The Case of the Overdue Otterhound

by B R Snow

  “But Very said she didn’t know the dog was pregnant,” I said. “She seemed genuinely surprised when I told her. And so did the mother now that I think about it.”

  “Then maybe it was the son,” Josie said. “Old, what’s his name.”

  “Cooter?” Rooster said. “I doubt it. That guy couldn’t pull something like that off if you spotted him the puppies, the truck, and a roadmap.”

  “How did his head turn out?” my mother said.

  “It’s hard to tell. It’s pretty much hidden by his hair and beard,” Rooster said.

  “That’s probably a good call,” my mother said, then again pressed the tips of her fingers together. “It was so smushed. What’s he up to these days?”

  “He’s a budding milliner,” Rooster said, grinning at me.

  “He makes women’s hats?” my mother said, frowning.

  “He does,” the Chief said, nodding. “And we’ve seen some of his work.”

  “Really?” my mother said. “What’s it like?”

  “I’m gonna go with…memorable,” the Chief deadpanned.

  “Don’t forget furry,” Rooster said.

  “No, we can’t forget that,” the Chief said. “I sort of liked it, but I imagine some people would consider it downright squirrelly.”

  “Are you guys done?” I said, glaring at them before I refocused on Paulie. “What do you say?”

  “Okay,” Paulie said. “I’ll make a few calls just for the giggles. But if I end up with an Otterhound puppy, you’re on the hook for the three grand.”

  “Deal,” I said, settling into the couch with a huge smile.

  Chapter 9

  I woke early the next morning, and my Christmas began with me taking our house dogs outside so they could take care of business before they opened their presents. But not until I’d put a big pot of coffee on to brew. It was cold, but not brutal, and a light snow was falling, the perfect weather for Christmas Day. I called my boyfriend, Max, a disaster relief consultant who was currently in Columbia helping people dig out from a massive landslide that had happened four days earlier. He answered on the third ring.

  “Hey,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” I said, exhaling audibly when I remembered how much I missed having him here for the holidays. “What are you doing?”

  “Well, at the moment,” Max said. “I’m talking with a couple of the engineers, and we’re trying to decide if there is any way we can get a backhoe in here or whether we’re going to have to recruit several hundred people with shovels.”

  “How bad is it?” I said, watching as Captain and Chloe started wrestling in the snow. Then Al and Dente joined in, and soon all four dogs were rolling around and kicking snow in every direction.

  “The property damage is heartbreaking,” Max said. “But it looks like we might have gotten lucky getting all the people out.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “I wish you were here.”

  “Me too,” Max said. “But I should be out of here in a week, ten days tops, and I’ll be heading straight to Grand Cayman.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “What are you guys doing today?”

  “Coffee, then the dogs will be opening their presents, breakfast, open our presents, and then we’ll head over to my mom’s place for lunch. After that, we’ll stop by some friends’ places to drop off some gifts and then come home to change into our pajamas and relax in front of the fire.”

  “Organized,” Max said, laughing.

  “Yeah, over the years we’ve refined our game plan,” I said, then noticed that Chloe had one of Captain’s ears in her mouth and was tugging hard. “Chloe, you’re just asking for trouble.”

  “Look, I’m going to need to run,” Max said. “But I’ll call you later on after things settle down a bit here.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll just bring all your gifts with me to Cayman, and we’ll open them down there.”

  “You read my mind,” he said. “Wish everyone a Merry Christmas for me, and I’ll talk with you later.”

  “Will do,” I said.

  “I love you, Suzy.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I slid the phone back into my coat pocket and whistled. All four dogs, covered in snow, stopped wrestling and cocked their heads at me.

  “Snack?” I said, walking toward the house.

  The dogs easily beat me to the kitchen door and waited impatiently for me to climb the steps.

  “Shake,” I said, glancing around at all four. “Shake.”

  Eventually, they all complied, and I opened the door. Chef Claire and Josie were up and sipping coffee in their robes. We exchanged hugs and holiday greetings, then I grabbed a jar of the jerky that Chef Claire had made for the dogs. I gave all four of them way too much, then they headed into the living room to stretch out in front of the fire that was already roaring.

  “You spoil them,” Josie said, nodding at the jar of jerky.

  “It’s Christmas,” I said, sitting down at the kitchen island. “Max said to say Merry Christmas.”

  “How’s he doing?” Chef Claire said.

  “He sounded good,” I said. “But he misses me.”

  “He better,” Josie said, laughing. “Who’s turn is it to cook Christmas breakfast?”

  “I think it’s mine,” Chef Claire said. “French toast, pancakes, or omelet?”

  Josie glanced at me as I thought about the options. There wasn’t a bad choice among them, and I eventually shrugged.

  “French toast,” Josie said.

  “Good call,” I said as my phone chirped. I checked the number, then put the phone on speaker and answered. “Merry Christmas, Paulie.”

  “Same to you,” he said. “Is everybody there?”

  “We are,” Chef Claire said. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, guys,” he said. “Your mom wanted me to check to see what time you’re coming over.”

  “No later than noon,” I said. “What’s she making for lunch?”

