by B R Snow
“She’s buying mizuna,” Josie whispered, grabbing my arm. “That means she’s going to have that chicken fettuccine with the bacon-brandy cream sauce as one of the specials.”
“Yum. I guess I know where we’re eating dinner,” I said.
A few months ago I’d never even heard of the Japanese leafy green with a peppery flavor. Now I actually preferred it to arugula, another of my favorite greens. Mizuna wasn’t as bitter and did a great job soaking up broth and sauces; like the cream sauce Chef Claire used in the fettuccine dish.
“I’m sorry, Chef Claire,” the man said. “We don’t even grow it in our greenhouse, and it’s hard to find around here.”
“It can’t be that hard, Luther,” Chef Claire said. “The stuff will grow in your driveway.”
“Yeah, but nobody else around the area uses it,” he said. “Right now, you’re the only one. Look, if you don’t want to spend the money, why don’t you substitute arugula or kale? Or maybe even the baby bok choy.”
“And instead of making my chicken fettuccine with cream sauce, why don’t I just order KFC?” Chef Claire said.
“Okay, okay,” the man said, beaten. “I’ll knock twenty percent off and talk to George about planting a couple pallets of the mizuna.”
“Thank you, Luther,” Chef Claire said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re so good to me.”
“Well, it’s not like I have a choice. My wife’s already warned me to make sure you stay happy,” he said, laughing. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
He waved to us on his way out, and we helped Chef Claire carry the boxes of vegetables into one of the walk-in coolers. Just as we were getting ready to leave, we heard a knock on the back door. Chef Claire opened it, and a small man with bushy hair and even bushier eyebrows pushed a dolly inside and parked it next to the walk-in. He took a few seconds to catch his breath and glanced back and forth at us.
“Good morning, Morrie,” Chef Claire said. “I’d like you to meet my two business partners, Suzy and Josie.”
“How are you doing?” Morrie said, shaking our hands.
“Actually, we’re pretty much silent partners,” Josie said.
“Unless you happen to be sitting next to her while she’s eating,” I deadpanned.
“Funny,” Josie said.
“You’re the two dog people, right?” Morrie said. “You run the Doggy Inn.”
“That’s us,” I said, smiling at him.
“How’s Oslo doing?” Morrie said. “I’m pretty worried about him.”
I looked at Josie, then back at Morrie. The first thing on his mind was the welfare of Calducci’s dog. I decided I liked this guy. We explained what had happened and gave him an update on Oslo’s condition. Morrie listened closely, then shook his head in disgust.
“I tried to warn Jimmy,” Morrie said. “But he was just too smart to listen to a guy who delivers meat for a living.”
“Warn him about what?” Josie said.
“About feeding Oslo all those processed meats. I mean some chicken and turkey are fine. But the nitrates in all those cold cuts can kill a dog,” Morrie said.
“They wouldn’t be the cause of the tumor, would they?” I said to Josie.
“Not likely,” Josie said. “But they sure wouldn’t help. How much did Mr. Calducci give him?”
“A lot. And all the time,” Morrie said. “Every time Calducci had a sandwich or an antipasto he made sure Oslo got his share.”
“Well, don’t worry, Morrie,” I said. “He won’t be getting any more processed meats while he’s with us.”
“Good. What’s going to happen to Oslo?” Morrie said.
“You mean, now that Calducci is dead?” I said.
“What did you think I meant?” Morrie said, giving me a hard look.
“Nothing,” I whispered. “I was just asking.”
“What impact will his death have on your business, Morrie?” Chef Claire said. “We’ve got things working great, and I’d hate to see that get screwed up.”
“Don’t worry, Chef Claire. Nothing will change there,” Morrie said. “But I am hoping to get the thirty percent back the guy has been skimming off me for years.”
“Thirty percent?” I said.
“Yeah, Jimmy was quite the guy,” Morrie said. “And as you can see, I’m devastated by his death.”
