveries?”

  Morrie frowned and looked down at the ground.

  I had to give Jackson credit. It was a very good question and something I’d also wondered about.

  “I really don’t want to answer that, Jackson,” Morrie said, finally managing to make eye contact.

  “Can I ask you why?” Jackson said.

  “Because it’s not relevant to this situation,” Morrie said.

  “Morrie, there’s a woman with a bullet hole in her head hanging from a meat hook in your truck,” Jackson said. “Until we learn a bit more, I’m afraid that everything should be considered relevant.”

  “I’m sorry, Jackson,” Morrie said. “For now, I’m not going to answer that question.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said, studying Morrie’s face. “We’ll get back to that one later. Where were you yesterday afternoon between two and six?”

  “Let’s say I was in that truck,” Morrie said. “I left Clay Bay around two-thirty and drove back to Rochester.”

  “Isn’t it a bit strange for you to make deliveries here two days in a row?” Jackson said.

  “Jackson’s on his game today,” I whispered to Josie.

  “Yeah, he must have figured out a way to get his mind off Chef Claire and back on his work,” Josie whispered, then winced. “Ow, that hurt.”

  “Good,” Chef Claire said, glaring at Josie. “Don’t start.”

  “Okay, okay,” Josie said, rubbing her upper arm. “There’s no need for violence.”

  “It’s a little late to start worrying about that, isn’t it?” I said, nodding at the truck.

  “What can I tell you, Jackson?” Morrie said. “It’s been a bad week at work. A couple of my guys were up here for Jimmy’s funeral, so my warehouse was short-staffed. One of my new guys got several orders screwed up, and I had to make a second run to make sure folks like Chef Claire had everything they needed.”

  “And even after your orders were wrong earlier in the week, you didn’t feel the need to check the truck before you headed out this morning?” Jackson said.

  “I told you. I was running late,” Morrie said. “And my guys who attended the funeral are back at work. And I trust them to get things right the first time.”

  “Did you make any stops on the way home yesterday?” Jackson said.

  “No, I drove straight through,” Morrie said, shaking his head.

  “Didn’t stop to grab a bite to eat?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you stopped to go to the bathroom,” Jackson said.

  “Nope.”

  “You didn’t stop to get gas?” Jackson said.

  “No, I had half a tank,” Morrie said. “I didn’t gas up until this morning when I got into town.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said, glancing at Freddie who was still inside the truck. “I’m sorry, Morrie, but I’m going to need to take you in.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do, Jackson,” Morrie said.

  “And you’re going to have to start answering a whole bunch of questions,” Jackson said, gently pulling Morrie by the elbow toward the police car.

  “I know, Jackson,” Morrie said. “And I’ll be more than happy to do that as soon as my lawyer gets here.”

  Morrie reached the car and started to climb into the back seat. Then he stopped and looked at us with a sad expression.

  “I’m sorry, ladies,” Morrie said. “I have no idea how Franny ended up in there. And I hope you believe me that I would never do anything that might harm you or your restaurant.”

  “Take care, Morrie,” I said, giving him a small wave. “Let us know if you need anything.”

  We watched Jackson drive away and hopped down off the loading dock just as Freddie was climbing out of the back of Morrie’s truck.

  “Good morning, guys,” Freddie said, removing his latex gloves. “Hi, Chef Claire. You’re looking beautiful today.”

  “Thanks, Freddie,” Chef Claire said. “I haven’t seen you around in a couple of days.”

  “After our last conversation, I thought it would be a good idea to give you a bit of space,” Freddie said.

  “Interesting” Josie said, grinning. “Care to share any details?”

  “No,” Freddie said.

  “Absolutely not,” Chef Claire said.

  “Spoilsports,” Josie said in mock anger.

  “And I had to go out of town,” Freddie said. “I did some shopping for your birthday.”

  “Freddie, please don’t go overboard,” Chef Claire said.

  “Don’t worry,” Freddie said. “All I’m going to say is that I decided to go big. You’re either going to be blown away by it, or hate me forever.”

  “Will it go well with
the diamond bracelet you got her for Christmas?” Josie said, grinning.

  Freddie thought about it, then nodded.

  “Yeah, I think the two will go very well together,” he said.

  “What have you done, Freddie?” Chef Claire said.

