Case of the Ostentatious Otters

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  Harry grinned and handed me a cold beer, from who knows where.

  “I’m gonna be a father again, bro!”

  Of all the news I was expecting to hear, this was nowhere on the list. I broke out into a grin and quickly stood up, which caused everyone else to do the same. I held out a hand.

  “Congrats, buddy. You had me worried there for a bit.”

  “Well, I was worried, too. We never planned on having more than two kids, but here we are, with number three in the oven.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” I began, “why did you react so badly to the news? Obviously you weren’t expecting it, but most people don’t freak out that way.”

  Harry cast a worried look over at Julie, who was all smiles.

  “Go ahead, Einstein. Tell him. It’s okay by me.”

  “If it’s TMI,” I said, as I raised my hands in the universal time-out gesture, “then feel free to say so and refrain from answering.”

  “It was nothin’ like that, man. I, er, didn’t do my math right and might’ve…”

  “Might have?” Julie repeated.

  “All right. I kinda thought that maybe I wasn’t the father.”

  “Oh, Harry, no!” I groaned. “You don’t ever, ever accuse a woman of cheating, especially your wife! Have I not taught you anything?”

  A smug smile formed on Julie’s face, “Didn’t I tell you? Well, as soon as Harry realized he was the father, and he had flown off the handle for no good reason, then he apologized.”

  “You must be really good at apologizing,” I mused. “Usually, when accusations like that are made, it’ll take a token of appreciation before an apology is even considered. And I’m talking about an expensive token of appreciation.”

  “She already picked out a new set of earrings online,” Harry confirmed. “Damn things were pricey.”

  “Dude, be glad she didn’t pick two sets. She could have… what are the dogs doing?”

  We all stopped to look at the dogs, who were both at the end of their leashes and were staring at the water.

  “The otters are back, aren’t they?” I guessed.

  “I don’t see any,” Jillian said, shaking her head.

  “I don’t, either,” Julie added.

  “They’re not moving, they’re not barking, and they’re not even whining,” I observed. “Something has attracted their attention. Whatever. Anyway, Jillian, I wanted to let you know that I think I might’ve identified the shipwreck we all suspect is out there.”

  Jillian clapped her hands delightedly, “Well done, Zachary! All right, which one is it?”

  “I think it’s the San Augustin. It sailed from the Philippines in 1735, on its way to Mexico, but sank off the northern coast of the state. Now, all the sources seem to indicate that the galleon sunk around 170 miles from here, but they never found the ship.”

  “The San Augustin,” Harry repeated. “So, if someone finds a sunken ship, then that means they can keep whatever they find, right?”

  I shook my head, “No. There are laws in place which state that any vessel found within the territorial boundaries of the United States will become property of the government.”

  “A treasure hunter does all the work of finding the wreck, and the government then swoops in and takes all the treasure?” Julie asked, frowning.

  “That’s why I think Jack Carlton was acting in secret,” I added. “That’s why it’s so important to find the missing dive log. We need to find out who his partner was in this endeavor.”

  A loud, high-pitched bark got our attention. It was Sherlock, and he was standing at the water’s edge, his short nub of a tail wagging like crazy. Curious, I leaned to the side to look around him. Ah, there they were. The otters were back.

  “His friends have returned,” Jillian announced.

  I nodded, “I can see that. Let me guess. They want to play, and they’re inviting the dogs.”

  “Actually, no,” Jillian said. “I think we didn’t see them before because they were all looking for food. I think it’s lunchtime for them.”

  “I’d say it’s lunchtime for us,” Harry announced. “Who else is hungry?”

  I shrugged, “I could go for some fish and chips. One would think it shouldn’t be too hard to find a restaurant around here that has it on their menu.”

  As we all prepared to leave, I heard the steady whapwhapwhap start up, signaling the otters were preparing to enjoy their meal. I gave the leashes a gentle tug, to let the dogs know we were leaving, when I noticed neither dog had budged. I looked back at Sherlock and saw he was ignoring me, and probably hadn’t heard a word I said.