Morrie gave us a small smile that bordered on evil, then he relaxed and focused on the boxes he’d delivered.
“You’re all set today, Chef Claire,” he said. “I brought the extra forty pounds of the prime rib you asked for.”
“Thanks, Morrie,” Chef Claire said, glancing at Josie. “The stuff just seems to be disappearing.”
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Josie said.
“How did you get into the meat business, Morrie?” I said.
“My wife,” he said, shrugging. “She said I either had to go straight, or she was gone.”
“Go straight?” I said.
“I used to be pretty well-known around the area as a second-story guy,” Morrie said with a touch of pride.
“You were a burglar?” Josie said. “What did you steal?”
“Pretty much anything I could get my hands on,” Morrie said, shrugging. “Then I got caught, did a year, but managed to convince my wife to stick around, and then got into business for myself.”
“The meat business?” I said.
“Yeah, I bought the business from one of Calducci’s cousins,” he said. “I’d known Jimmy since we were kids and we, uh, worked together a couple of times if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, we got it,” I said, laughing.
“And then Jimmy just started moving up the ranks,” Morrie said. “By the time he was running the show, he’d gotten his claws into me for twenty percent off the top.”
“I thought you said it was thirty,” I said.
“Well, Jimmy liked to keep upping the skim every couple of years,” Morrie said. “Said it helped me stay focused. Lately, he’s been making noises about upping it to thirty-five. At least he was.”
“I guess those days are over,” I said.
“Yeah, tragic, huh?” Morrie said, beaming at me. “Okay, if you’re happy, Chef Claire, I’m out of here.”
“We’re good, Morrie. Thanks,” Chef Claire said. “It’s weird, but I feel like I should be offering condolences.”
“For Calducci?” Morrie said. “Save them for Oslo.” Then he turned to us. “And if you get stuck finding a home for him, be sure and let me know.”
“We’ll do that, Morrie,” Josie said. “But I need to tell you that there’s no way to know how long Oslo is going to live after going through that surgery.”
“So I guess he’s in the same boat as the rest of us, huh?” Morrie said, shrugging.
“It’s pretty hard to argue with that logic, Morrie,” Josie said, laughing.
“Yeah, you might as well as save your breath when it comes to the question of how long any of us has got,” he said, winking at us. “Nice meeting both of you. I’ll see you soon, Chef Claire.”
We watched him until his truck rumbled away, then Chef Claire closed the door. She motioned for us to follow her to the far end of the kitchen. Josie and I glanced at the table with six chairs tucked away in the corner.
“Is that what I think it is?” Josie said.
“It is,” Chef Claire said. “I didn’t really want to do it, but your mom just kept harping on about how we needed a chef’s table in the kitchen.”
“It looks great,” Josie said, glancing around. “And it’s out of the way so it shouldn’t bother you or your staff, right?”
“No, it’s fine,” Chef Claire said. “But I’ll have to watch my language.”
Normally sweet and kind, we’d learned during the time she’d been living with us that Chef Claire had a tendency to swear like a sailor when things got crazy in the kitchen.
“Have you started taking reservations yet?” Josie said.
“
Yeah, Mrs. C. has put permanent dibs on Wednesday nights all summer, but I’m sure we can squeeze you in,” Chef Claire said, laughing. “But I’d prefer it if you’d fill all six seats. I’m going to be doing a seven-course tasting menu, and six is the perfect number for what I’m making.”
“Oh, we’ll fill the table,” I said.
“Or make sure we eat all the leftovers,” Josie said.
“Now there’s a shock,” Chef Claire said. “Who do you have in mind inviting?”
“Oh, probably just the usual suspects,” Josie said, grinning at me. “You know, Sammy and Jill, Jackson, Freddie…maybe Agent Tompkins if he’s in the area.”
“Agent Tompkins, huh?” Chef Claire said, cocking her head. “Interesting. At the same table with Jackson and Freddie?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Chef Claire said.