  “You’ll see,” Freddie said, beaming at her.

  Chef Claire looked at me with pleading eyes. I got the message and switched topics.

  “What’s the story with Fatal Franny?” I said.

  “One shot in the middle of the forehead,” Freddie said. “And unless I’m wrong, which I rarely am, she was shot with her own gun.”

  He held up a sealed plastic bag that contained a large pistol.

  “Somebody shot her with her own gun?” I said. “How the heck did they get it away from her?”

  “Probably by pointing another even bigger gun at her,” Freddie said.

  “You think there’s a message in that?” I said.

  “You mean, apart from ‘Bang, you’re dead’?” Freddie said, chuckling.

  “That’s the sort of thing I’ve been talking about, Freddie,” Chef Claire said, giving him a hard stare. “That’s morbid.”

  “I’m sorry,” Freddie said, chastised. Then he looked at me. “What sort of message are you talking about?”

  “I’m just wondering if somebody was out for revenge,” I said. “And the thought of using the same gun on Franny that she used to shoot somebody else might have been too tempting to resist.”

  “You mean like some weird ironic twist of fate?” Freddie said, frowning.

  “Maybe,” I said, then realized the theory had sounded much better when it was still rolling around in my head. “Nah, forget it.”

  “How long before you can get the body out of there?” Chef Claire said.

  “It won’t be long. As soon as I can get her bagged and tagged,” Freddie said, then he paused when he saw Chef Claire wince. “Sorry. Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I’ve got a couple hundred pounds of meat and cheese I need to get out of that truck,” Chef Claire said. “And I’m sure not going to do it while she’s still there.”

  “You mean while she’s still hanging around?” Josie deadpanned.

  “You’re worse than him,” Chef Claire snapped.

  “You’re still going to use the stuff from today’s delivery?” I said, nodding at the truck.

  “Sure,” Chef Claire said. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s been sitting in there with a dead body,” I said.

  “It’s all boxed and wrapped tight,” Chef Claire said. “She didn’t bleed all over the prime rib did she?”

  “Now who’s being morbid?” Freddie said. “No, she stopped bleeding long before she was put in the truck.”

  “There you go,” Chef Claire said, glancing at me.

  “Uh, no offense, Chef Claire,” I said. “But I think I just might have dinner at home tonight.”

  “Good call,” Josie said.

  Chapter 16

  We headed back to the Inn, and I went directly to the condo area to check on Oslo. We’d started a daily exercise program with him that consisted of rolling a ball across the floor and studying him as he retrieved it and dropped it at my feet. His balance was good, and he seemed alert, although he did tire easily. I stopped after ten minutes, waited for him to settle in my lap, and called my mother.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hello, darling. Any word from Howard yet?”

  “No, but there has been a development,” I said.

  I gave her the overview about what had happened to Fatal Franny and answered her questions the best I could.

  “That’s dreadful,” my mother said. “Did Jackson arrest Morrie?”

  “I don’t think he’s actually arrested him yet, at least he hadn’t earlier. But he did take him in for questioning.”

  “Poor man. But I knew that if he hung around town long enough, he was going to get in trouble,” she said.

  “What are you talking about, Mom?”

  “Nothing, darling. I’m just babbling. Look, I need to run. You can tell me the rest of it at dinner tonight.”

  “Uh, Mom,” I said. “I think I’m going to pass on dinner tonight.”

  “What’s wrong? Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “I guess you could say that this is more about prevention.”

  “As usual, darling, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” my mother said, laughing. “Oh, well, your loss.”

  “Oh, Mom.”

  “Yes, darling?”

  “You might want to go with the sea bass.”

  I helped Oslo get comfortable on his bed then headed for the reception area. We were busy, but Sammy and Jill seemed to have everything handled, so I headed for one of the exam rooms where I found Josie removing the last of several porcupine quills from a black Lab’s tongue. The dog’s owner was cringing and whining louder than his dog.

  “Hey, Chester,” I said, gently stroking the dog’s head. “How the heck did you manage to get them inside your mouth?”

  “He’s been chasing the porcupine for a couple of weeks,” the owner said. “This morning he managed to sneak up from behind, and he nipped at it.”

  “I doubt he’ll be doing that again,” Josie said, carefully working a small pair of pliers onto the quill. “Will you, Chester?”

