The Case of the Graceful Goldens

by B R Snow

  “Uh, oh,” Josie said. “She’s got that look. What is it?”

  “Cell phone coverage,” I whispered.

  “What about it?” Chief Abrams said.

  “What’s the one thing everyone is always complaining about around here when it comes to their cell phones?”

  “All the dead zones,” Josie said, nodding.

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of places where calls always seem to drop,” my mother said.

  “And you think that if we drive some of the back roads and get within the five-mile coverage area, we might be able to pick up the signal?” Chef Claire said.

  “It’s a longshot,” I said. “But until that CEO calls back, I can’t think of anything else to do.”

  “Let’s go,” Chef Claire said, getting up out of her chair.

  “Hang on,” I said, also getting up. “Let’s get a game plan together before we head out.”

  I headed for a closet and rummaged around before finding what I was looking for. I headed back to the dining room and unrolled a large map that almost covered the entire table. Then I tossed a handful of Sharpies on the table.

  “I bought this a few years ago,” I said. “It’s a topological map of the area. And all the local roads and highways are marked. I was going to have it framed, but I never got around to it.”

  “Should I ask why you bought that, darling?”

  “I had a crazy idea about setting up a wildlife preserve,” I said, embarrassed.

  “She saw a National Geographic special about yaks and completely freaked out,” Josie said, laughing.

  “They were endangered, and I thought the climate around here would be perfect for them,” I said. “But it turned out that the import restrictions on yaks were pretty hard to navigate.”

  “Not to mention the logistics of yak transport through the mountains of Nepal,” Josie deadpanned.

  “Josie?” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Oh, darling. We really need to find you a boyfriend.”

  “Funny, Mom. But forget about the yaks for now. And the boyfriend,” I said, focusing on the map. “Grab one of those markers and put an X next to those places where your calls always seem to drop.”

  We spent the next few minutes studying and marking up the map. When we finished, we had identified four clusters we all agreed were the most common problem areas.

  “Hunting areas primarily,” Chief Abrams said. “They’re all pretty remote, but there are a lot of access roads off the highways. Can we split them up and use more than one car?”

  “No,” Sammy said, shaking his head. “This is the first version of the tracking product, and the devices are limited to just one cell number.”

  “That’s going to be a lot of driving,” Chief Abrams said.

  “I don’t mind,” Chef Claire said, again getting up out of her chair. “Let’s go.”

  Josie and I both stood and grabbed our coats. Then I turned back to the table.

  “I almost forget,” I said. “We ran into Alexandra Vincent this morning and invited her to dinner. She’s going to be here around seven.”

  “The dog show judge?” my mother said.

  “Yeah, she came in a couple days early. She’s a nice woman. You’ll like her.”

  “I guess I can stay for dinner,” my mother said, glancing at Sammy and Chief Abrams. “Would you gentlemen care to join me?”

  “Sure,” Sammy said. “What are we having?”

  “There’s a fresh batch of ziti in the fridge,” Chef Claire said.

  Josie and I both flinched. Chef Claire’s ziti was one of our favorites.

  “I’m happy to handle the search if you two want to stay for dinner,” Chef Claire said, glancing back and forth at us.

  “Not gonna happen,” Josie said, shaking her head. “We can eat later.”

  “Yeah. And there’s nothing like a drive through the countryside to work up an appetite,” I said. “You want to take my car?”

  “No,” Josie and Chef Claire said in unison.

  Chapter 4

  At six the next morning, exhausted and morose, we parked behind C’s and headed inside the restaurant to begin preparing Thanksgiving dinner for well over a hundred people. Josie and I sat down at the chef’s table in the kitchen while Chef Claire made coffee. We waited in silence until Chef Claire returned with three steaming mugs and a tray of pastries. The coffee helped, but none of us could shake the unspoken thought that Chef Claire’s dogs might be long gone.

  After reviewing the map, we’d decided to begin our search in the two areas southeast of Clay Bay. The first area had taken four hours to complete, and around eight in the evening we drove to the second area that started about twenty miles out of town. The second area took much longer since there were an enormous number of small unmarked roads that switchbacked on each other. We’d gotten turned around several times and often ended up back in the same place we’d been an hour earlier. The fact that there was no moon and the sky was cloudy made navigation even more difficult, but we persevered until we finished at five without any success. We headed home, grabbed quick showers, then drove to the restaurant.

  Chef Claire, still dazed, finished her coffee and stood up.

  “Are you ready to get started?” she said.

  “Sure. What do you need us to do?” I said, polishing off the last of a cruller that hadn’t done anything to improve my mood.

  “I thought you guys could help with serving once we start dinner,” Chef Claire said. “But for now, I thought you could start working on the stuffing.”

  “And that means tearing a hundred loaves of bread into small pieces, right?” Josie said.

  “Sorry,” Chef Claire said, managing a small smile.

  “No, that’s the perfect thing for me to do right now,” Josie said. “I can take out my frustrations on a bunch of defenseless bread.”

  “Let me know when you’re done,” Chef Claire said. “Right now, I need to get a dozen turkeys in the oven.”

  “A dozen?” I said. “Aren’t you making way too much food?”

