The Case of the Overdue Otterhound Read online

  “Cooter, how many times do I have to tell you that you need to tap the turret a few times after you’ve made your sight adjustments? That will lock in the changes you’ve made. Your first shot is obviously bumping them back to where they were.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, frowning. “I forgot.” He looked around, flashed me a smile, then headed for the door. “It was nice seeing you, Suzy.”

  Jessie watched her son head back outside with a slow shake of her head.

  “I sure hope he’ll be okay out here all by himself,” she said.

  “He’ll be fine,” Very said. “He loves being alone. What did I miss?”

  “Have a seat,” Jessie said. “I have some news for you.”

  “Actually, I think we’ll get going, Jessie,” Rooster said. “It’s coming down hard, and I’d like to get on the road.”

  “Okay,” Jessie said, handing Very the check. “So, I’ll hear from you soon?”

  “You certainly will,” my mother said, getting to her feet and extending her hand. “Thank you, Jessie. You’ve done a wonderful thing.”

  “What’s going on?” Very said, staring at her mother.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” she said, escorting us to the front door. “Drive safe.”

  We were all the way across the front lawn when I heard Very’s excited screams coming from inside the cabin.

  “I think she likes the idea,” my mother said, laughing as she knelt down to put her skis on.

  I groaned as I did the same and was soon poling my way across the snow in the direction of Rooster’s truck. Another couple of inches had fallen since we’d arrived, and I was already totally sick and tired of winter even though it had only officially begun about a week ago.

  “Are you and Paulie still flying out tomorrow?” I said, then groaned as my back protested.

  “We are,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. “It was eighty-two in Grand Cayman this morning.”

  “Good for Grand Cayman.”

  “When do you think the Otterhound is going to deliver?”

  “It has to be soon,” I said, then my neurons flared briefly. “Hey, hang on a sec.”

  “What?” my mother said, picking up the pace.

  “Jessie never mentioned the dog once the whole time we were there,” I said, frowning.

  “You’re right,” Rooster said. “She didn’t.”

  “That must mean she’s only interested in the money she’ll get for the puppies,” I said. “She doesn’t give a crap about Gabby.”

  “Darling, don’t jump to any conclusions,” my mother said. “The woman just lost her husband, and now she’s about to sell her property. I’m sure it just slipped her mind.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said, still grumpy about it. “But still.”

  “Just try to focus on your skiing,” my mother said.

  “Actually, I’m doing everything I can not to think about it, Mom. My back and legs are on fire. And I’m freezing my butt off.”

  “Put your hat on,” Rooster said. “That oughta help.”

  “Shut it,” I said, then frowned and came to a stop when I saw a man trudging toward us. “Well, look who’s here.”

  Rooster and my mother also stopped, and we watched Herman Billows do his best to work his way through the thick blanket of snow. He had his head down but finally spotted us and greeted us with a small wave.

  “Hey,” Billows said, coming to a stop right in front of us. “I can’t believe you’re out here by choice.”

  “We had a meeting,” my mother said.

  “With Jessie Friendly?” Billows said, surprised. He brushed snow off his head and shoulders and looked as miserable as I felt.

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” Rooster said.

  “Can I ask you why?”

  “We just bought her property,” my mother said.

  Herman Billows flinched, then glared at us.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “I’d never joke about something like that,” my mother said.

  “But I already have a tentative verbal agreement with her,” Billows said, hunkered down against the wind.

  “A tentative verbal?” my mother said, laughing. “I’m no expert, Mr. Billows, but I’m willing to bet my lawyer would have a field day with that argument.”

  “You’ve made a big mistake,” Billows said. “I do not like to be screwed with.”

  “Nobody is screwing with you, Mr. Billows,” my mother said. “The Friendly’s property is adjacent to ours, and we thought it would fit perfectly into our plans.”

  “Plans to do what?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” Rooster said. “That’s our plan.”

  “And I’m afraid that lease rights aren’t included as part of our do-nothing plan,” my mother said.

  “Well, I guess we’ll just see about that,” Billows said, storming off.

  “He’s really not dressed right for this weather,” my mother said, staring after him.

  “No, he’s not,” Rooster said. “He’s probably going to catch one heck of a cold.”

  “Or a serious case of frostbite,” I said.

  “That would work,” my mother said, nodding before she continued her trek back to the truck. “C’mon, let’s go. Who’s up for lunch at C’s?”

  “Rhetorical, right?” Rooster said to me.

  “Nothing gets past you.”

  Chapter 17

  Early the next morning, I picked Rooster up then drove south on Route 81. The trip to Scranton, weather permitting, should take less than four hours, and, so far, the sun was out, and the roads were clear. I put the cruise control on seventy and wiggled my toes. Yesterday’s cross-country adventure had left my back and legs aching, and I was pretty much a physical mess. But the bruise on my nose was healing, I’d be getting my stitches out in a couple of days, and if I could manage to get rid of the cramps in my legs, I’d almost be back to full strength.

  “Where would you rank this trip on the list of crazy ideas?” I said, glancing over at Rooster in the passenger seat.

  “Your list or mine?” he said, grinning. “If we’re talking about you, this doesn’t crack the top hundred.”