  “Hey, don’t ignore me,” I told the feisty corgi. “That’s rude. You, too, Watson. Come on, guys. We’re leaving.”

  Once more, I was ignored.

  “No, you can’t take your otter friends home with us. They’re having lunch. Now, shake a paw, okay? We need to…”

  I trailed off as I noticed the young otter from before. He was floating on his back, off to the side of the, er, raft... group. I’ve just decided I hate calling a group of otters ‘raft.’ Anyway, the young otter was off to the side of the rest of the group, floating on his back. On his belly was an assortment of culinary treats: clams, mussels, and one small crab. In his paws, I could see that the otter was holding a mussel. A rock was produced and after a few whacks, the shells were smashed, discarded, and the meat consumed.

  I looked down at the dogs, who seemed eager to be released so they could frolic with their aquatic friends.

  “Don’t even think about it. They’re all eating. You’re not gonna mess that up.”

  I turned away and took about three steps before Sherlock’s sharp bark had me looking back at him.

  “Really? What was that for?”

  A flash of light drew my eyes back to the rock the otter was holding. The first time I noticed the rock. Last time, there was only a tiny bit of metal reflecting light. This time around, it was the reverse. The vast majority of the rock’s surface was metal. There were no doubts about what it was. Before I could bring this to the attention of the others, I noticed Jillian suddenly point at a different otter. Then Harry and Julie did the same. The four of us were all pointing in different directions. A close inspection of the group of otters revealed nearly half of them were using coins as their rocks.

  A realization dawned. The San Augustin? It had already been found, just not by humans.

  “Look!” Jillian exclaimed, as she noticed there were more otters with coins than rocks. “There are coins everywhere! What’s going on?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I chuckled. “Our missing galleon has already been found.”

  “By the otters,” Julie breathed. “How in the world...?”

  “It’s not unheard of,” Harry argued. “Think about it, Jules. The otters are constantly foraging for food. That means they’re always hunting and exploring, looking for anything they can eat. This group...”

  “...raft,” I slyly corrected.

  “Huh?”

  “Raft. It’s what you call a group of otters in the water.”

  “Thank you, Mr. PBS. This raft of otters has clearly encountered the wreck, and have discovered that those coins make great rocks.”

  “I’d love to know if those are the same coins,” I quietly said. I eyed the dogs, but was rewarded with a smack on my arm from Jillian.

  “Don’t even think about letting Sherlock and Watson disturb those poor otters from their lunch.”

  “I wasn’t. I was actually thinking about the best way to try and get those otters to give us those coins.”

  Harry, much to my relief, suddenly looked down at the dogs. I just knew that the same thought had occurred to my friend. And, mimicking Jillian, Julie punched her husband on the arm. She waggled a finger at him.

  “Nuh-uh. Aggravating the local wildlife is out of the question. In fact, I’m pretty sure that it’s a crime.”

  “So, what do we do?” Harry plaintively asked. �
��Those otters could be holding a fortune in rare coins! And look at them! Banging them away on those shells. We gotta stop ‘em, man!”

  Inspiration struck. I pulled out my cell and looked up a number online. Satisfied, I punched in the number and waited for a human to answer the line. And, it took several minutes of navigating through an automated system before I finally encountered a live person.

  “Thank you for calling Monterey Bay Aquarium. This is Sharon. How can I help you today?”

  Adopting my friendliest tone, I plastered a grin on my face and tried to sound cheerful.

  “Hi, Sharon. Listen, my girlfriend and I were there yesterday and met up with Mr. Jonathan Hawk. Is there any chance he’s there today? I have a question to run by him.”

  “And whom should I say is calling?”

  “Zachary Anderson, owner of Lentari Cellars, in Pomme Valley, Oregon. Tell him I have a favor for him, and if he’s willing to help, I’ll be willing to send him a few bottles of wine, his choice.”

