The Case of the Faithful Frenchie Read online

  “Yes. Tiny.”

  I glanced at Josie who frowned and shook her head. During our practice session yesterday, we’d noticed that the girl had spent most of her time interacting with the gentle giant. And when Tiny had shown no hesitation letting the girl ride on his back for a trip around the play area, Gwen had squealed with delight and wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck.

  “I have to admit that he’s a great dog,” Barb said. “But he’s so big, and I don’t think Gwen would be able to handle him. I have serious doubts that I could.”

  “I don’t think that would be a problem, Barb,” I said. “But I wouldn’t be comfortable with you adopting Tiny.”

  “I agree,” Josie said. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Barb said, raising an eyebrow.

  “No, it’s got nothing to do with you, Barb,” Josie said. “I’m sure you’re going to do a great job with whatever dog you decide to adopt.”

  “It’s Tiny,” I said. “He’s already seven. And Great Danes have a life expectancy of eight, maybe nine years. Gwen and Tiny would develop a very strong bond, and I’m not sure you want to set Gwen up for that loss when she’s only eight years old.”

  “I wouldn’t feel good about it, Barb,” Josie said. “Suzy and I have already talked about how hard it’s going to be for us when Tiny goes.”

  “I see,” Barb said. “I hadn’t even thought about that. What do you suggest?”

  “Well, a puppy is one option,” I said. “But if you don’t want to have to deal with housebreaking issues, we have a lot of younger dogs that would be perfect. Maybe we’ll just keep a close eye on how she interacts with all the dogs today and go from there.”

  “And if she still has her heart set on Tiny?” Barb said.

  “Then we’ll have to figure out some way to have the conversation with her about why Tiny isn’t up for adoption,” Josie said.

  “Fair enough,” Barb said. “You guys must have to deal with losing dogs often. How do you handle it?”

  “Not well,” I said, glancing at Josie.

  “But it comes with the territory,” Josie said.

  “Yes, I imagine it does,” Barb said, nodding. “Okay, thanks. I need to go see what she’s up to. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  We watched her head toward the condo area, then I sighed loudly.

  “Did we do the right thing discouraging it?” I said.

  “Yeah. Tiny is in great health, but he’s probably only got two, maybe three years left,” Josie said.

  “Some of the most despicable people on earth live until they’re a hundred. But dogs only get ten, fifteen years. It’s just not fair.”

  “No, it certainly isn’t,” Josie said, glancing out the front picture window at the water. “There’s Rooster.”

  Rooster Jennings was one of Clay Bay’s more colorful local residents who most people tended to avoid like the plague. And that was just fine with Rooster. He owned and operated what generously might be called a marina. During the summer, he provided dock space and boat storage and rental, along with gas and sundries he sold at outrageous prices to tourists. Some of Rooster’s past was a bit of a mystery, and although he did his best to disguise the fact, he was worth a small fortune. It was well known throughout the area that he was comfortable working in what Josie referred to as the gray zone. Despite Rooster’s deep mistrust of others, especially anyone associated with law enforcement or government agencies, he and I were lifelong friends. Our friendship had started when I was a young girl, and we had bonded primarily over our mutual love for dogs. Over the years, we’d gotten very close, much to the surprise of others who knew both of us.

  And when Josie and I had mentioned to him that we organizing the dog parade but were having trouble figuring out the logistics of how to transport fifty dogs and their handlers to the parade area, Rooster had offered to help. We had originally been thinking that we’d need a caravan of cars and trucks to transport everyone, but Rooster had stared at us like we were a couple of idiots. Now, as I watched him pull the long pontoon boat into our dock, I congratulated myself for having the good sense to listen to his advice.

  “He’s even decorated it,” Josie said, waving through the window at Rooster.

  “I’m not sure that the old pirate ships came into port with streamers and balloons,” I said, laughing. “But it looks fantastic.”

