The Case of the Jaded Jack Russell Page 13

  “It’s not a lumberjack outfit,” I snapped. “It’s jeans and a flannel shirt.”

  “Don’t forget the boots,” she said, shaking her head. “Seeing those things on your feet just breaks my heart.”

  “They’re winter boots, and they’re comfortable.”

  She glanced at her watch and stood up after gently sliding the sleeping Chloe off her lap.

  “I’d love to stay and talk lumberjack fashion with you, darling, but I have a town council meeting to get to. Tonight is the night when I tell them, despite all their cajoling, I won’t be running for reelection.”

  “Good for you, Mom,” I said, knowing how much she hated being mayor, notwithstanding the fact that she was very good at it.

  “I want to make sure I have as much free time as possible,” she said, giving me a coy smile. “You know, just in case I’m ever fortunate enough to be blessed with a grandchild,”

  Fastball right down the middle. I never got the bat off my shoulder.

  “Yeah, Mom, I’ll get right on that,” I said, dismissing her with a gentle back of the hand wave.

  “That would be wonderful, darling,” she said on her way out of the office. “Just not in that dreadful lumberjack outfit. I only have so many years left.”

  I heard her laughing all the way to the front door.

  Chapter 17

  I entered the house through the kitchen door and was immediately steamrolled by my four best four-legged friends and a smell I was very familiar with. Josie was at the stove stirring a large pot and adding Cabernet to taste. She sampled the gravy, nodded her approval, then poured and handed me a glass of red wine.

  “Beef stew?” I said, then took a sip.

  “Yeah,” Josie said, clinking glasses with me. “It’s cold out, and I thought we were about due for some comfort food.”

  “Good call,” I said, peering into the pot. “What are we having with it?”

  “Cornbread.”

  “Perfect. You need a hand?”

  “No, I got it. Chef Claire and the Chief are in the living room. Why don’t you head in and take the beasts with you?” She glanced down and laughed when she saw Captain staring up at her with his head cocked. “Yes, I’m talking about you.” She knelt down and gave him a big hug. The massive Newfie returned it and proceeded to knock Josie flat on her back on the kitchen floor.

  “Good job, Captain,” I said, laughing as I extended my hand to her. “Bobbie’s not here yet?”

  “No, I told her seven,” Josie said, climbing to her feet and brushing herself off. She shook her head at Captain who seemed pleased with himself. “Goofball.”

  “Okay, we’re out of here,” I said, heading for the living room trailed by the four dogs. I gave Chef Claire and Chief Abrams a hug then sat down and fought for space with Captain and Chloe who apparently thought the couch had their name on it.

  “We were just talking about the new restraining order,” Chef Claire said. “The Chief said the judge signed it today.”

  “Hopefully, we won’t need it,” Chief Abrams said. “But it’s good to have.”

  “He probably won’t show up,” Chef Claire said. “If he knows what’s good for him.”

  “You got your bat?” I said, grinning at her.

  “Oh, I’ve got my bat, don’t worry.”

  We heard a soft knock on the kitchen door, and moments later Josie ushered Bobbie into the living room. She seemed tentative at first, but she and Chef Claire exchanged a warm hug. We introduced Bobbie to the Chief, got her a glass of wine, and she settled in next to massive Newfie who was staring at her intensely.

  “Wow, you must be Captain,” Bobbie said, rubbing the dog’s head. “He’s gorgeous. Actually, all four of them are. Who has the Goldens?”

  “That would be me,” Chef Claire said. “Meet Al and Dente.”

  Bobbie laughed at the names, then glanced around the room, and finally seemed to relax a bit.

  “Were you able to get away…unnoticed?” Chef Claire said.

  “Yeah,” Bobbie said. “It’s Charlie’s day off, and he said something about going to a concert in Montreal.”

  “Okay,” Chef Claire said, nodding. “So, how have you been?”

  “Oh, I’ve had my ups and down,” she said, managing a small smile. “But things seem to be looking up at the moment.”

  “Let’s hope so,” I said, noticing Josie carrying the pot of beef stew into the dining room.