  “So, I’m not nuts,” I said, laughing. “Remember to tell that to my mother.”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Rooster said, moving his seat back and reclining.

  “What are you going to do to your cousin when we find him?”

  “You’ll see,” he said. “At least some of it.”

  We crossed the New York-Pennsylvania border and continued our southern journey until we started seeing the Scranton exits. I left the interstate and headed west for about ten miles then spotted the sign for Highland Hills Breeders. I made a right and drove up a short driveway and parked. We climbed out of the SUV and took a look around. Then I heard an impressive, deep bark coming from inside a fenced area next to the house.

  “Wow,” I said, trying to catch a glimpse of the dog. “That’s quite a bark.”

  “It certainly is,” Rooster said. “And he’s not shy about using it.”

  We took a few steps to our left and got our first look at the dog.

  “Look at the size of him,” I said, staring in awe at the Mastiff. “I thought Captain was big.”

  “Do you take him for a walk or just ride him?” Rooster said, laughing. “My goodness. He’s gorgeous.”

  “Magnificent,” I said, taking a few steps closer then stopped when the dog started barking louder.

  The front door opened, and a man waved at us. Rooster and I headed for the porch, and he met us at the bottom of the steps.

  “Hi, how are you doing?” he said, sizing both of us up.

  “Hello. Are you Mr. Highland?” I said.

  “I am,” he said. “Please call me Roger.”

  “I’m Suzy. And this is Rooster.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said. “What can I do for you folks?”

  “We’d like to talk to you about one of your do
gs,” I said.

  “I’m afraid we aren’t expecting a new litter until sometime in the summer.”

  “No, we aren’t looking for a puppy,” I said, pointing at the fenced area where the Mastiff was keeping a close eye on us. “We’d like to talk about him.”

  “Chi?” he said, frowning. “What about him?”

  “He’s the top stud Mastiff in the country, right?” I said.

  “He certainly is,” he said with pride. “You want to say hi to him?”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  “Just make sure you give him a few minutes to get used to you,” Roger said. “He can be a little protective.”

  We followed him to the fenced area and stood back as he opened the gate. The Mastiff accepted a quick pet from Roger, then lumbered over to us. The dog smelled both of us as he circled then nudged the side of my leg. I stumbled, and Rooster reached out and grabbed my arm to keep me from falling.

  “That’s his love tap,” Roger said, laughing. “He likes you.”

  “He’s beautiful,” I said, running my hands through the Mastiff’s thick red fur.

  “Yeah, he’s pretty special.”

  “And unique, right?” Rooster said.

  “Around here, he certainly is. I imagine there’s some like him in Asia,” Roger said. “So, why are you here? Do you have a female you’d like to breed with him?”

  “No,” I said, kneeling down to hug the dog. “Oh, I love this guy. We’re here because we think there might be a man in the area with plans to steal some of Chi’s semen.” I frowned when I heard the words come out of my mouth. “That probably sounds very strange.”

  “It’s definitely not what I expected to hear,” Roger said. “What makes you think that?”

  “We’ve stumbled onto a black-market operation that deals in rare dogs,” I said.

  “I’ve heard about them,” he said, nodding. “But they’ve never come near me before.”

  “These dogs go for a fortune in China,” I said.

  “Tell me about it,” he said, pointing at his house. “How do you think I was able to afford this place?”

  “So, you sell puppies in China?” I said.

  “Only one,” he said. “But it was a major pain in the neck dealing with the bureaucracy. And there are enough people in the States looking for these guys. It’s not nearly as much money, but we’re doing just fine.” He lovingly thumped the dog’s side. “Aren’t we, Chi?”

  The dog barked loudly and nudged Roger’s leg.

  “Do you bring him inside at night?” Rooster said.

  “Of course,” Roger said. “He’s got his own room right off the kitchen where he likes to sleep.”

  “Have you had anybody stop by recently asking about puppies?”

  “As a matter of fact, a guy stopped by yesterday,” Roger said, surprised. “A weird looking guy.”

  “Is this him?” Rooster said, handing him a photograph.

  “That’s him,” Roger said, nodding. “I’ll never forget those glasses. They must be an inch thick.” He handed the photo back. “Are you guys cops?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re just trying to figure out what is going on with a pregnant Otterhound back at home.”

  “Otterhound? They’re pretty rare, too,” Roger said. “Where’s home?”

  “A place called Clay Bay in the Thousand Islands,” Rooster said.

  “Sure, I’ve been fishing up there,” he said. “Beautiful spot.”

  “Yes, it is,” Rooster said.

  “You think this guy might be coming back?” Roger said.

  “We do,” I said. “He didn’t give you a phone number or happen to mention where he was staying, did he?”

  “No,” Roger said, shaking his head. “As soon as I told him I wouldn’t have any dogs until the summer he headed off.”

  “What was he driving?” Rooster said.

  “It was an older truck. Dark blue with New York plates.”

  “Are there any motels close to here?” I said.

  “Yeah, there’s a couple places just up the road,” he said, pointing. “But they’re both pretty crappy.”