  Rooster entered and I gave him a long hug. He settled for a handshake and a peck on the cheek from Josie and glanced around the empty reception area. He was wearing his usual outfit that consisted of a grease-stained tee shirt and a ragged pair of cutoff jean shorts that ended just above his knees. On his sockless feet was the pair of scuffed work boots without shoelaces he wore even during the winter. His long gray hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he wore a filthy red bandana on his head. Judging by the amount of dirt and grease on his face and arms, it looked like he’d either been working on a boat engine this morning, or he was still displaying the results from yesterday’s labors.

  “The pontoon boat looks great, Rooster,” I said. “Thanks again for doing this.”

  “Why drive a car when you can go for a boat ride?” he said.

  Right to the point with unassailable logic. Just one more reason I loved the man.

  “We’ll certainly be making an entrance,” Josie said. “Did you bring Titan?”

  Titan was the German Shepherd puppy he had adopted from us a few months ago.

  “Sure,” Rooster said. “He’s in the boat. But he won’t be walking in the parade. He’s not really fond of big crowds.”

  “He must get that from his dad,” Josie said, laughing.

  “He sure does,” Rooster said, nodding.

  “Did you hear about what happened last night?” I said, then immediately chastised myself for even asking.

  “Suzy, when was the last time something happened in this town somebody didn’t hear about?”

  “Never mind. Dumb question.”

  “Yeah, it was too bad about Buggy,” Rooster said, helping himself to the coffee.

  “Did you know him?” I said.

  “Sure. I grew up with him. Who do you think gave him his nickname?”

  “Really?”

  I was surprised that one of the richest kids in the area had hung out with Rooster growing up. Rooster may have become wealthy over the years, but he most certainly didn’t fit the description of what most rich people looked like or did. And I knew that Rooster had come from a family of modest means.

  “Yeah, one day we were playing with a bunch of other kids, and the name just came to me,” Rooster said, smiling at some distant memory. “Buggy always seemed like he was trying to get away from everything his family had and how they expected him to behave. Especially things like him hanging out with me and my crowd. But given his family and where he came from, he never quite fit in. No matter how hard he tried.”

  “So, he bugged everybody, right?” Josie said.

  “Maybe a little,” Rooster said. “But he was okay. Just a little odd. Like his fascination with eating bugs.”

  “He ate bugs?” Josie said.

  “Yuk,” I said, frowning.

  “Hence the nickname,” Rooster said, laughing. “We were always on the lookout for the nastiest creepy-crawly we could find. And Buggy would always munch them down. It was sort of his calling card.”

  “Do you know much about the problems he had with his family?” I said.

  “Not too much. Buggy left town just after high school and then just disappeared. He’d surface from time to time when he needed money.”

  “He came to you for money?” I said.

  “Occasionally, when he was really hurting. He sure wasn’t going to get it from his family,” Rooster said, draining the last of his coffee. “Black sheep and all that.”

  “But what did he do?” I said.

  “He didn’t do anything,” Rooster said, his eyes flaring. “Other than refuse to play by their rule
s.”

  “And for that, his family disowned him?” Josie said.

  “Pretty much. But you need to remember we’re talking about the Winters family here. Buggy was the oldest, but since he wouldn’t fall in line, the parents just decided to have some more kids. I think the Winters adopted the pancake theory when it came to having kids.”

  “You lost me, Rooster,” I said.

  “If you make enough pancakes, you’re bound to get some right eventually. And you just don’t worry about the ones that get burnt.”

  “I can’t believe that Rooster,” I said.

  “You’ve never met the Winters, have you?”

  “No, but apparently I’m going to have that pleasure at dinner tonight,” I said.

  “Lucky you.”

  “Do you think Buggy robbed the bank?” I said.

  “No way,” he said, shaking his head. “Buy a bank, maybe. Rob one? Never.”

  “But you just said he didn’t have any money,” I said.

  “I did, didn’t I?” Rooster said, giving me an odd grin.

  “So, if he didn’t rob the bank, what was he doing there?”