  “Dinner is served,” Josie said, then herded the dogs to the kitchen door. “I think you guys can handle being outside for a while.” She let the dogs out into the fenced area off the back of the house and closed the door behind them.

  We sat down and ate quietly for a few minutes.

  “This is really good, Josie,” Chef Claire said, then turned to Bobbie. “I love your idea for the dog toys.”

  “Thanks, I hope we’re able to get something off the ground,” Bobbie said, glancing at me.

  “Oh, we’re going to do a lot more than just get off the ground,” I said. “If you’re happy with the 60/40 split, we’re ready to go.”

  “I am,” Bobbie said. “You should know that I would have agreed to 50/50.”

  “I know,” I said, reaching for a slice of corn bread. “But that would have required us to do a whole lot more work.” I laughed. “And we’re about to head to the Caymans to open another restaurant and an animal shelter. But before we do, I plan on heading back up to Ottawa to meet with some of the banks that turned you down.”

  “Why would you do that?” Bobbie said, frowning.

  “Mainly because I want to see the look in their eyes if they say no again,” I said. “I’m still baffled about why they turned you down.”

  “Tell me about it,” Bobbie said. “And it wasn’t just the fact they said no, it was the way they did it. It was almost like they were reading from the same script.”

  “Really?” I said, frowning.

  “Yeah, it was kinda weird. But then I figured bankers are all probably trained to say no the same way.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably it,” I said, glancing at Chef Claire, then at Josie.

  “Uh-oh,” Josie said, shaking her head. “She’s got that look.”

  “She certainly does,” Chef Claire said. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m just thinking.”

  “I knew I smelled something,” Chief Abrams said, spooning another helping of beef stew onto his plate.

  “Do you have the names of the banks you talked to?” I said to Bobbie.

  “Sure. I’ll never forget them, or the people who turned me down.”

  “Write them down for me before you go,” I said, rubbing my forehead.

  “What’s on your mind, Suzy?” Chief Abrams said.

  “I was just sitting here wondering if banks are susceptible to outside pressure,” I said.

  “I’m sure they can be at times,” he said. “Where are you going with this? Some sort of conspiracy theory?”

  I thought hard for a moment, then shook my head and focused on my dinner.

  “Nah, that’s just too goofy,” I said, dismissing my own unspoken thought. Then I noticed Bobbie giving me a confused look. “What?”

  “You just seemed to disappear for a second there,” she said, shrugging.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Chef Claire said.

  “You’ll even start looking forward to it,” Josie deadpanned.

  “Shut it.”

  Then we all sat upright when we heard the noise coming from outside the kitchen door. Then the dogs barked and transitioned into a chorus of guttural growls.

  “I know that knock,” Chef Claire said, setting her knife directly in front of her on the table. Then she turned to Bobbie. “I guess he changed his mind about Montreal.”

  “Chef Claire,” Bobbie said. “I’m so sorry. He must have followed me.”

  “I assume you’re talking about your brother?” Chief Abrams said, getti
ng up from the table to peer through the window. “Around six feet, thin, blonde hair?”

  “Yes, that’s him,” Chef Claire said. “I knew it.”

  “Well, the sooner we let him in, the sooner we can tell him to take a hike,” Josie said.

  “I’m going to stand over there out of the way,” Chief Abrams said. “I want to see how he acts before he knows there’s a cop in the room.”

  “I’ll get the door,” I said, getting up. I looked around the table, then at Chief Abrams who had taken up his position. “Are we ready?”

  “Yeah, let’s get this over with,” Chef Claire said, her face drawn and drained of color.

  I walked into the kitchen and opened the door.

  “Charlie,” I said, pleasantly. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m looking for my lying sister,” he said, taking a step inside. “And Chef Claire. Is she here?”

  “She’s in the dining room,” I said, blocking his path. “But let’s not do anything crazy, okay?”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” he said, his eyes staring past me toward the dining room. “I just stopped by say hello.”

  “I’m not joking, Charlie,” I said, glaring at him.

