The Case of the Quizzical Queens Beagle

by B R Snow

  “Since I usually pair chocolate cake with a glass of milk, as always, your expertise astounds me,” Josie said, raising her glass in salute. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with after our trip to Italy.”

  My mother and I both looked at Josie.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Josie said. “We haven’t had a chance to update you yet.”

  “Update us on what?” my mother said.

  “I’m going to do an international cookbook,” Chef Claire said. “And Josie and I are going to start taking some time off to travel to places where I can study and research various regional cuisines.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” my mother said, glancing at me to gauge my reaction. “And Italy is going to be your first trip?”

  “It is,” Chef Claire said. “We spent most of the day outlining our plan.”

  “I see,” my mother said. “How long are you going to be away?”

  “About a month each trip,” Josie said.

  “But not until after the wedding, right?” my mother said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. C.,” Josie said, laughing.

  “If we didn’t make the wedding, you’d kill both of us before we had a chance to get on the plane,” Chef Claire said, laughing along.

  “You got that right,” my mother said. “So, when is this going to happen?”

  “Well, my initial idea was to take a year off,” Chef Claire said. “But when Josie offered to come with me, I decided to break it up. We’re going to take two trips a year.”

  “Two?” I said, frowning. “Since when?”

  “Since this afternoon,” Chef Claire said. “We’re looking at October after the season ends here. And since we spend most of our time in Cayman just kicking back, we thought we’d take a month out of that and make a second trip.”

  “You guys already have a schedule?” I said, finishing the last of my cake.

  “I’ve had it done for quite a while,” Chef Claire said. “We just needed to chunk it up today.”

  “Where else are you going?” my mother said, placing both elbows on the table and leaning forward.

  “Let’s see,” Chef Claire said. “Italy in October, then Greece the following March. Year two is France and Spain. Then we’ll start the Asian portion.” She turned to Josie. “Do you remember the order we finally settled on?”

  “Vietnam and Thailand. Then Japan and India. The year after that would be two trips to China.”

  “And that still won’t be enough to really do it justice,” Chef Claire said. “There are so many regional styles over there. We might also need a second trip to India.”

  “I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” Josie said. “And after that, Chef Claire wants to do Mexico and Peru.”

  “Wow,” I said, feeling a tinge of envy. “That sounds amazing.”

  “And we’ll be going to a bunch of cooking schools and classes,” Chef Claire said, grinning. “I’m very excited.”

  I sat quietly sipping my port with my mind doing somersaults. Between the wedding, Samantha Johnson’s murder, and the new rescue center, I was dealing with a lot. The fact that my two best friends would be on the road two months out of the year, not to mention the possibility that Max could be called away for weeks on end on a moment’s notice, was starting to make me feel alone and vulnerable.

  Even though I was excited about what I was dealing with and happy for Josie and Chef Claire, as much as I hated to admit it, my life was about to undergo several major changes that would be disruptive, potentially stressful and, in many cases, permanent. But I remembered Chief Abram’s comment about my normal reaction to change and chastised myself again for my selfishness.

  Deciding what was needed at the moment was another glass of port and a new topic of conversation, I refilled my glass and glanced over at my mother.

  “How are the plans for the circus coming along?”

  “Actually, quite well,” my mother said. “Everyone on the council jumped on the idea right away. The logistics are done, and since the schools aren’t out for the summer yet, we’ve been selling a lot of tickets through them at a discount. And Jackson is doing a promotion at his store. Two free tickets with every purchase of a hundred dollars of groceries. We just need to finish up with Chief Abrams on security and some street closure issues, and we’ll be good to go.”

  “Crap,” I whispered. I’d been hoping to get at least another week reprieve from the dreaded binder. I forced a smile at her. “Good for you, Mom. I knew you could pull it off.”

  “We have a lot of people working on it,” she said, shrugging. “Where were you all day, darling? I tried calling three times, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”

  “I had it off most of the day,” I said. “The Chief and I were visiting the tiny hamlet of Bucks Bridge.”

  My mother lowered the bite of cake she was about to eat and frowned as she stared off at the wall. Then she cocked her head and fixed her stare on me.

  “It was that Johnson family?” she said.

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “The woman who drowned,” my mother said, getting back to her cake. “She was originally from Bucks Bridge?” She slowly chewed then took a small sip of port. “Of course, Samantha. She was named after her father, wasn’t she?”

  “You’re starting to freak me out, Mom,” I said. “How on earth did you know that?”

  “I remember the father’s suicide,” she said, giving me another shrug. “It was a major news story for days. I’m surprised Chief Abrams didn’t remember it.”

  “I don’t think he’d been transferred up here yet,” I said.

  “That’s right,” my mother said. “He didn’t arrive until a few years after that. Her father was a professor, right?”

  “Yes. At Clarkson,” I said, then frowned. “Hey, wait a sec. Why would a suicide be a major story for days?”

  “Because the police weren’t convinced it was actually a suicide,” she said, taking another bite of cake. “This truly is a remarkable dessert, Chef Claire.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. C.”