  “Lentari Cellars? From Southwest Oregon? I’ve heard of your winery, Mr. Anderson. Tell you what. I’ll put the call through right now, if...”

  “If?” I suddenly burst out laughing. “Oh, I get it. You want a bottle, too, don’t you?”

  “I prefer Gewürztraminer, thank you.”

  “It’s a deal, Sharon.”

  I took down her mailing address and promised to send a bottle as soon as I was back home.

  “I’m putting you through now, Mr. Anderson. Have a wonderful day!”

  I heard a few soft clicks as my call traveled through the aquarium’s phone system.

  “Jonathan Hawk speaking.”

  “Mr. Hawk, this is Zack Anderson. We met the other day. Do you remember me?”

  “The police consultant. Of course I remember you. What can I do for you, Mr. Anderson?”

  Hoo boy, how do I start?

  “Umm, are you familiar with the wild otter population that lives in the area?”

  “Somewhat. You want to talk about otters, Mr. Anderson?”

  “Believe it or not, I do. I even think it might be related to Jack Carlton’s death.”

  “I’m listening.”

  I mentally crossed my fingers and prayed the aquarium’s director wasn’t involved in Jack Carlton’s death.

  “Umm, how would you go about relieving a rock from an otter?”

  “A rock? From an otter? Are you referring to the tool they use to open shellfish?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Why in the world would you want to do that?”

  Here we go.

  “Well, they, er, they may be using Spanish reales instead of rocks.”

  “Am I understanding you correctly? You believe a raft of otters might be using ancient Spanish coinage as a way of opening up a clam?”

  There. He called the otters a ‘raft’ and it didn’t sound stupid. So why, then, do I have such a problem with it?

  “Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but yesterday, we recovered one coin from that same, er, raft, and it turned out to be a local numist’s missing coin.”

  “Numist? Do you mean, ‘numismatist?’”

  “Whatever word means ‘coin collectors.’”

  “Wait. You say that you found these otters to be in possession of a Spanish real yesterday, and somehow, got it away from the otter?”

  “It was actually a two reales coin,” I recalled. “Dated from 1721. Does that help?”

  “I’ll be damned. And now, you claim the otters have more of these coins?”

  “Yes,” I confirmed. “And, I’d keep that to ourselves.”

  “How… how in the world did the otters get those coins?”

  “This is just a guess, Mr. Hawk, but I think… I think the otters are the ones who found San Augustin.”

  EIGHT

  Thirty minutes later, I was sitting inside the private office of Mr. Jonathan Hawk, director of Monterey Bay Aquarium. He had risen up from behind his desk the moment I arrived, shook my hand, and then promptly closed the door behind me. He pulled out a chair in front of his desk and took the leather executive’s chair behind it.

  “You mentioned to me on the phone that you had a picture of one of these coins?”

  I pulled out my cell, opened my Photos app, and then handed him my phone.

  “All this time, we thought we had found a coin stolen from a local coin collector late last year. I realize, now, that we didn’t. We simply found another coin that just so happened to be minted in the same year. It’s just a fluke, Mr. Hawk.”

  “Please. I told you before to call me Jon.”

  “Will do. So, Jon, what do we do? How do we get those coins away from the otters? Or do we? Even try, that is.”

  “Legally, my advice is to leave the otters alone,” Jon advised me. “Interacting with the local wildlife around here is strictly taboo. Monterey cops are just itching to make an example of any tourist foolish enough to try.”

  “Great,” I groaned.

  “I’m not finished. That’s my official answer.”

  Comprehending, I nodded. “And your unofficial answer?”

  Jon’s voice dropped so low that I had to lean forward to hear him.

  “Get those coins away from the otters, as quickly as you can.”

  I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, but that wasn’t it.

  “Come again?”

  “You heard me,” Jon insisted. “Get those coins away from the otters.”

  “But… why the urgency?” I stammered. “Do you think they’re going to eat them?”

  “Think about it,” Jon said, keeping his voice low. “If the general public learns that a raft of otters is using sunken treasure to break apart shellfish, what do you think will happen?”