  I’m very big on the true meaning of Christmas, and I love giving and receiving gifts, but I’m also a devotee of Christmas Day menus. And my mother always went all out for the annual lunch she served to us and several of her close friends.

  “She’s doing a stuffed pork tenderloin and some Swedish potato dish,” Paulie said. “From what she says, it sounds like they’re a hassle.”

  “Not a hassle,” Chef Claire said, laughing. “Hasselback.”

  “She’s making Hasselback potatoes?” Josie said, softly clapping her hands. Then she turned to Chef Claire. “Did you give her your recipe?”

  “I did,” Chef Claire said. “Yum. That sounds great.”

  “It certainly does,” I said, my stomach gurgling. “Just tell her we’ll be there in plenty of time for lunch. We’ll see you in a bit, Paulie.”

  “Hang on,” he said. “I have some news for you.”

  “Already?” I said, frowning.

  “Yeah, I had to call some friends this morning to wish them a Merry Christmas, so I decided I might as well ask a few questions,” he said, then laughed. “And I figured it was a good way to keep you from nagging me about it all day.”

  “Funny,” I said, making a face at the phone. “Did you find anything out?”

  “Actually, I did,” Paulie said. “Apparently, there is a rather active black market for rare dogs. Who knew, huh?”

  “Who did you talk to?”

  “Gino the Jet,” Paulie said. “But everybody calls him Greasy Fingers.”

  “But not because he eats a lot of fried food, right?” I said, laughing.

  “Nothing gets past you,” he said. “Anyway, he told me that he recently bought a dog called a Volpino Italiano.”

  “Sure,” Josie said, nodding as she sipped her coffee. “The Italian Spitz.”

  “Yeah, that rings a bell,” I said. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before. They’re a little fur ball, right? Looks a lot like a
Pomeranian?”

  “Yes. And they’re very rare,” Josie said. “Especially outside of Italy.”

  “That’s where Gino got the idea,” Paulie said. “He took his family to Rome last year, and a relative had one of those dogs. He went nuts over it and just had to have one.”

  “And this black market just happened to have puppies available?” I said, frowning.

  “No, it was a lot more involved than that,” Paulie said. “It took several months, and the whole process ended up costing him close to twenty grand.”

  “It probably would have been cheaper just to move to Italy,” Josie said, shaking her head.

  “Does this Gino know who’s behind the operation?” I said.

  “I’m sure he does,” Paulie said. “But he declined to say.”

  “Well, that’s not a lot of help,” I said, deflated.

  “But he did give me the name of the woman who manages it,” Paulie said. “I told Gino I was looking for an Otterhound puppy and needed to get in touch with somebody who might be able to help me out.”

  “You’re so good,” I said. “When are you going to call them?”

  “I’ve already done it,” Paulie said. “In fact, I just got off the phone with her. Her name’s Sofia Rossi.”

  “You called her on Christmas?” I said.

  “Why not? It was just a phone call. It’s not like I tried to climb down her chimney.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, shaking my head at his logic. “Where does she live?”

  “That’s the interesting part,” Paulie said. “She has a place just outside Cape Vincent.”

  “Wow,” I said, nodding. “That’s close.”

  “There’s somebody running a black market breeding operation around here?” Josie said, frowning.

  “Apparently,” Paulie said.

  “Why haven’t we heard anything about it?” Josie said.

  “I doubt if they talk about it much or run ads, and I imagine they don’t sell the dogs around here,” he said. “She was pretty cautious at first, but after I told her that Gino had given me her name, she opened up.”

  “What did she have to say about Otterhounds?” I said.

  “She said she is expecting to have a litter sometime in the spring,” he said.

  “That was the timeframe that Very mentioned,” I said. “But if her dad had moved the date up, surely the woman handling the puppies would know that.”

  “One would think,” Paulie said.

  “Maybe somebody was trying to do an end-run around both Friendly and the woman,” Josie said.

  “But that would mean they’d have to get their hands on the semen and then somehow manage to impregnate the Otterhound,” I said. “It has to be somebody inside the family, right?”

  “That’s the only thing that makes any sense,” Josie said. “Not that any of it makes much sense.”

  “Did she quote you a price?” I said to Paulie.

  “Five grand,” he said.

  “Geez,” I said, grimacing. “That’s a lot of money. Where did you leave it with her?”

  “I told her I was going out of town, but one of my representatives would be getting in touch with her soon,” Paulie said.

  “Your representative by the name of Suzy, right?” I said.

  “You are on fire today,” he said. “Look, I gotta run. Your mother wants to show me the new bathing suit she bought.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” I said. “You guys are flying out in a couple of days.”

  “We are,” Paulie said. “And I can’t wait.”

  “Thanks so much, Paulie,” I said. “I owe you big time. We’ll see you in a while. And remember, no matter what it looks like, you love the new bathing suit.”

  “Do I look like an idiot?” he said, laughing. “Later.”

  I ended the call and glanced back and forth at Josie and Chef Claire.

  “That was way too easy,” I said, grinning. “I’ve got a great idea. Who feels like doing a little Otterhound shopping tomorrow?”