  “The cops thought he was murdered?” I said.

  “As soon as they learned that the daughter had run away, I’m sure the thought crossed their minds.”

  “They suspected Samantha?”

  “I think they suspected both of them at various points,” my mother said. “Did you meet the mother today?”

  “We did,” I said, nodding.

  “And?”

  “It was…memorable,” I said. “Mrs. Johnson is mentally unstable.”

  “Just unstable?” Josie said. “Or a total wingnut?”

  “It was hard to tell,” I said, shrugging. “The Chief and I had just told her that her daughter had drowned.”

  “Yeah, I can see where that would send a mother into orbit,” Josie said. “The poor woman.”

  “But she was talking to the walls at different times. No, I take that back. Actually, she was talking to her dead husband,” I said. “And she did this thing with her head that looked like something right out of The Exorcist.”

  “And you got the heck out of there just as fast as your little legs would carry you, right?” Josie said, laughing.

  “Nothing gets past you,” I said, laughing along. “She scared the crap out of me.”

  “I take it you didn’t get any leads into who might have thrown her off the boat,” Josie said.

  “No, but Mrs. Johnson does have a guy who lives nearby who functions like her caretaker,” I said. “There seemed to be something odd about that situation.”

  “Like what?” Josie said.

  “I couldn’t put my finger on it,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Because it was still shaking from watching the woman’s head rotate?”

  “You’re on fire tonight,” I said, grinning at her.

  “Sugar rush,” Josie said, draining the last of her port. “Oh, well. I’m sure you’ll figure it all out once the circus c
omes to town.”

  “Darling, you made a promise to be on your best behavior,” my mother said.

  “Yeah, I hate when I do that,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said, waving it off. “Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t be causing any public riots. And as long as we keep the clowns away from Josie, we should be in good shape.”

  “Funny,” Josie said, then glanced at my mother’s plate. “You gonna finish that, Mrs. C.?”

  Chapter 12

  To try and partially make up for ruining the Chief’s day off, I invited him to have lunch with me at C’s. I entered the restaurant through the kitchen, gave an obviously busy Chef Claire a quick wave then headed for the lounge. I leaned over the bar to give Millie a hug then sat down. I swiveled around in my stool and glanced around at the good-sized crowd.

  “Busy,” I said, nodding.

  “The season is definitely starting to ramp up,” Millie said. “Are you here for lunch?”

  “Yeah, I’m meeting the Chief here. And Chef Claire said this morning that we definitely had to have the special.”

  “Good call,” Millie said. “Then that means you’re going to need a glass of this.” She poured a large glass of iced tea and set it in front of me. “Say, we’re interviewing for some summer bartenders this afternoon. You want to sit in?”

  “Normally, I would,” I said, stirring my tea. “But I don’t think I can handle one more thing on my plate. Besides, between you and Chef Claire, you don’t need me there.”

  “Are she and Josie really going to take all those trips?”

  “Yeah, it certainly looks that way.”

  “I’m so jealous,” Millie said. “I’d love to do something like that.”

  “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you wanted to tag along on some of them,” I said.

  “Yeah, sure,” Millie said, laughing. “Just as soon as I get my hands on several thousand dollars I don’t need, I’ll be all over that.” Then she glanced past me and smiled. “Hey, Chief. How’s it going?”

  “Hi, Millie. It’s certainly better than yesterday,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to me. “Hey, Snoop. What looks good on the menu today?”

  “Rhetorical, right?” I said. “You have to try the iced tea. And based on Chef Claire’s recommendation, I’m going to go with the beef stew. With a side of cornbread.”

  “Perfect,” he said as Millie poured then placed a glass of tea in front of him. He took a long sip and shook his head. “Even her iced tea is fantastic. What on earth is in this one?”

  “I think this one is a black tea with cardamom and rosewater. And I’m picking up a touch of saffron.”

  “How does she come up with stuff like this?” he said, taking another sip.

  “She’s perfecting her craft, right?”

  “I just throw some tea bags in a big jar and set it out in the sun,” he said.

  “And that’s why you’re a cop and not a chef,” I said, laughing. “Were you able to track down the original case file?”

  “I was. It’s at the state police station in Ogdensburg,” he said. “And I talked with one of the guys I used to work with.”

  “My mother remembers it,” I said. “She said the cops suspected both the mother and daughter at one point.”

  “They did,” the Chief said, staring at his glass of tea. “Who would come up with the idea of putting saffron in iced tea?”

  “Focus, Chief,” I said, patting his hand. “So, what happened?”

  “The wife’s alibi had a couple of holes in it, but it eventually held up.”

  “They went to the movies, right?”

  “They did. And she had both ticket stubs,” the Chief said. “But the wife really couldn’t explain the plot of the movie.”

  “And the cops thought they went into the cinema then ducked out and killed him?”

  “Yeah,” the Chief said. “But after the cops interviewed her a few times, they understood why she might not remember the storyline.”