  “Ah, that’s the fifty million dollar question, isn’t it?”

  “The fifty million dollar question?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Somewhere around there. Maybe more.”

  “Why are you being so coy about this, Rooster?”

  “Because you’re starting to ask a bunch of questions,” he said, laughing. “And when you do, I know enough to keep my mouth shut. Don’t forget, Suzy. We go way back.”

  “But a moment ago you were more than happy to talk,” I said, staring at him.

  “I was, wasn’t I?”

  A lightbulb went off in my head, and a small smile formed on my face.

  “You think something odd is going on, don’t you, Rooster?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And you want me to do some digging around, don’t you?”

  “Maybe,” he said, returning my smile.

  “Can I ask you why?”

  “Because I can’t do it,” he said, turning serious. “The Winters hate my guts, and they would run for cover the second they saw me coming.”

  I continued to study his face closely.

  “But the real reason it wouldn’t break my heart if you did a little digging around is that you’re good at it.”

  “Thanks, I guess,” I said, glancing at Josie.

  “Don’t encourage her, Rooster,” Josie said.

  “What, if anything, would you like me to do?” I said.

  “In the immortal words of Deep Throat, follow the money.”

  “The Winters’ money?”

  “Well, I sure don’t want you sticking your nose around mine.”

  Josie snorted.

  “Okay, first things first,” Josie said, getting out of her chair. “We have a parade to put on.”

  Chapter 5

  If I had any doubts about how the dog parade would be received, they were quickly dispelled when Rooster piloted the pontoon boat carrying over fifty dogs and their handlers into a slip at the town dock. We’d somehow managed to get the vast majority of the dogs to grudgingly agree to wear a Jolly Roger headdress and a colorful kerchief with a specific number pinned to it. Along with the pirate-clad school kids who were serving as dog handlers, we must have looked quite the sight as we approached the dock with Captain and Chloe perched on either side of Captain Rooster.

  I say that because several hundred people lining the dock and nearby shoreline cheered wildly when the pontoon boat approached.

  Josie and I helped the dogs and their handlers out of the boat, and soon a long line of dogs stood two by two stretched down the dock. One of the last people out of the boat was a teenage boy who was handling one of our Rottweilers. He smiled at us then glanced at Rooster who was standing nearby.

  “Nice costume,” the boy said, glancing up at Rooster.

  “What costume?” Rooster deadpanned, staring at the young man.

  “Uh. Never mind,” the boy said, climbing out of the boat.

  Josie and I took our place at the head of the line and grudgingly put leashes on Captain and Chloe.

  “You ready to go?” Josie said, smiling as she glanced down the long line of dogs and kids.

  “Aye. Everything is shipshape, matey,” I said.

  “Please, don’t start with that,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Onward ho,” I called out to the assemblage and pointed toward the town end of the dock.

  “Onward ho? That better be a directional reference.”

  “Yes, it is,” I said, laughing. “But I must say I can see the resemblance.”

  “Disagree. I’m just especially wenchy today,” she said, rubbing Captain’s head. “You stay close, Captain. The way it looks, I may need some of that rum you’re carrying.”

  We started walking down the dock, and I smiled and waved at dozens of familiar faces. When we reached the end of the dock, we made a right turn directly into a section of a parking lot that had been reserved for us. I saw my mother and Jackson standing near the table we’d set up to sell tickets for the favorite dog contest. Sammy and Jill were sitting at the table and laughing as they watched the long line of dogs approach. Josie stopped and addressed all the handlers.

  “Okay, guys. Good job. So far, so good. We’ve got a water station set up right over there, so make sure you give your dog a chance to get a drink before we get started. And people will be coming over to look at your dog so make sure you keep a close eye on things. There will be a lot of activity and movement so make sure your assigned dog stays relaxed. We’re not expecting any of them to freak out, but please keep your focus on your dog, especially when there are small children around. The parade route is simple. We’ll be heading up First, making a right on Charles Street, another right onto Second, then another right on Spencer. That will bring us right back here on the other side of the parking lot.”