  “Yeah, but I thought we’d send people home with leftovers,” Chef Claire said.

  We watched her slowly trudge off, and I audibly sighed.

  “It’s not fair,” I said. “She’s such a good person, and now she has to deal with the loss of her dogs.”

  “Let’s not give up yet, okay?” Josie said.

  “Okay. I’ll do my best,” I said, grabbing my phone. “I’m going to check in with Chief Abrams to see if that CEO has called back.”

  I stopped when I heard the kitchen door open, and my mother strolled in wearing an old sweater and a ratty pair of sweatpants. She had a garment bag draped over her shoulder, and she smiled and waved at us before stopping to hug Chef Claire.

  “Good morning, ladies,” she said. “Any luck?”

  “None,” Chef Claire said, not looking up from the turkey she was struggling to get into a roasting pan.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, nodding at her outfit. “When did you start taking fashion tips from me?”

  “Highly unlikely, darling. Since I’ll be helping out in the kitchen, I thought I’d wear my cooking clothes. I’ll shower and change here before we eat.”

  “Good thinking,” I said.

  “And besides, I want to make sure I look good on TV.”

  Josie and I frowned, then glanced at each other.

  “TV?” I said.

  “Yes, darling. Didn’t I mention that a television crew was going to be in town for our Thanksgiving dinner and the dog show?”

  “No, Mom. I think I would have remembered that,” I said, still frowning. “Just one quick question. Why?”

  “Because of the publicity, darling. You know that the town council and I are very interested in extending our normal tourist season. That is the primary reason for the dog show.”

  “Yeah, I got that, Mom. But why would you invite them to cover Thanksgiving dinner?”

>   “Darling, you really need to work on your marketing and promotion skills. I can’t think of a better way to promote Clay Bay as a wonderful place to live and visit than with a heartwarming human interest story of a town coming together to celebrate Thanksgiving. Especially since so many of our dinner guests would otherwise be spending the holiday alone.”

  She gave me her best end of discussion look which I completely ignored.

  “Whatever happened to your constant reminders that the best charity work is done anonymously?”

  “Nothing happened to it at all, darling,” she said, giving me a small shrug. “And I’m so glad you took my advice to heart.”

  “Then why are you doing it?” I said, raising an eyebrow at her.

  “It’s just part of the overall story, darling.”

  “Gee, Mom,” I said. “Why don’t I believe you? What’s your angle?”

  “Angle? What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Mom,” I said, my voice rising a notch.

  She stared at me, then shook her head.

  “Sometimes I wish I never encouraged you to be so inquisitive. Okay, if you must know, I’m doing a favor for a friend.”

  “This I gotta hear,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.

  “As you may know, I’m a close personal friend with a certain television executive.”

  Among my mother’s former boyfriends was a man who was the CEO of a major network. Their relationship had been short and intense, but they had parted amicably and remained good friends. And I knew that whenever my mother was in New York, they made it a point to get together for lunch or dinner. Whether their current activities went any further than that was one of those rare times when my inquisitive nature disappeared.

  “And how is Bob these days?” I said.

  “He’s good,” she said, smiling. “And he said to say hi. So, darling. Hi from Bob.”

  “What’s the favor?”

  “Well, Bob has taken, let’s call it, an active interest in the career advancement of a reporter who works for one of his network’s local affiliates.”

  “Which affiliate?” I said, hoping to move the discussion to a speedy conclusion.

  “Syracuse.”

  “Who’s the reporter?”

  “Jessica Talbot.”

  “Jessica Talbot? The woman who does all those hit pieces?”

  “Bob prefers the term investigative journalism.”

  “I’m sure he does,” I said.

  “That woman is a total snake,” Josie said, not looking up from the huge bowl of shredded bread her hands were buried in.

  “You said that Bob is taking an active interest in her career,” I said. “Which translates into he’s sleeping with her, right?”

  “Darling, you know I make it a point never to insert myself into other people’s private lives,” my mother said. “Except yours, of course.”

  “Yeah, I’ve always liked that about you, Mom. Unbelievable. So what’s Bob up to?”

  “Well, he is very interested in getting Jessica to New York. Closer proximity and all that. But he’s getting some serious pushback from several of his executives who consider her to be a bit of a-”

  “Snake,” Josie said.

  “Yes, well, there is that,” my mother said, nodding. “And the show that Bob has her in mind for requires someone who can pull off compassion. You know, show a softer human side.”

  “Which is always a challenge for a reptile,” Josie said.

  “Josie, please,” my mother whispered.

  “And you and Bob thought that a feature story about a dog show combined with a human interest piece about lonely shut-ins coming together for Thanksgiving dinner would do the trick,” I said.

  “Yes. I think it’s called a win-win,” my mother said, smiling at me. “And putting aside all of Bob’s prurient and somewhat distasteful motives, you have to admit that the idea is quite brilliant.”

  “Brilliant isn’t the word I would use, Mom.”

  “I know that, darling. But I’m asking both of you to play nice and go along with it. And the exposure the restaurant and the rest of the town will get isn’t anything to sneeze at.”