  “Relax,” he said. “Something smells good.

  I took a step to one side, and he walked past me into the dining room. I followed and stood to one side as he glared at his sister, then beamed at Chef Claire.

  “Hi,” he whispered.

  “Hello, Charlie,” Chef Claire said evenly. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “That wasn’t my plan,” he said, his eyes glancing around the table. “But when my own sister has the audacity to lie to me, I always like to see what sort of mischief she’s getting herself into.”

  Bobbie lowered her eyes and remained silent.

  “It’s nice seeing you, Charlie,” Chef Claire said. “But it’s time for you to leave.”

  “Leave? I just got here,” he said, getting ready to sit down at the table.

  “Don’t make me get my bat, Charlie.”

  He flinched and took his hand off the chair.

  “I thought we could talk, just the two of us. You know, catch up. It’s been a long time.”

  “It’s not gonna happen, Charlie,” Chef Claire said, giving him a cold stare.

  “Oh, I think we’ll just have to see about that,” he said, grinning at her.

  “No, son, I don’t think we will,” Chief Abrams said, stepping into Charlie’s line of sight.

  “Who are you?” Charlie said.

  “I’m Chief Abrams.”

  “A cop?” Charlie said, glancing back and forth between Chef Claire and Bobbie. “You called the cops?”

  “Nobody called me,” the Chief said. “I just happened to be here for dinner. And you need to leave.”

  “Says who?”

  “Well, for starters, me, and this restraining order I have in my hand.” Chief Abrams slipped the order into Charlie’s hand. “You can keep that one. It’s your copy.”

  Charlie scanned the document then tossed it on the table.

  “Another restraining order? Chef Claire, how could you?” he said, his bottom lip quivering.

  “Actually, Charlie, it wasn’t that hard at all. You really need to leave.”

  “And if I don’t?” he said, his breathing pattern now laboring.

  “Then I’m going to arrest you for violating the order,” the Chief said. “And any other charges you might give me a reason to slap on you.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Charlie said, clenching and unclenching his fists. “You sounded so friendly over the phone.”

  “No, I don’t think I did, Charlie,” Chef Claire said. “Please, go…and don’t come back.”

  Charlie’s eyes began to water, and he stared at her. Then he focused on his sister.

  “You and I need to have a chat,” he said, grabbing Bobbie’s arm and jerking it hard.

  “Ow,” Bobbie said, determined not to be pulled from her chair. “Stop it, Charlie.”

  “Let go of her, son,” Chief Abrams said evenly.

  “Go away, old man. This is family business,” Charlie said, glancing over his shoulder as he continued to pull Bobbie’s arm.

  “Okay, have it your way,” the Chief said, shaking his head.

  “That’s right. My way,” Charlie snapped as he strained to drag Bobbie out of her chair.

  He was about to say something else but was stopped when the two electrodes from the taser Chief Abrams fired hit him in the lower back. He jerked and spasmed like he was dancing in a mosh pit then dropped onto the floor his body quivering. Chief Abrams left the electrodes right where they were until he had Charlie hands cuffed behind his back. He removed the electrodes then rolled him over. When Charlie was sitting on the floor with his back against a wall, Chief Abrams knelt down and leaned in close.

  “You shouldn’t have made that crack about my age, Charlie. And for the record, I’m not old, I’m just experienced.”

  Josie and I both snorted. Chef Claire and Bobbie continued to stare at the semi-conscious man with the blank expression on his face.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do, Charlie,” the Chief said, gently slapping his face to get his attention. “Stay with me here, Charlie. We’re going to get you back in your car, and I’m going to follow you for a while until I’m sure you’re on your way back to Ottawa. Just nod if you understand what I’m saying.”

  Charlie managed a small nod as he stared down at the floor.

  “And then I’m going to make sure that all the cops in the area and all the customs and immigration agents on both sides of the border have your picture. If any of them see you heading anywhere near Clay Bay, they’re gonna call me, Charlie. And the next time, I won’t be using the taser on you. The next time I’m gonna ask Chef Claire if I can borrow her bat. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Charlie?”

