The Case of the Faithful Frenchie

by B R Snow

  “Wow,” Josie said, staring at the vault. “They must have wanted in pretty bad.”

  “No kidding,” I said.

  Then I caught a glimpse of something that made me gasp and stagger backward a few steps.

  “What is it?” Josie said.

  “Down there,” I said, pointing at the floor inside the vault.

  The pirate hook was barely poking out from behind the door of the vault. I inched closer, terrified about what I mind find. I slowly peered around the door and found myself staring down at a dead man dressed in pirate garb.

  “Oh, no,” I said.

  “I can see the hook. It’s not Freddie is it?” Josie said, peering over my shoulder.

  “No,” I said, exhaling loudly. “I have no idea who that is.”

  “Geez,” Josie said, sighing loudly. “What a mess.”

  Summerman and Murray walked up behind us, and the dog poked his nose inside the vault, then glanced back at Summerman.

  “Stay, Murray,” Summerman said.

  I don’t think the dog needed to be told. From what I could tell, Murray didn’t want anything to do with the scene inside the vault. My mother arrived, and she took one look at the man inside the vault, then took a step back and glanced around the bank. I hugged her and left my arm draped over her shoulder. I could feel her trembling, and her eyes were filled with tears.

  “Do you know who that is, Mom?”

  “Yes, darling. I’m afraid I do.”

  She wheeled around and slowly made her way back through the shattered glass on the floor. I followed her outside and sat down next to her on the top step. She stared off into the distance and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “Mom?” I whispered.

  “Yes, darling.”

  “Who is that?”

  “It’s Buggy Winters,” she said, putting the handkerchief away.

  Everyone in the area was familiar with the Winters family. They owned several businesses and a ton of land that they had started slowing selling off to various real estate development companies. Known for avoiding publicity like the plague, the family had recently made the news when their patriarch, Eli, had quietly passed in his sleep at the age of ninety-nine. I’d met a few members of the family over the years and found them to be generally pleasant but somehow above the fray of daily life. But for the life of me, I couldn’t recall any memory of a family member called Buggy.

  “Is that a nickname, Mom?”

  “Yes. His given name was Wilbur,” she said, sighing audibly.

  “Wilbur Winters?” I said, shaking my head. “No, I don’t remember him.”

  “Buggy was the black sheep of the family,” my mother said, waving to Jackson who was walking toward us.

  “Well, since he was a bank robber, I can see why,” I said, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

  It didn’t work, and my mother climbed to her feet and glared down at me. Now all business, she put her hands on her hips as she continued to wait for Jackson.

  “Hi, folks,” Jackson said, coming to a stop on the top step next to my mother. “What have we got?”

  “Someone broke in and blew the place up,” she said. “And there’s a body inside the vault.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” my mother said.

  “Geez, not another one,” Jackson said. “Is it anybody we know?”

  “Buggy Winters,” she said.

  “Isn’t he the one the Winters pretty much disowned?” Jackson said, frowning.

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “What was he doing back in town?” Jackson said.

  “Well, he’s dressed like a pirate, so maybe he was just here to enjoy the festivities before it was time to rob the bank,” I said.

  “Please don’t start, darling.”

  “Or it was an easy way to be in town without being recognized,” Jackson said. “I’ve heard the family hates him.”

  “Yes,” my mother said. “Most of them did.”

  I caught the tone of my mother’s voice on the word most and immediately wondered if she was holding something back. But she wouldn’t make eye contact, so I filed it away for later discussion.

  “I need to get in there,” Jackson said, stepping past us to go inside. “Did you call Freddie yet?”

  “Yes,” my mother said. “He’s on his way.”

  “Watch out, Mrs. C.,” Jackson deadpanned. “I hear he’s got a heck of a left hook.”

  “Go away, Jackson,” my mother snapped.

  “Why would someone with that background and all that money become a bank robber?” I said.

  “All evidence to the contrary, Buggy wasn’t a bank robber.”

  “Then why is he sprawled out dead inside that bank vault?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that question, darling.”

  “What did this guy do?”

  “You mean for a living?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not much I imagine,” she said. “I’ve barely spoken to him in years.”

  I studied my mother’s face and was convinced she was holding something back.

  “But you spoke with him recently didn’t you, Mom?”

  She raised an eyebrow in my direction and gave me a small smile.

  “Very good, darling. As always, your instincts serve you well.”

  “Well, I did learn at the foot of the master,” I said, laughing.

  “Yes, you did. And never forget it. Buggy called me just after his grandfather died.”

  “Why did he call you?” I said as we both sat back down on the top step.

  “I helped him out a long time ago, and he considered me someone he could trust,” she said.

  Before I could process that bit of news or formulate a follow-up question, we noticed Freddie walking up the street in our direction. He was moving slowly, and he barely managed a small wave. He was still wearing his pirate costume, but his clothes were wrinkled, and he’d removed the hook.

  “Hi, folks,” he said, stopping in front of us.

  “You look awful, Freddie,” I said.

  “I know. But I’m sure I look a lot better than I feel,” he said. “That’s what I get for drinking in the afternoon on an empty stomach.”