  “I think I’ll pass,” Josie said. “I’ll stay here just in case I need to do a little Otterhound delivery.”

  “Sure,” I said. “How about you?”

  “No, I’ve got some stuff to handle at the restaurant,” Chef Claire said.

  “Like what?”

  “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Chef Claire said, grinning at me. “And I’m going cross-country skiing with Freddie.”

  “When did you organize that?” I said.

  “Just as soon as I can call him,” Chef Claire said, laughing.

  “Fine,” I said, frowning. “You’re gonna miss all the fun.”

  Josie glanced at Chef Claire who shook her head.

  “We must have a different definition of fun,” Chef Claire said.

  “That must be it,” Josie said. “How about we have the dogs open their presents? Then we can eat.”

  “Now, that’s what a great idea sounds like,” Chef Claire said, beaming at me.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning Sofia Rossi told me over the phone that she was attending a memorial service and couldn’t meet with me about the Otterhound puppy until tomorrow. My neurons flared when she mentioned the memorial service, and I immediately called Rooster and confirmed that a service for Skitch Friendly was being held later in the day at our local Catholic church. I debated about tagging along with him and my mother but finally decided against it since my behavior in church the last two times I’d been there had been, as my mother put it, deplorably unladylike.

  At least that’s what she called it after she’d calmed down. At first, her critique of my performances had been liberally sprinkled with a rather creative combination of expletives I’ll avoid repeating here.

  Skitch Friendly’s death had officially been ruled an accident, and for the moment, I was willing to go along with the prevailing opinion. There was certainly no evidence to suggest foul play as long as one bought the stray bullet theory, and hunting accidents weren’t that uncommon. But if the recluse’s death hadn’t been an accident, I was almost certain that it was somehow connected to the mysterious dog breeding operation. And since I already had a plan in place to do some serious snooping in that regard, I opted against attending a memorial service for someone I never knew.

  Besides, if I did show up, Cooter would undoubtedly wonder why I wasn’t wearing the hat.

  I did the breakfast dishes with the assistance of all four dogs who were sitting at my feet and staring up at me like they hadn’t eaten in a week. I finally relented and grabbed the jar of jerky from the shelf.

  “You’re such a soft touch,” Chef Claire said as she entered the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “They wore me down,” I said, laughing. “That outfit looks great.”

  “I love it,” she said, glancing down at the one-piece thermal bodysuit I’d given her for Christmas. “It’s tight, but it stretches whenever I move around. It’s perfect for cross-country.”

  “You’re going to give Freddie a heart attack,” I said, grinning at her.

  “Storefront mannequins give Freddie a heart attack,” she said, shrugging. “I thought I’d take the dogs with me.”

  “Great,” I said. “They’ll love that.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come along?”

  I cocked my head and gave her a blank stare.

  “Got it,” she said. “Dumb question.”

  “Have fun,” I said. “I’ll see you at the restaurant later.”

  “You’re coming to C’s tonight?” she said, frowning. “Suzy, we’ve got more leftovers here than we know what to do with.”

  “Not to eat. I just want to get a look at a couple of your dinner guests.”

  “Should I even ask?”

  “No, I’ll explain it all later.”

  “I’m sure you’ll try,” Chef Claire said.

  Then she herded the dogs outside and followed them carrying her skis and poles. I waved to Freddie
who was heading up the driveway, then I watched them disappear into the woods behind the house with the dogs leading the way. I walked down the path to the Inn and entered through the back door and found Josie sitting in the Otterhound’s condo and holding her stethoscope against the dog’s stomach.

  “How’s she doing today?” I said, sitting down next to her and stroking the dog’s head.

  “She’s good,” Josie said, removing the stethoscope from her ears and sliding it into her lab coat. “But I’m still only getting five heartbeats.”

  “There’s still a chance that you just can’t hear the other one, right?”

  “There is,” Josie said. “But don’t get your hopes up.”

  “She has to be getting close to delivering,” I said.

  “Yeah, it shouldn’t be long,” Josie said. “And that’s good because her leg is still hurting.”

  “Are you going to have to rebreak the leg to do the surgery?”

  “Oh, I sure hope not,” she said. “But if she goes much longer, the bone might start reattaching itself at a weird angle.”

  “The poor girl,” I said, running my hand along the dog’s back.

  “Yeah, she’s been through a lot,” Josie said. “I wish I could just do the surgery, but I’m not going to take the chance with the puppies.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “There’s a memorial service for Skitch Friendly today.”

  “Interesting. I wonder if anybody from the family will swing by at some point to check on Gabby,” Josie said.

  “Great minds think alike,” I said. “I know we would if it were our dog.”

  “We’d be living here if it were our dog,” Josie said, laughing.

  “Sofia Rossi is going to the memorial service,” I said.

  “I guess that confirms she was working with Friendly producing the Otterhound litters.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it does. I’m going to meet with her tomorrow.”

  We glanced up when Sammy entered the condo area from registration.

  “Good morning,” Sammy said to me.

  “How are you doing, Sammy?”

  “I’m great,” he said, kneeling down in front of the Otterhound. “How’s our girl doing?”