The Case of the Abandoned Aussie Read online

  The Case of the

  Abandoned Aussie

  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 © 2016 B.R. Snow

  ISBN: 978-1-942691-03-7

  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 Damaged Po$$e Series

  American Midnight

  Larrikin Gene

  Sneaker World

  Summerman

  The Duplicates

  Other books

  Divorce Hotel

  Either Ore

  Acknowledgements

  First of all, I’d like to thank all of my readers for their ongoing support and encouragement. I hope you enjoy my new Thousand Islands Doggy Inn cozy mystery series. As you will soon figure out, it’s an alphabet series that will highlight a specific breed in each book. As such, I guess I better get back to writing. Twenty-six books is a lot, but fortunately, I’m writing about three of my favorite things; dogs, food, and the Thousand Islands. So it doesn’t really seem like work at all.

  I’d also like to thank Reggie Cullen and Jim Miller for their generosity and creativity. Reggie is my extremely talented cover designer whose work fully captures the essence of each book he works on. Jim is a great photographer whose has kindly agreed to let me use some of his fantastic photos to help showcase the beauty of the Thousand Islands. They both have my ongoing appreciation and respect for all they have done to support me.

  As always, I need to thank my wife, Laurie, for her love and support. I couldn’t do what I do without you being here.

  To the people of the Thousand Islands on both sides of the River.

  Chapter 1

  Oh, hi.

  You caught me by surprise. I was right in the middle of trying to land this smallmouth bass and didn’t see you right away.

  But I’m delighted you decided to drop in for a visit. And as we like to tell everyone who chooses to stop by our little slice of heaven; thanks for coming and we hope you enjoy your stay.

  And since it looks like we’re going to be spending some time together, I suppose the best place to start is with me telling you a bit about myself.

  First, let’s get some of the easy stuff out of the way. My name is Suzy Chandler, and I live in one of the most beautiful locations in the world. It’s a magical place called the Thousand Islands that’s located on the St. Lawrence River. Now that I think about it, the islands are actually located in the River.

  But that’s probably a distinction without a real difference.

  For some of the more geographically challenged, the St. Lawrence connects the Great Lakes to the Atlantic Ocean, a distance about 750 miles and it forms a large portion of the U.S. and Canadian border. But for us who live on either side of the River, when you’re out on your boat, the border between our two countries is another one of those distinctions without a real difference.

  But just trying telling that to the Coast Guard or Immigration if you happen to get stopped.

  The town I live in is, like most small towns, friendly, relatively close-knit, and prone to gossip. During the summer months, the population of Clay Bay, our little town of about 2,000 people often triples due to the influx of tourists and island residents. But when winter arrives, and they can be long and brutal, only the heartiest of our residents remain.

  Many people head south to escape the snow and cold, but I, and I’m not alone here, love the winter. I also appreciate where the River is located. If our region were in a climate that was warm year round, the place would be ruined and probably dominated by high-rise condos and a preponderance of umbrella drinks.

  Not that I’ve got anything against umbrella drinks. Or even high rise condos. They both have their place. But that place isn’t here.

  The long winter that dominates the River with snow and ice gives it a chance to renew and refresh itself. So it can be ready for the arrival of spring and the annual onslaught of people eager for another summer on the River. I consider the winter renewal essential to the long-term future of the St. Lawrence. Winter also does the same thing for me. Coming out of winter, I am battle-tested and ready for whatever life decides to throw at me.

  Regarding the question of how I put food on the table, along with my best friend and business partner, Josie, I run the Thousand Islands Doggy Inn, a place we created to provide dogs with the things they deserve; which is the best of everything. And I should also mention that spending one’s work day surrounded by boundless, unconditional love isn’t a bad way to go. And I know for a fact that it sure beats accounting. Or being a lawyer.

  I’m sure you know that my comment about unconditional love was about dogs. Regarding my personal relationship status, I’m single. In fact, at the moment, I’m not even dating. I’m not particularly happy about that, but not torn up about it either. By now, I thought I’d be settled down, but I haven’t had the privilege of meeting Mr. Right. Or if I have I somehow missed it. I try not to think about that possibility too often. But I remain quietly confident. He’s out there somewhere.

  At the risk of sounding immodest, I think it’s fair to say that other people would consider me good looking. Not drop dead gorgeous like Josie who makes men tend to forget their names just by looking at them, but I can hold my own in mixed company.

  What’s that? How old am I?

  Nice try.

  Only my mother knows how old I am, and she isn’t talking. Revealing her daughter’s age would divulge too much information about her own math problem.

  I’m fluent in French, can cook a bit, enjoy good wine and conversation, and I love bad TV, especially any show that deals with solving a mystery.