  The dog thumped its tail and appeared to be embarrassed more than anything else. Josie ran her finger along the dog’s tongue, took one final look, then stepped back and removed her latex gloves.

  “There you go,” Josie said. “Good as new. But his mouth is probably going to be a bit tender so you might want to lay off giving him kibble for a day or two. Try some chicken and maybe some cooked carrots. Or some scrambled eggs.”

  “He’ll like that. Won’t you Chester?” the owner said.

  I doubted if Chester’s mind was on food at the moment, but I let it pass without comment.

  “Anything else I need to do, Josie?” the owner said.

  “No, he’ll be fine,” Josie said, patting the dog. “Just try to stick to the squirrels, Chester.”

  Josie lifted the dog off the exam table and set him down on the floor. We waved goodbye as they left and we headed for my office. Josie stretched out on the couch and groaned when Captain jumped up and draped himself on top of her.

  “He’s hit ninety pounds,” Josie said, rubbing the Newfie’s massive head.

  “And he still has a long way to go,” I said. “Oslo did great this morning.”

  “Good,” Josie said. “Tomorrow we’ll give the smaller bandage a shot. But if starts scratching at it, we’ll probably have to put a cone on him.”

  “I hate doing that,” I said.

  “Yeah, I know. But it sure beats him ripping his stitches out.”

  I decided to change the subject to one that had been nagging at me.

  “Why do you think Morrie is still making deliveries?” I said.

  “Who knows?” Josie said. “Maybe money’s tight. After all, Calducci was skimming thirty percent off the top.”

  “Yeah, that could be it,” I said, nodding.

  “Or maybe Morrie likes interacting with his customers. You know, make sure they’re all happy with his product line,” Josie said, unwrapping a bite-sized from a fresh bag.

  “That could be handled over the phone,” I said, waving her offer of the bag away.

  “Maybe he just likes being in the area this time of year,” Josie said. “Does he fish?”

  “I wouldn’t have a clue,” I said. “I was wondering if Morrie might have a friend in town.”

  “Friend, as in girlfriend?”

  “He is a widower,” I said. “And he wouldn’t answer Jackson’s question about why he was still making deliveries. It seemed like an easy enough question to answer.”

  “But Morrie has a criminal past, remember? And I imagine he doesn’t like sharing any more than he has to with the cops,” Josie sai
d. “Are you thinking that if he does have a girlfriend, it might have something to do with what happened to Calducci or Fatal Franny?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m just being nosy.”

  Josie snorted.

  “So what do you think about all this?” Josie said.

  “I’m pretty lost at the moment,” I said. “But I still think it has to revolve around the question of who’s going to control Calducci’s operation.”

  “Well, getting Fatal Franny out of the way would have to be a good start,” Josie said.

  “Yeah, but why would anybody try to frame Morrie?”

  “Maybe someone is trying to scare him,” Josie said. “You know, keep him in line.”

  “And keep him paying the thirty percent,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Josie said, sitting up. “You’re getting too heavy for this, Captain.”

  “I don’t think he agrees with you,” I said, laughing as I watched the dog reposition himself onto Josie’s lap. “It’s pretty obvious Morrie didn’t have a clue she was hanging in his truck.”

  “No, I’m sure he didn’t. And he certainly wouldn’t have suggested that I should take a look inside,” Josie said, then she sat quietly and stared off into the distance.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “I was just really looking forward to having some of that Bresaola.”

  Chapter 17

  I was sound asleep when my phone buzzed just after midnight. Since good news rarely arrives over the phone at that time of night, I rolled over, managed to turn a light on, and answered it on the fourth ring.

  “This is Suzy,” I said, sleepily rubbing Chloe’s head who seemed even less happy about being woken up than I was.

  “Hello, darling.”

  “Mom, are you okay?” I said, sitting up in bed.

  “I’m fine, darling,” she whispered. “But I thought you’d want to know that Howard was just admitted to the hospital.”

  “Really?” I said, rubbing my forehead as I tried to process that bit of news. “What happened to him?”

  “It looks like he was attacked,” my mother said.

  “By who?”

  “It’s too soon to know any of the details, darling. Dr. Wilbur is in with him now, and I imagine he’s going to give Howard something to help him sleep. We should hear more in the morning.”