“We think it’s a great idea, Chef Claire,” Josie said, laughing.
“I have to admit that I’d love to see him,” Chef Claire said. “But I don’t want to upset Jackson and Freddie. I love both of them.” She exhaled loudly and seemed to be fighting back the tears.
I glanced at Josie who nodded for me to proceed. It was a question we’d been dying to ask her but hadn’t been able to summon up the courage.
“Yes, we know. And we feel the same way,” I said. “But you’re not in love with either one of them, are you?”
“No,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “At least, not yet.”
“Well, I guess there’s no real hurry for you to make up your mind,” Josie said. “It’s not like you’re going anywhere.”
“No, I’m never leaving this place,” she said. “And that’s why I need to be very careful about the decisions I make. And how I handle Jackson and Freddie.”
She seemed wound tighter than a ball of string, and I felt bad about bringing it up in the first place. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and loudly exhaled again.
“I’ve been thinking that maybe I should get a puppy,” she said, laughing. “It always seems to work for the two of you.”
“You’ll never go wrong with a puppy,” I said. “And we’d be happy to keep an eye on it whenever you’re busy.”
“I have no doubt about that,” she said, finally managing a smile.
“What kind of dog would you get?” Josie said.
“I’ve always wanted a Golden Retriever,” she said.
“Great call. And I think a Golden would fit in great with Captain and Chloe,” I said.
“You guys never worry about having too many dogs around, do you?” Chef Claire said.
“Too many dogs is impossible, Chef Claire. You should know that by now,” I said, laughing.
“Yeah, I guess I should,” she said. “So, you wouldn’t have a problem with it?”
“Not at all,” I said, glancing at Josie.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Josie deadpanned. “Suzy and I collect dogs the same way you seem to attract male admirers.”
“That’s not funny, Josie,” Chef Claire said, gently punching her on the arm.
“Disagree.”
Chapter 8
We finally managed to track down the widow Calducci early the next day. And since we’d caught her early in the morning, she sounded intelligent and coherent over the phone. But she spoke in a muted tone Josie and I attributed to the shock of losing her husband. After we explained Oslo’s situation, she reluctantly agreed to swing by the Inn around lunchtime.
Josie had decided to keep Oslo mildly sedated after he’d woken from surgery and had immediately started trying to scratch the stitches in his head. Post-surgery sedation wasn’t the norm, and Josie hated doing it, but she’d been left with no choice since the dog, with one well-placed scratch, could do himself some real damage and undo several hours of her intricate work. He was resting comfortably but continued to run a fever Josie was starting to get concerned about. But he did greet everyone who stopped by his condo with a few thumps of his tail. Given all the challenges Olso was dealing with, I considered that a good sign.
At eleven thirty, Dot Calducci and Pee Wee walked through the front door and glanced around the reception area. Josie and I were standing behind the check-in counter talking with Sammy and Jill and glanced up when we heard them come in. Dot and Pee Wee were wearing matching sunglasses and looked like they were dressed for golf.
Pee Wee’s bald head gleamed from the overhead fluorescent lights, and he looked even bigger than I remembered from opening night. Doubting that the size of his head and massive torso had come naturally, I found myself wondering if he went through steroids the same way Josie went through a bag of the bite-sized Snickers. As I studied him, I decided that if I had to choose somebody to keep Calducci quiet and immobilized while someone else stuffed handfuls of opioids down his throat, Pee Wee would probably be number one on my list.
I was intrigued by that idea but realized I was getting way ahead of myself. This conversation was supposed to focus on Oslo, and the question of who might have killed Calducci would have to wait.
“Good morning,” I said, smiling at them as the caboose of my train of thought finally left the station.
“Yes, good morning,” Dot said, removing her sunglasses. “Okay, I’m here.”
Her eyes were red and puffy, and I decided that she had either just finished a good cry, or had a hangover that would kill a horse. Maybe both.