  Oh yeah, as you probably already figured out, I also like to fish.

  And since it’s the opening day of the bass season that’s exactly what I’m doing at the moment.

  I cast towards the edge of shallows and immediately saw the tip of my fishing rod begin to bend. The line tightened, I set the hook with a gentle flick of my wrist and began reeling the fish back towards the boat. Josie placed her rod in a holder attached to the transom, grabbed a net, then scooped the smallmouth bass out of the water.

  That’s one of the things I love about Josie. She’s always there to help me out even when she’d rather be doing something else. Like not fishing.

  I grabbed the fish, removed the hook, and gently slid it back into the water. It wiggled its tail for traction then disappeared beneath the water.

  “That’s nine,” Josie said. “What’s your secret?”

  “I always catch what I’m after,” I said, winking at her as I cast my line back into the shallows.

  “Except men,” Josie said, flashing me a small smile.

  “Yeah, well, there is that,” I said, checking my bait. “Besides, it’s opening day. If you can’t catch anything today, you don’t deserve to call yourself a fisherman.”

  “Don’t you
mean fisherwoman?”

  “I tried that,” I said, shaking my head. “But it sounds weird.”

  “Fisherperson?”

  I laughed.

  “That’s even worse.”

  “Well, this fisher-whatever is going back to trolling for muskie.”

  I watched Josie head to the stern and cast her line off the back of the boat.

  “How many times do I have to tell you?” I said. “October and November are the best months to fish for muskie.”

  “Hey, they have to eat, right?”

  I nodded. If there’s one thing I don’t argue with Josie about; it’s eating.

  “I’m pretty sure the muskie aren’t waiting until October to grab a snack,” she continued. “And the idea of catching a fifty-pound fish is more appealing than messing around with bass, no matter how many you catch. Besides, I love a challenge.”

  “Knock yourself out,” I said, reeling in another bass.

  “Nice one,” Josie said, scooping the fish out of the water with the net. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Your mother called this morning and said she was going to stop by later this afternoon.”

  “Great,” I said, frowning.

  “Another blind date?”

  “Undoubtedly,” I said.

  “Who’s up in the rotation?”

  “Well, let’s see. Recently Mom’s gone lawyer, entrepreneur, doctor, executive. So I’m going to guess lawyer.”

  “You want to do our usual routine?” Josie said, stretching out to enjoy the early morning sun.

  “If you’re not busy,” I said, casting towards the shallows.

  “I’m never too busy to watch your love life crash and burn with my own eyes,” Josie said, laughing.

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “At least I haven’t needed any help,” Josie said. “My lack of a love life is totally self-inflicted.”

  “I can ask my mother to fix you up if you like,” I said, grinning.

  Josie laughed.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’ve seen enough of her taste in men.”

  My mother.

  Just wait until you meet her.

  I reeled another bass towards the boat. Again, Josie grabbed the net and scooped the fish out of the water. I removed the hook and gently returned the bass to the water. By now, you’ve probably figured out that while I’m pretty good at catching fish, I’m even better at letting them go.

  My catch and release philosophy stems from one simple fact: I hate the taste of fish.

  I know. I’ve heard it all. Fish is good for me. I should eat more of it. They’re packed with protein and nutrients. They keep your brain sharp. Eating fish can help cure depression.

  Truth be told, about the only thing I find depressing these days is the prospect of having to eat fish.

  Don’t even get me started on sushi.

  “I’m done,” I said, putting my rod away.

  I stared out at the open water of the St. Lawrence River. After a few false starts, summer had finally arrived, and I knew that the next five months would be glorious before another long winter arrived. A few hundred feet from the boat something caught my eye, and I grabbed the set of binoculars that went everywhere with me. Josie noticed and followed my eyes.

  “What is it?” Josie said.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, staring through the binoculars. “Whatever it is, it’s swimming. Probably a muskrat. Or maybe a mink.”

  Josie grabbed her pair of binoculars and trained them on the object.

  “It’s heading right towards us.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And it’s making good time.”

  “That’s not a muskrat, Suzy. It’s a dog.”

  “You’re right. It’s a puppy. The poor thing looks frantic.”

  “And very focused on us.”

  We both watched the puppy continue to paddle its way towards the boat.

  “Should we go get him?” Josie said.

  “No, let’s stay put and let it come to us. If we move the boat, it might freak out even more.”

  “Okay,” Josie said. “It’s a good swimmer. I’ll grab a towel.”

  Josie headed to the bow and returned with two large beach towels. I knelt over the edge of the boat, and the puppy swam directly into my arms. I lifted the puppy out of the water and held it against my chest as Josie began toweling its head. The puppy licked both our hands, then sneezed.