  Josie paused and waited until she was sure everyone understood. Then she smiled and continued.

  “It’s just like we practiced at the Inn. Take your time. Have some fun and remember our goal is to find good homes for some of these guys today. So don’t be shy about interacting with the crowd. It’s not too hot today, and the route is only a little over a mile long so the dogs shouldn’t have any issues with overheating. But keep a close eye on them, and let Suzy or me know if you have any questions or concerns. Okay?”

  Josie again paused then she glanced over at me.

  “Did I forget to cover anything?” she said.

  “No, that was great.”

  I thanked the handlers again before joining my mother and Jackson who were chatting with Rooster near the ticket area.

  “Hi, Mom. New costume?” I said, glancing at the pirate outfit she was wearing.

  “Well, after what Freddie did to it, I really couldn’t wear the one I had on yesterday, darling,” she said, then posed for me. “What do you think? Since I’m the mayor, I’m wondering if it’s a bit too much.”

  “Actually, Mom. I was going to say it’s a bit too little,” I said. “You look positively wenchy.”

  “Funny, darling.”

  She looked great, but the costume was a bit revealing in a couple of places. I reached over and fastened one more button on her blouse. I took a step back and nodded.

  “That’s better,” I said, patting her hand. “Let’s keep everybody guessing, okay? Hey, Jackson.”

  “Hi, Suzy,” he said, glancing around at the collection of dogs. “Maybe I should have brought Sluggo. He might have enjoyed this.”

  Sluggo, Jackson’s bulldog, was notorious for lounging whenever the opportunity presented itself. And I was willing to bet that he was more than happy spending the afternoon in the air-conditioned comfort of Jackson’s house snoring and sprawled out on his bed.

  “Any update on what happened last night?” I said.

  “Not much yet,” Jackson said. “The fir
st explosion was the one that took out the door to the vault. We think the second one was a series of smaller explosions used to blow open the safe deposit boxes.”

  “How did they get in?” I said.

  “That’s a bit fuzzy at the moment,” he said. “Detective Abrams and I are working on the theory that they were already inside the bank when it closed yesterday. Then they managed to disable the alarm.”

  Detective Abrams was with the state police and was someone we’d interacted with several times in the past. We also took care of his Basset Hound, Wally, whenever he and his wife were out of town.

  “They were hiding inside the bank?” I said, frowning. “Where?”

  “Well, there are a couple of supply closets they might have been able to squeeze into. Or maybe they were hiding in the restrooms. Fred says that both of those would have been possible. And the bank closed early so everyone could attend Invasion Day. Fred eventually conceded that he and his staff were focused on that and probably weren’t at their best yesterday. You know, maybe not paying close enough attention to what was going on.”

  Fred Baylor was the manager of First National and a longtime resident of Clay Bay. I knew him as someone who took his job very seriously, and I could only imagine how embarrassed and depressed he was by the robbery.

  “Did they clean the place out?” I said.

  “They certainly did,” Jackson said. “Cash, jewelry, documents. You name it, they took it.”

  The mention of documents caught my attention, and I glanced at Rooster who gave me a small smile. I filed it away and was about to ask another question when I heard the loud voice.

  “Rooster Jennings. Is that you?”

  I turned in the direction of the voice and saw a tall, middle-aged man dressed in what my mother called expensive casual. He glanced at us, then focused all his attention on Rooster who seemed less than thrilled to see him.

  “Hi, Bentley,” Rooster said, accepting the man’s handshake. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Indeed. And I think we both know why,” the man said, chuckling.

  The man called Bentley glanced down at the grease his handshake with Rooster had left behind. I looked at Rooster, and he was smiling and seemed to be enjoying the man’s uncertainty about how to handle his grimy hand. In the end, Bentley let the hand dangle by his side, but he was very careful about it not touching his tailored slacks.