  Charlie nodded then Chief Abrams helped the wobbly man to his feet.

  “Okay, I’m going to walk you out now. Then when I’m sure we truly understand each other, and your motor skills return, I’ll take the cuffs off, and you’ll be on your way. Got it?”

  Charlie nodded and leaned against the wall breathing heavily.

  “Now apologize for your behavior,” the Chief said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Apologize.”

  “Sorry,” Charlie whispered to the floor.

  “Thanks for dinner, ladies. As always, there’s never a dull moment around here,” the Chief said, grabbing Charlie by the elbow. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  We watched as Chief Abrams led the still wobbly Charlie outside, then down the driveway. A few minutes later, two sets of headlights came on, and Charlie slowly drove off closely followed by the Chief.

  “I’m so sorry,” Bobbie said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Chef Claire said. “It’s not your fault. And it had to happen eventually.”

  “Do you think he’ll come back?” Bobbie said.

  “No, I doubt it. Charlie’s a lot of things, but he’s not stupid,” Chef Claire said. “Chief Abrams can be very persuasive. And he has a lot of friends.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen anybody get tased,” Bobbie said. “Nasty.”

  “It certainly was,” I said.

  “He got off easy,” Chef Claire said, taking a bite of beef stew. “He’s lucky I didn’t get my bat.”

  Chapter 18

  I crossed the border at Ogdensburg then headed for Ottawa in a downpour that was threatening to become freezing rain. As such, it turned my drive into a heart-pounding, white-knuckle journey along a sixty-mile stretch of slip and slide posing as Highway 416. Fortunately, traffic was light, and it appeared the only people on the road were truckers and idiots, like me, who didn’t have enough sense to cancel their plans and stay home in front of the fire with a good book.

  But the extra driving time gave my brain some quiet time to fully digest and ref
lect on what I’d discovered online while doing some digging into the life and times of Joshua Middleton. Convinced I had connected all the requisite dots, as soon as I got in my car I called the three banks I’d made appointments with. I canceled two, confirmed the third, then put my phone away after a deep puddle I hit doing forty produced a cascade of slush that scared me half to death when it thumped against my windshield. I cursed the relentless downpour of the dreaded wintry mix, prayed a temperature drop wouldn’t force me to buy skates for the trip home, and soldiered on to my remaining appointment, fully convinced it would be the only one I’d need. What should have taken an hour, turned into two, and I was glad I’d left early because I barely managed to make it to my scheduled appointment on time.

  I let the receptionist know I had arrived then headed to the bathroom to empty my nervous and very full bladder that had me tiptoeing across the Italian tile floor like a bow-legged chicken. I took a look in the mirror as I washed my hands, wasn’t pleased by what I saw, then shrugged it off and tossed my bag over my shoulder and headed back out to the lobby. The receptionist got her first good look at what I was wearing. She blinked and gave me a sad smile, a combination of pity and surprise I had to acknowledge was probably warranted. She did everything she could to hide the smile on her face as she led me to an office, and I sat down and glanced around at the collection of photos on the desk and walls as I waited. I smiled and gave myself a mental pat on the back when my eyes settled on a series of photos on one of the walls.

  Moments later, a man entered wearing a tailored dark blue suit paired with a crisp white shirt and a red tie emblazoned with a college insignia I didn’t recognize. He glanced at my outfit, a peasant skirt and blouse combination my mother had laughingly dubbed colonial-schoolmarm, and beat back his frown with a small smile. He sat down across the desk from me and folded his hands in front of him.

  “Ms. Chandler, right?” he said, giving me a smug, patronizing look.

  “Yes, please, call me Suzy.”

  “Of course,” he said, removing a fresh writing tablet from one of the desk drawers. “Suzy it is.” He pulled his pen from his shirt pocket and clicked it several times, apparently to make sure it was still working, then carefully set it down on top of the tablet. Ready for battle, he folded his hands in front of him again and gave me the same smug look my subconscious was already urging me to knock into next week.