  “What a gorgeous dog.”

  “Have you ever see one that wasn’t?” Josie said, laughing.

  “Well, this one is especially gorgeous. Australian Shepherd, right? Look at those beautiful green eyes. How old do you think it is?”

  Josie took the dog and held it up in the air. She removed the towel and examined the tag attached to the elaborate collar it wore.

  “Probably around three months. And she’s a girl. Her name is Chloe. How are you, Chloe?” Josie looked at me. “She’s scared, but she seems fine. We’ll get her back to the Inn, and I’ll take a good look at her.”

  When Josie says she’ll take a good look at the puppy, she means it. Like every veterinarian I’ve ever met, she’s incredibly devoted to her work and loves dogs almost as much as I do.

  And that’s a lot of love.

  Josie put the dog down, and we laughed as it shook vigorously, spraying water over both of us. I repositioned the towel and held the puppy against my chest. She licked my hand again then nestled its head under my arm.

  “You poor thing,” I said. “What were you doing all by yourself in the middle of the river?”

  The boat jerked and stopped drifting. Josie looked off the stern and saw her fishing rod bending severely in its holder.

  “How about that?” Josie said, racing off to grab her rod. “No chance of catching a muskie, huh?”

  I watched Josie struggle against the weight of the fish on her line as she reeled it in. As she continued, it became apparent, if it was a muskie, it was of world record size.

  “There’s a phone number on the collar,” I said. “The owner must be frantic.”

  I turned away from Josie’s ongoing battle with the fish, and I grabbed my phone and dialed the number on the dog’s collar.

  “Uh-oh,” Josie said.

  “What is it?” I said, staring off into the distance as I waited for the call to connect.

  “This ain’t no muskie.”

  “Hang on. It’s ringing.”

  “Need you over here, Suzy. Oh, my goodness.”

  “What is it?” I said, holding the puppy with one arm and the phone against my ear as I walked to the stern. “Dang, nobody is answering.”

  “Listen,” Josie said.

  “What is that?”

  “Well, I can’t be sure, but it sure sounds like a phone ringing,” Josie said.

  “Yeah, but where?”

  “Down there. In the water.”

  I glanced over the back of the boat and saw the body floating face down.

  “Wow. Poor guy. It is a guy, right?”

  “Yes, it certainly is. We need to call Jackson.”

  “Hang on. Let me check something first.”

  I ended the call, then immediately pressed the redial button. The sound of a phone ringing under the water returned.

  “Well,” I said. “If there’s any good news here, I think we found Chloe’s owner.”

  “What is that stuff floating on the surface near his head?” Josie said.

  “That’s weird. Is that oil?” I said.

  “I don’t think it’s oil,” Josie said, peering down into the water.

  “The bigger question is where did all these bees come from?”

  Chapter 2

  I watched the police boat approach then slow and drift towards us. Still cradling the sleeping Chloe, I waved at Jackson, Clay Bay’s Chief of Police. He was someone a lot of people underestimated because he was, in a word, average. Average looks, average build, average intelligence. And because he was content being a small town cop, happy to spend
his spare time outdoors and on the River, people often believed he lacked drive. But he was rock-solid and took his responsibilities very seriously.

  And Jackson was a very good friend of ours. In fact, we considered him family. He and I had grown up together and he’d once been, what my mother called, smitten with me. And he stayed smitten until Josie got her vet license and moved here to join me as co-owner of the Inn. After that, Jackson, along with pretty much every other man who came in contact with her, shifted his affections away from me and focused on Josie.

  You might think I’d be offended as the attention I used to attract started to fade, and, at first, perhaps I was a little, but I understand completely. Josie is one of those rare women who seamlessly combines beauty, compassion, and intelligence with a great sense of humor. If she weren’t my best friend in the world, perhaps I’d find her threatening or be jealous of how men fall at her feet.

  But I doubt it.

  Josie’s just so darn likable.

  And like I said, she loves dogs almost as much as I do.

  Next to Jackson in the boat was a young woman I didn’t recognize. Josie tied the police boat to ours and stepped back as Jackson and his companion climbed aboard.

  “Hi, Josie,” Jackson said. “You’re looking beautiful as always.”

  “It’s not gonna happen, Jackson,” Josie said, grinning.

  “You could at least tell me why.”

  “What can I say, Jackson. You’re not my type.”

  “You got a problem with dating cops?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t like my looks?”

  “That’s not it. I think you’re kind of cute.”

  “You find my personality too big and overpowering?” Jackson said, grinning.

  “There you go,” Josie said, laughing. “Let’s go with that.”

  “It’s a gift. If nothing else, you must find my persistence endearing,” he said, then glanced around the boat. “I understand you hooked a big one.”