  “Why’s that?” I said, glancing over at him.

  “You saw her yesterday. What do you think?”

  “So, she’s always been like that?” I said.

  “Apparently,” the Chief said. “And the state and local cops had been out to the house several times. She was always calling to report intruders or people she felt were doing surveillance on her.”

  “Did any of them ever check out?”

  “No,” the Chief said. “In fact, the night she called to report the suicide, they didn’t believe her at first.”

  “And they never got a chance to question the daughter?”

  “They did not,” he said, sliding his glass forward for a refill. “Eventually, they quit looking for the girl and decided to close the case as a suicide.”

  “I wonder how Samantha managed to pull off her disappearing act.”

  “It’s not that hard,” the Chief said. “Especially if you don’t want to be found. A couple million kids run away from home every year in this country.”

  “But in a small town like that, she must have had some help, right?”

  “Not really,” he said, shaking his head. “Get to the highway and hitch a ride with a trucker. There’d be a lot of people who’d stop to pick up a cute teenage girl. Especially thirty years ago. By the next morning, she could have been five hundred miles away in any direction.”

  “But she had to leave her dogs behind,” I said. “Bella said her daughter loved spending time with them.”

  “Which probably tells us just how bad the family situation must have been, right?”

  “Yeah, but still. I could never do that.”

  “I know you couldn’t,” he said, squeezing my hand then sitting back to give Millie room to set our lunch down in front of us on the bar. “Thanks, Millie.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, topping off our iced tea. “I tried some of the stew earlier. You’re not gonna believe it.”

  “New recipe?” I said, suddenly on point.

  “Yeah,” Millie said. “She wouldn’t tell me what she’s added to it.”

  I took a bite, savored it, then took another. Chief Abrams did the same then looked at me.

  “I have no idea what she did to it,” he said. “But it’s fantastic.”

  “Total knee-buckler,” I said, grinning at him as I broke off a piece of cornbread. “It’s Moroccan.”

  “And you know this how?” the Chief said, taking another bite of the stew.

  “Horrible syntax, Chief.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “The spice blend is Ras el Hanout,” I said. “It’s used in a lot of North African dishes. It’s similar to Garam Masala that’s used in Indian cooking. There are hundreds of variations, but this one seems to have an extra dash of cardamom.”

  “Cardamom? She made a conscious choice to pair the stew with the iced tea?” he said, frowning.

  “I’m sure she did,” I said, shrugging as I rapidly worked my way through the bowl of stew. “Attention to detail, right?”

  “I’m picking up a bit of sweetness,” he said. “Is that coming from the spices?”

  “No, the spice blend is what’s giving it the overall flavor and heat,” I said.

  “Then it must be honey.”

  “No. Figs.”

  “Figs? Well, they certainly work,” the Chief said. “The chickpeas are a nice touch.”

  “They are,” I said, forcing myself to slow down.

  “I can’t believe she’s worried that her skills are slipping.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Just think about how good she’s going to be when she gets back from her trips.”

  “She’ll be a rock star,” the Chief said, dipping his cornbread into the gravy.

  “She’s already a rock star,” I said. “I wouldn’t even know how to describe her when she gets back.” Then I felt a wave of emotion surge through me. “If she comes back,” I whispered.

  “You’re really worried sh
e might not?”

  “No, I’m not worried,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just that I know this phase of my life is about to end.”

  “Just when you finally get it perfected, right?” he said, laughing.

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “Well, then you’re just going to have to start working on perfecting your new craft, aren’t you?”

  “And what would that be?” I said, confused.

  “Why, wife and mother, what else?”

  “You know something, Chief? That’s a very good way of looking at it. I like that.”

  “You’re gonna be great at both,” he said, patting my hand.

  “There you are.”

  We both turned around when we heard my mother’s voice.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, darling.”

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, giving her a hug. “You want some lunch?”

  “Maybe in a bit,” she said, sitting down next to me and placing the dreaded binder on the bar. “But before I do, we really need to make a decision about which invitations we’re going to go with.” She flipped the pages, landed on one, then turned to me. “Personally, I like this design. But the sample I have is the wrong color of white.”

  “Wrong white,” I said, nodding. “Got it.”

  “I’m glad you see it too,” my mother said, turning to another page. “This is the white I think we should go with. And if we use that design with this shade of white, I think we’ll have something very special.”

  “Sure, sure,” I said, watching as she flipped back and forth between the two pages. I looked at the Chief who was shaking his head as he watched us. “I can’t start trying to perfect my new craft until after the wedding, right?”

  “Probably not,” he said, laughing.

  “Crap.”

  Chapter 13

  Based on the strength of ticket sales, aided by what I was sure was my mother’s anonymous donation of several hundred tickets to organizations that worked with underprivileged children and low-income families, a second performance was added to accommodate the number of people who were coming to the circus. The fact that I would have close to three days to do some serious snooping took some of the pressure off and definitely helped my mood that had been hovering between nervous and sullen for the past several days.