“We were very sorry to hear about your husband, Mrs. Calducci,” I said.
“Yes, we certainly are,” Josie said. “Please accept our deepest condolences.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
It was probably the hundredth time she’d had this conversation the past few days, and I felt sorry for her. Wherever her marriage had ended up, at one point, she must have been a very happy woman. And I hoped as time passed the good memories would drown out the more recent that were, based on everything we’d heard, a collection of hazy, alcohol-soaked days that blurred together.
“You said over the phone that you wanted to talk about my husband’s dog,” the widow Calducci said, obviously anxious to get started.
“Of course,” I said, gesturing for them to follow us. “Oslo’s resting in his condo.”
“Condo?” she said.
“Yes,” I said, leading the way.
“Wouldn’t the term cage be more accurate?” she said.
“No, it wouldn’t,” Josie said, forcing a smile as she glanced over her shoulder.
I smiled to myself. The widow Calducci might be grieving, and we would do everything we could to support her. But she needed to be careful about her choice of words today when it came to dogs. Josie was still steamed about Dot calling Oslo an idiot at dinner and, bad puns aside, was on a very short leash.
We stopped in front of Oslo’s condo, and he looked up and thumped his tail a few times before lowering his head down on top of his front paws.
“Would you like to go inside and pet him?” I said to Dot.
“No, that’s quite alright,” she said, staring at the bandages wrapped around the dog’s head. “You mentioned brain surgery. Is it going to be okay?”
“We’re still not sure,” Josie said. “But we’re hoping he makes a full recovery.”
If Dot caught the intent of Josie’s response, she did a good job ignoring it.
“So we were wondering what you’d like to do about Oslo,” I said.
“What do you mean what I’d like to do?” Dot said, frowning as she glanced at Pee Wee.
“Well, since Oslo was your husband’s dog, it would stand to reason that custody would transfer to you,” I said.
“That makes sense,” Pee Wee said, nodding.
“Does it now?” Dot said, glaring at Pee Wee before looking back at me. “Yes, it was my husband’s dog. And since it was, it has nothing to do with me.”
“I see,” I whispered.
“This is a total waste of my time,” th
e widow snapped. “I suppose you dragged me out here just so you could give me the bill in person, right?”
My ability to support her during her grieving period was rapidly dwindling, and I noticed Josie’s eyes had turned dark.
“We’re only interested in Oslo’s well-being, Mrs. Calducci,” Josie whispered.
“His well-being? Really? Condos? Custody?” she said, bewildered. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. Is this really the sort of thing you spent your life doing?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Josie said, shrugging and glancing at me for confirmation.
“It’s a living,” I said, forcing what would probably be my last fake smile.
“What on earth is wrong with you two?” the widow Calducci said, laughing.
“Actually, there are a lot of theories floating around about that question,” I said. “So, I take it that you aren’t interested in taking Oslo after he recovers.”
“Finally,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ve said something that actually makes sense. No, of course, I don’t want the stupid dog.”
I noticed Josie clenching and unclenching her fists and placed a hand on her arm.
“That’s fine, Mrs. Calducci,” I said. “All you need to do is sign a form transferring ownership to us, and you can leave anytime you like.”
“Where do I sign?” she said.
“Just head back out to the reception area. Sammy has the form ready,” I said.
She wheeled and walked away. Pee Wee watched her go then moved closer to Oslo’s condo.
“You really did brain surgery on him?” Pee Wee said.
“Yeah,” Josie said, still trying to calm herself down.
“That’s amazing,” he said, staring at Oslo who was napping on his thick dog bed. “How long did you have to go to school to learn how to do that?”
“A very long time,” Josie said. “Including undergrad, vet school, and my residency, it was about a decade.”
“Wow,” Pee Wee said. “You must have really wanted to be a vet.”
“More than anything.”
“You think he’s going to be okay?”
“We hope so,” Josie said, staring into the condo.