The Case of the Klutzy King Charles

by B R Snow

  “Yes, I think he may have bumped his head on the way out,” I said. “But by that time, I really wasn’t paying close attention.”

  “Why not?” he said, staring at me.

  “Because she was looking for a place to hide the weapon,” Josie said, laughing.

  “Shut it.”

  “Weapon? What weapon are you talking about?” Detective Renfro said, inching forward in his seat.

  “It was a fork,” I said, glaring at Josie. “And I wasn’t trying to hide it. I was looking for a clean one.”

  “A fork?” he said, listening carefully.

  “Yes, he was standing behind my chair totally invading my personal space, and then he insulted my mother. I had a reflex response and backhanded my fork into his thigh.”

  “That explains the wound on his leg,” Detective Renfro said, scribbling a note. “One of my colleagues initially thought that the actual cause of death might have been from being bitten twice by a poisonous snake.”

  “Instead of the two bullet holes in the back of his head?” I said, frowning.

  “What can I say?” Detective Renfro said, shrugging. “He’s new.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  “What can you tell me about the victim’s relationship with his ex-wife?”

  “Not a lot,” Josie said. “But it was pretty clear that he’d been stalking her the past several days.”

  “Did the ex-wife tell you this?” he said, scribbling away.

  “Yes,” I said. “But we witnessed it ourselves. Yesterday. And, of course, tonight here at the restaurant.”

  “And I assume that Rocco was also aware of the man’s stalking?”

  “I’m sure he was,” I said, nodding. “But he’ll be able to better answer that question for himself.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he will,” he said, sliding his pen back into his pocket and closing his notepad.

  “Is that all?” Josie said.

  “For now, yes.”

  “So, we can go home?” I said, getting off the stool to stretch.

  “I don’t see why not,” he said.

  “How long is the place going to remain a crime scene?” I said.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Well, kinda,” I said, frowning at him. “We’re trying to run a restaurant here.”

  “You should be okay,” he said, getting to his feet. “If it’s still a crime scene tomorrow, we’ll do our best to confine it to the area behind the restaurant. Thanks for your time, ladies. Despite the circumstances, it was a pleasure seeing you again.”

  “You too, Detective,” I said. “By the way, how is your search for a wife going?”

  “Very well,” he said, smiling. “I’m getting quite serious with a lovely woman from Little Cayman. She has fourteen brothers and sisters, and twins run in the family. I’m very optimistic.”

  “Good for you. Well, happy hunting,” Josie said, waving goodbye, then turning toward me. “Fifteen kids? Can you even imagine?”

  “Not a chance,” I said, shaking my head. “And that would have to be a lot harder than taking care of forty dogs, right?”

  “No doubt about it,” she said. “But one or two is starting to sound pretty good, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it is. But don’t tell my mother I said that. She’ll start trying to set me up on a daily basis. But the chances of it happening don’t seem to be very good,” I said.

  “One step at a time,” Josie deadpanned.

  “What?”

  “You might want to start by actually going out on a date.”

  “Look who’s talking,” I said, making a face at her. “I’d love to date, but I’m just not meeting anybody.”

  “Try to stop hanging around crime scenes,” Josie said. “It’s sort of a mood killer.”

  Chapter 14

  I worked my way into the bathing suit my mother had given me for Christmas and reviewed the results in the mirror. The bare skin to fabric ratio was about ninety-nine to one, and the combination of the chocolate-brown suit, when set against the rosy pink hue that had yet to tan and the pale white patch of leg that would be making its first appearance in the sun in years, made the back of my upper thighs look like a carton of Neapolitan ice cream. But since my mother was already sitting by the pool with Chef Claire and Josie and would be watching me closely for the next several days to make sure I actually wore the thing, I did my best to tug and maneuver the swimsuit until I achieved maximum coverage. Since Henry, my mother’s caretaker, was visiting friends on the other side of the island, I figured I was safe from him popping in for a chat and getting way too good of a look at me. I draped a towel over my shoulders, grabbed my sunglasses and a large bottle of sunscreen and headed for the pool. I paused in the doorway that led to the pool area, exhaled loudly, then walked outside.

