The Case of the Overdue Otterhound

  The Case of the

  Overdue Otterhound

  A Thousand Islands Doggy Inn Mystery

  B.R. Snow

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written consent of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher are illegal and punishable by law.

  Copyright © 2018 B.R. Snow

  ISBN: 978-1-942691-40-2

  Website: www.brsnow.net/

  Twitter: @BernSnow

  Facebook: facebook.com/bernsnow

  Cover Design: Reggie Cullen

  Cover Photo: James R. Miller

  Other Books by B.R. Snow

  The Thousand Islands Doggy Inn Mysteries

  The Case of the Abandoned Aussie

  The Case of the Brokenhearted Bulldog

  The Case of the Caged Cockers

  The Case of the Dapper Dandie Dinmont

  The Case of the Eccentric Elkhound

  The Case of the Faithful Frenchie

  The Case of the Graceful Goldens

  The Case of the Hurricane Hounds

  The Case of the Itinerant Ibizan

  The Case of the Jaded Jack Russell

  The Case of the Klutz King Charles

  The Case of the Lovable Labs

  The Case of the Mellow Maltese

  The Case of the Natty Newfie

  The Whiskey Run Chronicles

  Episode 1 – The Dry Season Approaches

  Episode 2 – Friends and Enemies

  Episode 3 – Let the Games Begin

  Episode 4 – Enter the Revenuer

  Episode 5 – A Changing Landscape

  Episode 6 – Entrepreneurial Spirits

  Episode 7 – All Hands On Deck

  The Whiskey Run Chronicles – The Complete Volume 1

  The Damaged Posse

  American Midnight

  Larrikin Gene

  Sneaker World

  Summerman

  The Duplicates

  Other Books

  Divorce Hotel

  Either Ore

  To Karen and Drew

  Chapter 1

  Although I’m sure many of you will disagree, as well as have some serious concerns about my sanity, sitting in a boat fishing for Northern Pike two days before Christmas in a light snow that’s defenseless against a stiff breeze out of the north is a perfectly normal and relaxing way to spend the afternoon. Besides, the sun was peeking through the clouds, and I was dressed for the elements and catching more than enough fish to keep me focused and my mind off the cold. I should also mention my good friend Rooster had brought along a thermos of hot coffee laced with brandy that warmed my insides and left me with a contented smile. Of course, like any sane person, I would have preferred to be out here in shorts and a tee shirt in eighty-degree weather with a full picnic basket and a cooler packed with cold beverages, but I was still in a boat on the magnificent St. Lawrence with a fishing pole in my hands, my Christmas shopping finished, and only good thoughts on my mind.

  And it sure beats battling hordes of last-minute shoppers at the mall.

  By the time Thanksgiving had come and gone, I’d been certain Clay Bay and the surrounding areas were destined for record snowfall and temperatures cold enough to stop time. But about a week ago, it had warmed, and much of the snow had melted. And when Rooster called this morning inviting me to join him for a final day on the River before winter did arrive in full-force, I quickly agreed.

  I glanced over the side of the boat and studied the clear bottom. At the moment, the water is shallow here in Weasel Creek, a section of the River separated from deep water by a stretch of marshland that begins at the shoreline and extends out a couple hundred yards before forming an L that runs horizontally offshore for about a mile. As such, it’s the perfect sanctuary for pike and other fish looking for warmer water - a relative term at this time of year in our little corner of the world - and a place to lay low for the winter.

  Soon, the entire area where Rooster’s boat was gently rocking would become a thick sheet of ice, and dozens of ice fishermen would arrive on snowmobiles and ATVs to try their luck catching hungry Northern Pike by drilling holes for their tip-ups. But today, we were the only game in town, and the fish seemed to have figured that out judging by the way they were going after the snacks I was dangling in front of them. I had no idea why the fish were avoiding Rooster’s offerings like the plague, and I was doing my best not to laugh every time he muttered under his breath about his lack of success.

  I felt a hard tug on my line, and I swiveled my seat ninety-degrees.

  “Another one?” Rooster said, glancing over at me with a frown.

  “Yeah,” I said, starting to reel the fish in. “A big one, I think.”

  “That’s five in the last hour and a half,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Six,” I said, flashing him a grin. “But who’s counting?”

  I continued to reel the line in. About thirty feet from the boat, the fish broke through the shallow water, and we got a good look at it.

  “Wow. Did you see the size of him?”

  “I did,” he said. “Life is so unfair.”

  I kept my line tight as I continued to reel the fish toward the boat. Rooster grabbed a net and slowly inched his way next to me to keep the boat steady since nothing ruins an early-winter fishing trip faster than falling overboard into frigid water barely above freezing. I maneuvered the fish next to the boat, and Rooster scooped it into the net then set it down on the deck. We both stared down at the flopping Northern.

  “Look at the size of him,” Rooster said.

  “He’s huge,” I said, reaching for the fish and the hook that was set hard in its mouth. “Hang on, big guy. I won’t be a sec.”