  “It’s not the sneezing that concerns me,” Josie said. “It’s the throwing up I’m worried about.”

  “I’m sure the infamous Ms. Talbot can’t be that bad,” my mother said. “Besides, she knows what’s at stake, so I’m sure she’ll be on her best behavior.”

  “Okay, Mom,” I said, nodding. “But if this thing blows up, the whole town is going to blame you.”

  “Darling, if the garbagemen are a half-hour late on their rounds the whole town blames me.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got a good point there. What on earth did you do that’s forcing you to do him a favor like this?”

  “I didn’t do anything. Bob bailed me out of a tricky situation several years ago, and I owe him.”

  “And I suppose it’s a long story, right?”

  “Of course,” she said, smiling. “All the good ones are.”

  Chapter 5

  The entire restaurant was filled with the aroma of Thanksgiving when our guests started arriving at eleven. Looking for anything that would keep our minds off the disappearance of Al and Dente, we had forced ourselves to stay busy then ran out of things to do as well as staff members to annoy. After everyone, including Chef Claire, had shooed us out from underfoot we gave up and headed for the lounge where our head bartender, Rocco, was setting up and keeping one eye on the football pre-game show. He lowered the volume when we sat down at the bar and held up a container of orange juice.

  “Mimosa?”

  “No, thanks, Rocco,” I said. “Maybe later.”

  Josie shook her head and stifled a yawn.

  “You didn’t find them?”

  “No, but maybe we’ll have better luck this afternoon,” I said.

  “If you need help, just let me know,” he said, sipping his coffee. “You want one of these?”

  “No, thanks,” I said, then shifted my weight on the bar stool and leaned forward. “You used to be a criminal, right?”

  “Not guilty as charged, your honor,” he said, smiling.

  “Funny. Let me ask you something, what motive would someone in your former line of work have to steal dogs?”

  “Well, a couple of my former colleagues stole the dogs of their former wives or girlfriends just to hurt them. The ex, not the dog. But unless Chef Claire has a disgruntled ex-whatever we don’t know about, that’s not the case here.”

  “No, she would have told us by now,” I said.

  “Then that leaves money, doesn’t it? Has anybody contacted her about paying a ransom to get them back?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then my guess is that whoever did it has plans to sell them, or breed them,” Rocco said.

  “Good luck trying to breed those two,” Josie said.

  “So they’re selling them,” Rocco said. “A couple of beautiful dogs like that would probably go for what, maybe a thousand bucks each?”

  “At most,” I said. “It sounds like a lot of work to make a couple grand.”

  “I don’t know about that, Suzy,” he said, popping the cork on a bottle of champagne. “If they have an established pipeline to move the dogs, it sounds pretty straightforward. How long could it have taken somebody to grab the dogs and toss them into the back of a van?”

  “Not long at all,” I said. “But it’s still not a lot of money.”

  “Maybe they’re making it up in volume.”

  “Interesting idea,” I said, turning to Josie. “You haven’t heard any reports of other people having their dog stolen have you?”

  Josie shook her head and stifled another yawn.

  We all turned when he heard the door open along with the sound of a very agitated woman’s voice.

  “Well, I’m sorry, Jerry. I don’t like spending my Thanksgiving dealing with a bunch of local yokels any more than you do, but we made a deal, and I
expect you to just shut up and do your job.”

  Jessica Talbot came into view. She was shorter than she appeared to be on television, but the hair and makeup were identical. She was wearing a long cashmere coat over jeans and a sweater. Standing behind her was a small man carrying a large plastic case. The man called Jerry was young and judging by the hoodie and ratty jeans, he hadn’t felt the need to dress up for the occasion. Jessica squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light then saw us sitting at the bar. She strode toward us with a purpose.

  “Hi, I’m Jessica Talbot,” she gushed as she extended her hand.

  Josie and I stared at the hand, then glanced at each other. Eventually, I gave her hand a small shake.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “And you are?” Jessica said, giving me a smile I immediately wanted to wipe off her face.

  “I’m local yokel, number thirty-one,” I said. “And to my left is local yokel forty-two. That’s eighty-seven behind the bar.”

  “Yes, I see,” Jessica said, her fake smile starting to fade. “Please try not to take it personally. It’s just that Jerry and I didn’t expect to be here today.”

  “The things one has to do to advance their career, huh?”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, the smile vanishing. “By the way, who are you?”

  “I’m Suzy. And this is Josie. And that’s Rocco.”

  “Yes, nice to meet all of you,” she said. “I need to speak with the owner.”

  “Well, you’re talking to two of them at the moment. The other owner is in the kitchen. But I wouldn’t go in there. She’s been known to throw knives at people who interrupt her when she’s cooking.”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to do,” she said, glancing around the restaurant. “Jerry, go take a look around the main dining room. It looks like that might be the best spot to get what we need.”

  Jerry the Cameraman put the case down and wandered off. Jessica turned back to us.

  “Okay, I’m thinking that we’ll get some footage of people eating and chatting during dinner. I’m looking for something that says…homey.”

  “Good word,” Josie said.

  “Yeah, but I think homey might be a bit of a stretch for her to pull off,” I said.