  “Wow,” Josie deadpanned with a grin. “Nice buns. How do you manage to get them so white?”

  “Shut it.”

  “Turn around and let me get a good look at you, darling.”

  I twirled a couple of times and felt my face redden.

  “You look wonderful,” my mother said, petting the King Charles that was perched on her lap. “But we do need to do a little work on the color matching. Your upper thigh looks like a tricolor flag at the moment. Of which country I’m not sure.”

  “Neapolistan,” Josie said, grinning at me.

  “Funny.” I glared at her and wondered if three minutes was long enough to pay homage to a ridiculous Christmas present. I took a step toward the sliding glass doors that led back inside the house. “I’m going to go change.”

  “No, darling, don’t,” my mother said. “You look great.”

  “But it’s so small,” I said, glancing down at myself.

  “It’s Brazilian,” my mother said. “They’re all wearing them down there.”

  “Good for the Brazilians,” I said, sitting down and beginning to slather myself with sunscreen.

  As I rubbed the lotion into my skin, I watched the dogs in the pool tussling over a four-sided rope toy that had a rubber ball attached to each end. Captain was dominating and dragging the other dogs through the water at will, but Chloe and the two Goldens weren’t going down without a fight. My mom’s dogs, Summer and Winter, watched the action from their wet, cool perch on the top step of the pool. The water came up to their eyes, and their long, floppy ears seemed to be floating like water lilies.

  “Any update on Rocco yet?” I said.

  “I spoke with the police this morning,” my mother said. “They wanted to arrest him, but they don’t have enough at the moment. They’re going to release him sometime around ten.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “The poor guy spends twenty years trying to put his past behind him, and then something like that happens.”

  “He’ll be fine. And we all know Rocco didn’t kill him,” my mother said, adjusting her sunglasses as she stretched further out in her recliner. “Teresa called a little while ago and said they would be stopping by on their way home.”

  “Why do you think the guy got shot?” Chef Claire said as she sat up and pressed a finger into her chest to check for sunburn.

  “He seemed to be a despicable human being,” my mother said. “I’m not surprised at all.”

  “You’re just mad because he called you a slimy carpetbagger,” I said, laughing.

  “Yeah,” Josie said, laughing along. “That one had to hurt.”

  “And right in front of my friends,” she said. “That was a cruel thing to say.”

  “Maybe you shot him, huh, Mom?”

  “Me? You were the one who stabbed him, darling.”

  “Yeah, while trying to defend your honor,” I said, glancing over at her as I struggled to apply sunscreen to my back.

  “Oh, give me that,” my mother said, reaching for the bottle of sunscreen. “Come here.”

  I sat down on the edge of her recliner, and she started rubbing the lotion on. She noticed my distant stare toward the beach.
<
br />   “What is it, darling?”

  “I just can’t shake the idea that Gavin’s murder is somehow linked to the woman we rescued from the water.”

  “Because that’s all you’ve got at the moment?” Josie said.

  “Pretty much,” I said. “They were staying at the same guesthouse in town.”

  “As a couple?” my mother said.

  “No, they had separate rooms,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean they weren’t seeing each other. Geez, I wish he hadn’t got shot. I really wanted to have a chat with him.”

  “I’m sure Gavin would feel the same way, darling,” my mother said. “Now, stand up.”

  “I think I’ve got it from here, Mom.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m your mother. Trust me, I’ve had my hands on your tushie hundreds of times.”

  “Yeah, back when I was wearing footie PJs,” I said, protesting.

  “You ever had a sunburn there before?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I don’t recommend it,” she said, her hands working on my upper thighs. “I fell asleep sunbathing several years ago and couldn’t sit down for about three days. Nasty.” She continued to rub lotion into my skin. “Darling?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You really need to get to the gym.”