  “Don’t talk to the fish, Suzy,” Rooster said. “It’s weird.”

  “Suzy, six. Rooster, nada,” I said, grinning at him. “Need I say more?”

  “It’s still weird,” he said, watching me as I tucked the fish under an arm and used the other to gently remove the hook.

  “There you go,” I said, leaning over the edge of the boat and sliding the fish in the water. I shuddered when my hands dipped below the surface. Moments later, the fish found its bearings, and I let go. It disappeared with a flick of its tail. “Nice fish. He must have been close to fifteen pounds.”

  “I can’t believe you let him go,” Rooster said.

  “Since I don’t eat them, there’s no reason to keep them.”

  “Yeah, but I do,” Rooster said, shaking his head. “And he would have looked great in my smoker. Or on my grill.”

  “You know our deal, Rooster. You can eat all the fish you want, just not the ones I catch.”

  “You are so weird,” he said, shaking his head as he refilled my cup.

  We both looked up when we heard a single gunshot that reverberated across the water, and we glanced in the direction the sound had come from.

  “Somebody’s out hunting,” Rooster said.

  “That sounded like a rifle,” I said. “Deer season’s over, right?”

  “Yeah, but we’re still in the middle of critter season,” Rooster said as he jerked his fishing pole then shook his head. “Dang it, I lost another one.”

  “Critter season?” I
said, raising an eyebrow at him.

  “Yeah, you know. Weasel, coyote, bobcat, raccoon. Critters.”

  “Got it.”

  “Or it could be somebody who doesn’t pay attention to the official hunting seasons,” he said, still glancing around. “I thought we’d be the only idiots out here today.”

  “Have you decided if you’re going to visit us in Cayman this year?” I said, rebaiting my hook and casting.

  “I think I will,” he said. “How does sometime in late January sound?”

  “Perfect. Come down whenever you want,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “You want to stay at our place?”

  “Your Mom has been pretty insistent that I stay with her and Paulie.”

  “Okay,” I said, glancing over at him. “But the food’s better at our place.”

  “I think I can walk the quarter-mile down the beach.”

  “It’ll be great to have you there,” I said. “We’ll go deep sea fishing. Maybe you’ll have better luck.” I flashed him an evil grin. “There must be a ton of fish out there for you not to catch.”

  “When do you guys leave?”

  “Two days after Christmas.”

  “Good,” Rooster deadpanned.

  I made a face at him and took another sip.

  “It’s too bad the Chief had to cancel,” I said. “He was looking forward to coming out with us.”

  “Duty calls, right?”

  “No, actually my mother called,” I said, laughing. “She and the rest of the town council wanted to go through next year’s budget again.”

  “Yuk,” Rooster said, frowning.

  “Yeah, I know. Come on, Rooster,” I said, nodding out at the water. “Hurry up and get a fish. I’ve got a plane to catch in a couple of days.” Then I felt my line jerk again. “Well, what do you know? Another bite.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Here,” I said, offering him my pole. “It’s sort of cheating, but my feet are starting to get numb.”

  “I’m not proud,” he said, taking it and beginning to reel the fish in.

  My phone buzzed, and I grabbed it from my coat pocket. I checked the number then answered.

  “Hey, Chief,” I said. “How’s the meeting going?”

  “Don’t ask,” he said. “At the moment, we’re half an hour into a debate about whether or not to raise the parking meter rates by a quarter.”

  “Brutal,” I said, laughing. “So, what’s up?”

  “I just got a call from Peggy Jones,” the Chief said.

  “Sure, I know Peggy,” I said, scanning the horizon. “Actually, we’re fishing not far from her place.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Chief Abrams said. “She called to report what she thinks is an animal in distress.”

  “What sort of animal?” I said, frowning.

  “She’s not sure,” the Chief said. “At first, Peggy thought it was a dog, but then she started hearing what she describes as a loud baying sound that’s been going on for about twenty minutes. She says it sounds like a howling cry for help.”

  “The poor thing,” I said. “Did she say if it sounds like the animal is moving, or do the howls seem to be coming from the same spot?”

  “She didn’t say. Would that make any difference?”

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “But there are some trappers who work around this area. Maybe the animal got caught in a trap.”

  “Yeah, that’s a possibility,” the Chief said. “Anyway, I can’t get out of here at the moment, and I was wondering if you and Rooster could check it out.”

  “Sure,” I said, glancing at Rooster who was holding a net with a large Northern in it. “Actually, your timing is perfect. Rooster just caught a fish. Finally.”

  “Funny,” Rooster said, removing the hook and sliding the fish into a large cooler. “What’s up?”

  “Chief says there’s an animal in distress near Peggy Jones’ place.”

  “Okay, let’s go check it out,” Rooster said, putting his pole away and firing up the engine.

  “We’re on it, Chief,” I said.

  “Thanks,” Chief Abrams said. “Peggy says it sounds like the animal is somewhere in the marsh that runs offshore in front of her property.”