  “Hangover, huh?” I said.

  “Yeah, it’s brutal,” he said, glancing at my mother. “Uh, Mrs. C.? Look, I’d like to apologize again for what happened today.”

  “I thought we decided never to mention it again, Freddie.”

  “Yeah, we did,” he said, sheepishly. “But I thought you deserved at least one more apology.”

  “What I deserve is to not have a pirate hook snagged, as you so eloquently put it earlier, in me britches.”

  Freddie flinched at the reminder and rubbed his forehead.

  “What can I say, Freddie?” my mother said, glaring at him. “You brought it up.”

  “Yeah, my mistake,” he said, slowly climbing the steps. “I need to get in there. Just the one body, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He’s in the vault.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you folks later,” Freddie said as he headed inside the bank.

  “Mom, I was wondering about something.”

  “What’s that, darling?”

  “Should we just cancel the dog parade tomorrow?” I said.

  “Why on earth would we do that?” my mother said, frowning.

  “Because of this,” I said, spreading my arms. “And once word gets out, it’s all that anybody is going to want to talk about.”

  “Yes, darling. And that’s why we need to give them something else to talk about. Something to take their mind off this dreadful situation. And what could possibly be better than watching a parade of dogs?”

  “I guess you’re right,” I said.

  “I know you’ll do a great job, darling,” she said, patting my hand.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “Buggy? What a weird nickname.”

  “Yes. But well deserved.” />
  “You want to explain it?”

  “Maybe later, darling. Right now, I have several phone calls to make and then an emergency town council meeting to conduct.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Of course. We need to get ahead of this thing,” she said, removing her phone from her pocket. “And then I need to stop by the Winters’ place.”

  “Are they in town for the Parade of Pirates?”

  “Yes, and I’m supposed to have dinner with them tomorrow night.”

  “Doesn’t it seem strange that they show up for the festivities the same year as their black sheep family member resurfaces?”

  “Yes, it does, darling. It seems very strange.”

  “Are you going to ask them about it?” I said, climbing to my feet and realizing how tired I was.

  “Why on earth would I spend my time asking them a bunch of questions?” my mother said, grinning. “I have you for all that. Tomorrow night at C’s. Eight o’clock.”

  We were both startled when Josie burst out of the bank carrying a growling, squirming object in her arms. Since it was wrapped in a blanket, I couldn’t see the dog but knew that something was seriously wrong. The blanket was covered in blood and Josie had it all over her arms and clothes. She pulled back the blanket, and I saw a black French bulldog’s face fixed into a permanent snarl. He continued to snap his jowls.

  “The poor little guy is traumatized,” Josie said. “We need to get him back to the Inn.”

  “Is that his blood?” I said, waving goodbye to my mother and following Josie as she headed back toward C’s where our car was parked.

  “No,” Josie said, picking up her pace. “It’s the blood of whoever is in the vault. Plus, some of mine.”

  “What?”

  “He was bound and determined not to leave the dead guy in the vault, and he bit me when I tried to pick him up,” Josie said, flashing her hand at me. “But it’s okay. I’ve already stopped bleeding.”

  “Where did you find him?”

  “Murray found him. The little guy was cowering in the corner of the vault behind a section of safe deposit boxes that had been blown apart.”

  I tried matching Josie stride for stride, but I was unable to keep pace and found myself falling behind. But my mind more than made up for the slowness of my feet. It was racing a million miles an hour. How the dog could have survived those explosions was baffling, and, now that I had a chance to think about it, I would have expected to see a lot more damage to the body of the person inside the vault.

  “Do you think the owner is the dead guy on the floor of the vault?” I said, opening the passenger door.

  “Given the fact that he didn’t want to leave the vault, that’s my guess.”

  Josie continued to clutch the wrapped dog close to her chest as she hopped into the passenger seat. I closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. I climbed in and headed for home.

  “He’s lucky to be alive,” I said, glancing over at the squirming bundle Josie was doing her best to control.

  “Tell him that. Maybe he’ll stop trying to bite my face off.”

  Chapter 4

  We needed an extra cup of coffee in the morning. I’d already been exhausted last night by the time the bank was robbed, and finding the Frenchie had only served to deepen and prolong my fatigue. When we’d gotten back to the Inn, Josie had immediately sedated the dog so she could get a good look at what, if any, injuries it had. But a bath was required before she could conduct her examination, so we spent twenty minutes cleaning the dog and rinsing away the blood that was caked on several parts of its small but sturdy body. After I had removed the blood-soaked blue bandana that was tied around the dog’s neck, I’d discovered a small collar with an ID tag that read Otto. But there was no contact information, so all we could do was make sure the dog was okay then put him in one of our condos.

  Now, coffee mug in hand, Josie and I stood outside the dog’s condo and watched as he snored away on top of a thick doggie bed.

  “Otto,” Josie called.

  The dog opened one eye, glanced at us, then made a sound that was a combination sigh and snort, then rolled over on its bed.

  “Come here, Otto,” Josie called.

  “I think he’s decided to stay put,” I said.