  “Thanks, Roger,” I said, again kneeling down to hug the Mastiff. “You take good care of this guy.”

  “You think I should let the cops know this guy’s around?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” Rooster said. “We’ve got this. But keep a close eye on this guy for a few days.”

  “I always do,” Roger said, then shook his head. “People sure do come up with some strange ways to make money.” He reached into his pocket and removed a business card. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call and let me know what you find out.”

  “We’ll do that,” Rooster said, sliding the card into his pocket. “Thanks for all your help.”

  “No problem,” Roger said. “Should I put you on the list for a puppy?”

  “No, but thanks for offering,” Rooster said, catching sight of the look in my eyes and jumping in before I could respond. “We’re all set with dogs.”

  “There’s always room for one more,” I said, again rubbing the dog’s head.

  “No,” Rooster said. “Let’s go.”

  We waved goodbye and climbed back into the SUV. Rooster glanced over at me and shook his head.

  “You were going to say yes, weren’t you?”

  “Maybe,” I whispered.

  “Unbelievable.”

  I drove down the driveway glancing back at the dog through the rearview mirror.

  “He’s magnificent.”

  “He certainly is,” Rooster said. “Make a right.”

  I took one final look in the mirror then drove for about five miles until we saw roadside signs for a couple of motels. They were too far from the interstate to attract the interest of truckers, and I doubted if many tourists made their way here. I slowed as we approached the first motel that sat next to the road on our left. We scanned the empty parking spots in front of the rooms, and I accelerated. A few miles later, we approached the second motel that sat on our right, and Rooster pointed at a blue truck parked in front of the room on the far end of the small, weather-beaten structure.

  “Definitely Walter’s kind of place,” Rooster said, reaching for his phone. “Pull over into that gas station.” He called information for the main number of the motel then waited until the call went through. “Yes, hello. Could you please connect me with room twelve? Thank you.” Rooster put his phone on speaker and waited.

  “Hello?” said the confused voice on the other end of the line.

  Rooster ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket.

  “You’re pretty good at this stuff,” I said, laughing. “How did you know the number of his room?”

  “I counted to twelve,” Rooster deadpanned.

  “Smart aleck,” I said, making a face at him. “How do you want to do this?”

  “We’re going to knock on his door, and then I’m going to knock some sense into him.”

  “A simple plan, but probably effective,” I said, pulling back onto the road and heading for the motel. “I’ll park somewhere near the office. We don’t want to spook him.”

  Rooster nodded as he pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves. I turned the engine off and climbed out. We walked down the concrete path that fronted all the rooms and came to a stop near the door. Rooster nodded at me and hung back as I knocked. The door slowly opened halfway, and Coke Bottle peered out. It took his eyes a second to focus, then he recoiled when he recognized me.

  “You?” he said, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hi, Walter. At the moment, I’d like to come in out of the cold,” I said, beaming at him.

  “Not gonna happen,” he said, starting to slam the door in my face.

  Rooster blocked it with his foot, then shoved the door open hard, and we stepped inside. Coke Bottle stared in disbelief at Rooster, then toppled backward onto the bed when Rooster landed one of the hard
est punches I’d ever seen thrown. I closed the door, and Rooster pointed at a chair in a corner. I sat down and stared in disbelief at the semi-conscious Coke Bottle who was bleeding from the nose and mouth.

  “Get up,” Rooster said, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rooster,” Coke Bottle said, cowering on the bed.

  “Okay,” Rooster said, approaching the bed. “Then stay right there.” Rooster landed two more punches, and Coke Bottle rolled off the bed and fell onto the floor. Rooster bent down and lifted him by the shoulders and tossed him into a chair close to mine.

  “Geez, Rooster,” Coke Bottle said, blinking as he looked around the room for his glasses. “What did you do that for?”

  “Because I forgot my gun, you moron,” Rooster said, enraged. He bent down to pick up Coke Bottle’s glasses, pushed them back into shape then handed them to his cousin. “Okay, start talking.”

  “About what?”

  Rooster grabbed Coke Bottle by the hair and pulled it hard until Coke Bottle’s head was bent back and the veins in his neck were pulsating. Then Rooster let go and pulled a chair directly in front of his cousin, turned it around, and sat down with his arms draped over the back of the chair.

  “Don’t make me ask you again, Walter,” Rooster said in a voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “I’m down here looking for a dog,” Coke Bottle said.

  “A Tibetan Mastiff that goes by the name Chi?” Rooster said.

  “I don’t know his name,” Coke Bottle said, shaking his head. “I mean, no.”

  Rooster reached out and grabbed one of his cousin’s hands. Then he bent the pinkie finger back until I heard it pop. Coke Bottle howled and grabbed his hand as he stared at Rooster.

  “Geez, Rooster,” I said, grimacing. “Take it easy.”

  “One down, nine to go, Walter,” Rooster said, ignoring me. “How many times have I told you to stay away from Clay Bay?”

  “Uh, twice, I think,” Coke Bottle whispered.

  “And what happens when I have to tell you something three times?”

  “Bad things.”

  “Suzy,” Rooster said, glancing at me. “Grab that bag over there and have a look.”