  “I’ll let you know what we find,” I said. “And if my mother is worried about finding more revenue, just tell her to pay her unpaid parking tickets.”

  “You think I’ve suddenly developed a death wish?”

  “Coward.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 2

  Rooster accelerated, and I hunkered down to protect myself from the chill as best I could. But by the time we left the confines of Weasel Creek and reached deep water, my teeth were chattering, and I was officially freezing my butt off. Rooster headed downriver for about a mile then turned into another area of marshland similar to the one we’d just come from. At the entrance to the bay known as Willow Place, he put the boat in neutral, and we listened closely. We drifted for several minutes surrounded by a silence broken only by the sound of the wind. Then off in the distance to our right, we heard what sounded like muffled whimpers and a howl that reminded me of a Bloodhound’s.

  “Definitely a dog,” I said, nodding at Rooster.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he said, accelerating slowly.

  He steered the boat slowly along the perimeter of the decayed brown marsh. A dusting of snow and ice had collected where the water met land, and we scanned the area for signs of the dog.

  “It’s hard to see anything,” I said, squinting. “Everything blends together. You wouldn’t happen to have a pair of binoculars, would you?”

  “No, I didn’t bring them with me,” he said, staring out at the water.

  “I can’t hear over the sound of the engine,” I said. “Let’s drift for a few minutes.”

  Rooster shut the motor off, and the silence returned. We continued to drift, then I heard a whimpered howl that was definitely louder than the previous ones.

  “Okay, we’re close,” Rooster said, grabbing an oar and starting to pole the boat forward in the shallow water.

  Moments later, I caught a glimpse of a dog stretched out on the frozen ground, its back paws dangling in the water. It turned its head and noticed us then let loose with an extended wail that broke my heart.

  “The poor thing must be freezing to death,” I said, scanning the area for a landing spot.

  “Why the heck isn’t it moving?” Rooster said, pointing the bow toward shore.

  “It looks like it might be stuck,” I said, then grimaced when I caught a glimpse of steel reflecting in the sun. “Oh, no. Its front left leg is definitely caught in a trap.”

  “Probably muskrat,” Rooster said, poling faster. “This is a popular spot for trappers. But what the heck is a dog doing out here?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, sitting down to remove my boots.

  “What are you doing?” Rooster said.

  “I’m going to get the dog,” I said, rolling up my pants as far as they would go.

  “Suzy, that would be just about the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

  “Not even close,” I said, climbing up and sitting on the edge of the boat with my feet dangling close to the surface of the frigid water.

  “Hang on,” Rooster said, maneuvering the boat as close as he could to the dog. “Let me give you a hand.”

  “No, I’ve got it,” I said, then paused. “How do I open the trap?”

  “We’ll need to open the spring mechanism,” he said, removing his work boots. “But those traps are hard to work with, and there’s no way you’ll be able to handle it and the dog by yourself.” He took a deep breath then exhaled loudly. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  We both slowly lowered ourselves into the water and gasped when it reached our knees.

  “Oh, my word,” I said. “I can’t believe how cold this water is.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” Rooster said, taking a st
ep forward. “When are we going to Cayman?”

  “Not soon enough,” I said, my neurons on fire from the cold and pain.

  We crossed the ten-foot gap between the boat and land with three giant steps and Rooster climbed up onto the bank then extended a hand and pulled me out of the water.

  “Be careful,” Rooster said as we approached the dog who was staring at us, obviously in pain and shivering uncontrollably from fear and the cold.

  “Do you think there are other traps around here?” I said, surveying the ground as I slowly approached the dog.

  “There could be,” Rooster said. “But I was referring to the dog. It’s obviously traumatized.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, glancing back at him as I reached a hand out to pet the dog’s back leg.

  Then I felt a pain that momentarily made me forget about the numbness in my legs. I screamed and snatched my hand back, then stared down at the raw flesh and blood pouring from the dog bite I’d just received.

  “Ow. Geez, that hurts,” I said, squeezing my hand tight. “Now that was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done.”

  “Here,” Rooster said, holding out a bandana. “Put your hand in there.”

  I did, and he quickly wrapped the bandana tight around my hand and tied it off. Blood quickly began seeping through it.

  “You’re gonna need stitches,” Rooster said. “And we’re both going to be popsicles if we don’t get this done soon.”

  “Let me try this again,” I said, kneeling down close to the dog but out of reach of its snapping jowls. “It’s okay,” I whispered to the dog. “Easy does it. That’s it. Good girl. Who’s the good girl?”

  The dog stopped snarling but remained on edge as my hand again landed on her back leg. But she didn’t try to bite me again. I glanced up at Rooster who was hovering right behind me.

  “I’ll try to hold her while you get the trap open,” I said, slowly inching closer to the dog’s head. I extended my good hand, hoped like hell I wouldn’t lose it in the process, and rested it gently on the dog’s head. “Good girl. Who’s the good girl?”