  “At least he’s not snarling at me.”

  “He was probably just in shock last night,” I said.

  I was familiar with French Bulldogs and had always found them easygoing and affectionate and very playful. But given what the dog had experienced, I could understand why he’d been terrified and extremely cranky last night and was still standoffish this morning.

  “Otto,” Josie called again.

  The dog woke, stood on its bed, and arched its back in a morning stretch. Otto hopped off the bed and stared at us.

  “Come here, Otto,” Josie said.

  The dog continued to stare at us. Josie opened the door to the condo, and we stepped inside. The dog cocked its head, but that was the only reaction we got.

  “That’s odd, isn’t it?” Josie said. “Frenchie’s love being around people.”

  “He’s still recovering,” I said, then I noticed the dog’s blood-soaked bandana on the floor. “I forgot to pick that up last night.”

  I grabbed the bandana and turned it over in my hands.

  “Oh, throw that thing away,” Josie said, scowling. “It’s disgusting.”

  “Hang on,” I said, heading for one of the sinks.

  I rinsed the bandana with soap and hot water, then stretched it out. I headed back to the condo and held it up for Josie to see.

  “That looks familiar,” Josie said. “What is that thing?”

  “It’s the flag of Quebec. The Fleurdelisé. The emblem is used in a lot of places. You see it New Orleans all over the place.”

  “The Quebec flag?” Josie said, frowning. “You think it’s possible?”

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” I said, turning toward the dog. “Otto. Venez ici.”

  The dog immediately trotted over to me and allowed me to pet him.

  “Otto. Asseyez-vous.”

  The dog sat down and stared up at me.

  “How about that?” Josie said, laughing. “Otto is fluent in French. What a good boy. I mean, quel bon garcon.”

  Otto snorted and glanced back and forth at us. Apparently, he was expecting a treat. Josie reached into her pocket and tossed a small dog cookie in the air. Otto snatched it out of midair and devoured it. He stared intensely at Josie as he waited for another.

  “Let’s see what else he knows,” Josie said. “Otto. Rouler.”

  The dog rolled over once and hopped back to its feet, now definitely expecting to be rewarded. Josie tossed him another cookie, then knelt down and rubbed his head.

  “Parler, Otto.”

  The dog barked once and waited for Josie to toss him another cookie.

  “He’s smart. And thank goodness he’s okay,” Josie said. “But if he hadn’t stopped biting and snarling, I’m not sure what we would have had to do. If the owner was the dead guy in the vault, maybe there’s somebody else who’s looking for Otto.”

  “If there is, maybe they’ll track us down. But in the meantime, I guess we can start with Jackson and go from there.”

  “Good plan,” Josie said, standing up.

  “We should let him rest,” I said, stepping out of the condo. “And we need to start getting ready for the parade.”

  “What were we thinking when we came up with this idea?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “Temporary insanity?”

  “Fifty dogs walking through the streets of Clay Bay surrounded by a couple thousand strangers swilling alcohol. What could possibly go wrong?”

  I closed the condo door, and we headed to the reception area where Sammy and Jill, dressed in full pirate garb, were organizing the Jolly Roger hats we’d ordered for the dogs to wear during the parade. They were using Captain and Chloe as test models, an
d while neither dog seemed particularly happy wearing the headdress, they were tolerating it.

  “Look how cute they look,” I gushed. “Chloe, you look adorable.”

  Chloe gave me a look that seemed to say you’re lucky I don’t have fingers or I’d show you one. I laughed and rubbed her head, then turned when the front door opened. Several local teenagers wearing pirate garb entered and waved.

  “You guys are here early,” Josie said.

  “We thought you might need some help getting all the dogs ready,” one of the teenage girls said.

  “That’s sweet,” Josie said, then turned to Sammy. “Why don’t you guys head to the condos and start getting organized? Rooster should be here in about half an hour.”

  We watched them scurry off and then again heard the front door open. A young girl of six in full costume entered, trailed by her mother.

  “Good morning, Gwen,” I said, kneeling down to greet the young girl. “That’s a nice eye patch.”

  “Thanks, Suzy,” the girl said, glancing up at her mother. “I told you people would like it.”

  The girl’s mother laughed and shook her head.

  “We had quite a battle about whether or not she could wear the patch. As you can see, I lost.”

  “Mom, can I go say hi to Tiny?” the girl said.

  “Sure, sweetie. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  We watched the young girl race toward the condo area, and I gestured for her mother to sit down.

  “She’s really into it, huh?” I said.

  “With all the costumes, I think she’s making some sort of connection to Halloween.”

  “Well, if she’s looking for candy,” I said, nodding at Josie. “She’s come to the right place.”

  “Funny,” Josie said.

  “I need to talk to you about something,” the mother said.

  “Sure, Barb. What’s up?” I said, sitting down across from her.

  “Gwen can’t stop talking about adopting a dog,” Barb said.

  “That’s good, right?” I said. “She’s six, and that’s old enough for her to have a dog.”

  “Yes, it is,” Barb said. “But she can’t stop talking about how much she wants a specific dog.”

  “One of ours?” Josie said.