  “Mom!”

  “I’m not saying it’s big. It could just use a little firming up. You’re not getting any younger. And neither am I, as I’m forced to remind you on a regular basis.”

  I climbed back into my recliner and stretched out pouting. I put my sunglasses on and shook my head.

  “Unbelievable. Does every conversation with you have to turn into your obsessive quest for grandkids?”

  “Obsessive quest? That’s a bit harsh, wouldn’t you say?”

  “What would you call it, Mom?”

  “A wish? No, I’m gonna go with dream,” she said, grinning as she glanced around at Josie and Chef Claire.

  Before I had time to come up with a snappy comeback, we heard the sound of the outside gate opening. Rocco and Teresa waved as they strolled toward us and all six dogs spotted them immediately. They woofed and climbed out of the pool, then raced across the lawn toward our two guests. En masse, they stopped at their feet and shook, drenching them. Fortunately, both Rocco and Teresa were dog lovers and laughed as they resumed their approach.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  “No problem,” Rocco said. “After the night I just spent, I needed a shower.”

  “Are you guys okay?” I said, dragging a towel across my lap.

  “The cops leaned on me pretty hard last night. And for very good reasons, Teresa is still pretty shaken up.”

  “The police had a field day with the idea that the current man in my life was responsible for getting rid of the former man in my life,” Teresa said, shaking her head.

  “But we’ll be fine,” Rocco said, squeezing Teresa’s hand. “And don’t worry Chef Claire, I’ll be at the restaurant by five.”

  “Feel free to take the day off, Rocco,” Chef Claire said. “In fact, take all time you need.”

  “What I need is to be at work,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said, flashing him a warm smile. “It’s your call.”

  “Are we interrupting anything?” Teresa said.

  “No, we were just discussing…let’s see,” Josie deadpanned as she feigned deep thought. “I believe it was flags, grandchildren, and the importance of a regular toning regimen.”

  I did a slow burn in my recliner but stayed silent.

  “You’re not interrupting at all,” my mother said, then glanced at me. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, tight-lipped. “We’re glad you stopped by. And we’re more than ready for a new topic of conversation.”

  “And I was just about to head inside for a snack,” Chef Claire said. “I know it’s early, but I’m suddenly in the mood for some ice cream.”

  “That sounds great,” Josie said, getting up from her recliner. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We got any Neapolitan?”

  They both laughed, and it continued to drift out onto the patio long after they’d reached the kitchen.

  Chapter 15

  Later in the morning, after my mother and Rocco and Teresa left, it turned cloudy and cool, so I volunteered to take the dogs for a walk. I needed some time alone to sort through several thoughts and questions my neurons were having a field day with. I pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, grabbed a handful of tennis balls, and headed for the beach with the dogs bouncing at my feet woofing at me to stop hogging all the toys. I fired four balls in different directions and laughed as I watched the dogs try to decide which one had their name on it.

  As we made our way down the beach and past my mother’s house, it started to rain. It felt refreshing, and I was in no hurry to turn back. I continued my stroll along the edge of the water, occasionally bending down to pick up and throw a tennis ball whenever its current owner decided it was time for another sprint across the sand. I let my mind do its thing, and my thoughts eventually coalesced into a workable set of questions that wouldn’t necessarily help me put the puzzle pieces together, but would at least give me a framework for organizing my thoughts and hopefully keep me from getting a headache in the process.

  I focused at the beginning and turned my neurons loose.

  What had the mystery woman and her King Charles been doing out in the middle of the ocean in a kayak in the dead of night?

  Since Sylvia, the woman who ran the guesthouse, had told me that the woman named Bobbie, or Vera, or whatever the heck her name was, never went anywhere without her dog, I didn’t worry about trying to connect that dot. All of us brought our dogs with us whenever possible, and it made perfect sense that the King Charles had been a welcome addition to the woman’s kayak adventure.