  I whistled as I suddenly pictured the pristine beach overrun with knuckleheads with metal detectors, amateur treasure hunters, and those who would prey upon anyone fortunate enough to locate a few coins. It would be chaos.

  “I can see from your expression you just realized the same thing I did,” Jon told me. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to have several of my staff put together a few buckets of seafood otters find irresistible. I’ll send you instructions where to pick it up.”

  “Thanks, pal. I appreciate it.”

  “Just be careful,” Jon warned. “Wild animals that are fed can become very aggressive. And don’t expect the otters to take anything from you by hand. You’ll be lucky if they come anywhere close to you. What you’re looking to do is provide a steady source of food for the animals, so they end up feeling like they don’t need their ‘rocks’, okay?”

  “Got it. Hey, with regards to involving a few other staff members, I wouldn’t tell too many people about this,” I warned.

  “Why? Wait. Do you think the presence of these coins is related to Jack Carlton’s death?”

  “What do you think? Every bit of research I’ve found thus far says that, typically, a Spanish galleon would hold 50-60 tons of these coins. What do you think the market value of that is?”

  “I see what you mean. I’ll make sure I ask several of my most trusted staff. You’d better get going, Mr Anderson.”

  I held out a hand, “It’s Zack. And thanks, Jon.”

  We shook hands and parted ways. Back outside, I briefly considered hailing a cab, as I walked down the front steps of the aquarium. Then again, by the time I looked up the number, placed the call, wait for it to arrive, and then take the short five-minute car ride, I could walk back to the hotel quicker. So, that’s what I did. Less than thirty minutes later, I pulled up in Jillian’s SUV and prayed to whatever deities that existed that the contents of the two buckets I just picked up didn’t spill. Rolling the windows down just before I climbed out, I retrieved the two buckets, carefully placed them on the ground, and then locked up. Jillian noted my arrival first.

  “Zachary! That was quick. What… is that the car? You pulled it out of valet parking? And what do you have there, in the bu
ckets?”

  I set the buckets down in front of the dogs, who took an immediate liking to them, and took Sherlock’s leash from Jillian. I waved over Harry and Julie, who were wandering the beach, looking for more pieces of sea glass. Consequently, they didn’t find any.

  “What’s up, bro? Did you find out what we should do? Holy crap, man. What’s in the buckets? It stinks to high heaven.”

  “It’s raw seafood,” I explained, “and you should see what it smells like in an enclosed car.”

  Jillian’s eyes narrowed, “Zachary, you didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry, I had to. I’ll get your car detailed, inside and out.”

  “Did you lower some windows, so it’ll air out?”

  I nodded, “I did. Here’s your keys, by the way. Now, listen up, everyone. I told our friend Jon, at the aquarium, about our situation here. He agrees with me, in that he believes the otters have found the San Augustin.”

  “The otters found the shipwreck,” Julie softly said, as she clutched her husband’s hand. “I wouldn’t have called that one.”

  “You and me both,” I agreed.

  “What are we supposed to do now, man?” Harry asked. He sniffed loudly and looked disdainfully down at the two buckets. “You called the aquarium. What do they want us to do, feed them?”

  “They strongly advised that we do absolutely nothing,” I relayed. “But, the director of the aquarium does recognize the danger in allowing these otters to have these coins. If the public were to catch on that the otters were using authentic Spanish coins from the 18th century, what do you think would happen to this area?”

  “It’d be overridden with treasure hunters,” Jillian guessed.

  “People would go bat-crap crazy,” Harry added, at the same time.

  I nodded, “Precisely. Therefore, I’ve been advised, off the record, to try and get those coins away from them. How? The old-fashioned way: bribery.”

  “What do you plan on doing?” Harry asked, bewildered. “Swim out there and say, hey, bud, here’s a tasty clam. Want to trade?”

  I shrugged, “You never know until you try.”

  “Now would be a good time to do just that,” Jillian suggested. “For the most part, we seem to be alone.”