  I seriously doubted if being out on the water late at night had been planned. Paddling a kayak on the ocean in the middle of the day was enough to make my stress level redline. But being out there in complete darkness would turn me into a terror-stricken lunatic incapable of speech or rational thought. Any number of different kinds of shark could easily tip a fiberglass kayak, thereby adding a touch of salt to their food before enjoying their snack. And while the dwindling number of sharks in the waters around the islands continued to concern scientists and environmentalists, as Josie was always quick to point out whenever the subject came up, it only takes one.

  No, I decided, being out on the water at night hadn’t been the woman’s plan.

  I threw the tennis ball Chloe dropped at my feet and watched all four dogs race after it. Chloe lucked out with a good bounce and snatched it out of mid-air then taunted the others by inching close before dashing off. The rain began to pound, and when I reached Mr. Smith’s former house, a magnificent property that seemed to rise right out of the sand, I turned around and whistled. The dogs, about a hundred yards away, saw me start walking toward home and tore after me. By the time they caught up, they were all panting and ready for a long drink and an extended nap. They each dropped their tennis ball, and I collected them and continued my slow stroll along the edge of the water. The rain poured off my head and face, but after a few days in the relentless hot sun and cloudless skies, I was in no hurry to get home. I refocused and let my neurons do their thing.

  Why hadn’t the mysterious woman made any effort to find her dog?

  I’d been checking the local paper and various websites, as well as contacting all the vets and animal groups in the area, to see if anyone had reported a missing dog. But there was no mention of a King Charles Spaniel anywhere.

  Perhaps the woman was unable to take care of the dog any longer and simply couldn’t bear the thought of a tearful goodbye.

  Perhaps she had been forced to go into hiding and was afraid to show her face around town for fear of being seen by her pursuers.

  Perh
aps she’d been abducted and was currently being held against her will, in a constant state of worry about her beloved Earl.

  My neurons briefly flared when I landed on the abducted angle, but nothing held, and I moved on.

  Perhaps the mysterious woman from the water had been the one who killed Teresa’s ex-husband.

  This idea held my attention, and I gave my brain some time to do its work. Since they knew each other from the guesthouse, maybe they had been a couple. Perhaps they’d had a fight, and she’d headed out with Earl for a kayak session to cool off. Or maybe they hadn’t fought until they were out on the water in separate kayaks. And after the fight, Gavin had paddled back to shore and left her out there on her own. If the woman blamed Gavin for her recent brush with death, while it would have been an extreme overreaction, I supposed it was possible she’d been mad enough to shoot him.

  But how would she have known he was in his car parked behind the restaurant?

  Perhaps she had just happened to be walking by the restaurant when Rocco was wailing away at the man and seized the opportunity to take him out and get away unscathed. But why would the woman be walking around toting a twenty-two pistol? Then I considered the possibility that the gun had been in Gavin’s car the whole time and the woman knew it. I slowed my stroll to a snail’s pace and let that idea roll around in my head for several moments.

  Then I felt the onset of a headache.

  I brushed my soaked hair back from my face, checked to make sure the dogs were still nearby and picked up my pace to a slow lumber.

  The idea of her carrying a gun could indicate she was either in danger or on a mission for revenge. And since I had no evidence of either, I let it go and focused on the gun itself. Two shots from a twenty-two in the back of the head was a well-known calling card of professional hit men working in organized crime. I pushed the thought that Rocco used to work in organized crime away for the moment and wondered what sort of activity Gavin might have been involved in that would raise the ire of people working in the underworld.

  The possibility that the shooter had been at the restaurant the entire time surfaced, and I wracked my brain trying to remember some of the people who’d been sitting at various tables in the dining room. But my only solid memories were of a young couple who were on their honeymoon and extremely depressed by the painful sunburns they were both displaying, along with a tourist family of six that included four boisterous children and their mother and father who weren’t speaking to each other. Other than that, I had no real memory of any other dinner guests except the people at our table. And I was certain that everyone at our table had been in their seats when we’d heard Teresa’s scream.