The Case of the Graceful Goldens

by B R Snow

  “You know, putting our brains together and seeing if anything pops out,” Josie said.

  “I thought I smelled something,” he said, sitting down on the couch. “Well, you were right.”

  “I knew it,” I said. “They had a life insurance policy on the dogs, didn’t they?”

  “They certainly did. A big one.”

  “How big?” I said.

  “A million per dog.”

  “Two million dollars?” Josie said. “Geez, that’s a big policy to have on a couple of dogs.”

  “Not when you think about how much revenue those dogs have been bringing in the past few years,” Chief Abrams said. “And if you’re willing to pay the premium, there are companies out there that will underwrite just about anything.”

  “How did you find out about the policy?” Josie said.

  “I called a friend at the FBI who handles insurance fraud,” he said, shrugging. “It didn’t take him long to find it.”

  “Was the FBI already suspicious?” I said, casually reviewing the sister’s website.

  “They weren’t until I called,” he said, chuckling. “Now, I’m pretty sure it’s on their radar.”

  “Since their deaths were called a hit and run accident, nobody had any reason to ask a ton of questions, right?” I said, clicking on another page.

  “Exactly. I also managed to have my buddy do a little digging into that clinic that got robbed.”

  “And?” I said, pausing my website search to look up at him.

  “And for a company dealing with frozen dog semen, a substance not very high on the list of items law enforcement pays much attention to, they sure went to a lot of trouble to make sure nobody knew who owned it. It looks like the owners set it up using a spider web of shell companies somewhere in the Caribbean. It’ll take the Feebs a few days to get a handle on it, but they’ll figure it out.”

  “Would I be right if I was willing to bet that the clinic also had a sizeable insurance policy in place?” I said.

  “You would. Well done,” Chief Abrams said.

  “Thanks,” I said, flashing him a quick smile. “And the policy was written in a way that placed a value on each frozen specimen.”

  “It was. Most had a quoted market value somewhere between a thousand and twenty-five hundred bucks. But some of them were a lot higher. And a couple thousand specimens were stolen.”

  “The FBI found all this out in a couple of hours?” Josie said.

  “I doubt if it took them that long,” Chief Abrams said. “They probably found it while I was on hold.”

  “How can they figure all of that out so fast?” Josie said.

  “Do you really want to know?” Chief Abrams said.

  “Probably not,” Josie said, shaking her head.

  “Good call.”

  “So, not only do the thieves get to use the specimens for breeding, but the clinic owners also collect a very nice insurance settlement,” I said. “That’s a sweet deal, especially if the thieves and the owners are the same people.”

  “Have you been reading my notes?” Chief Abrams said, laughing.

  “I’m sure a lot of the top breeders were storing specimens at that clinic,” I said.

  “You’re thinking what, black market dogs?” Chief Abrams said.

  “High-end designer dogs,” Josie said. “They’re usually bought by people with more money than they know what to do with.”

  “And in some countries, they’re a real status symbol,” I said. “A couple years ago, a Tibetan Mastiff puppy sold for almost two million bucks in China.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Chief Abrams said.

  We both shook our heads at him.

  “Unbelievable. But you guys would know more about that world than I would,” he said, shrugging. “So, we like the husband for being the so-called brains behind all of this, right?”

  We both nodded.

  “Including the part where Chef Claire’s dogs got stolen?” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “But Rooster’s cousin, Coke Bottle, said he thought that the two people in the hunting camp sounded like they were a couple,” Chief Abrams said.

  “He did,” I said.

  “Okay, and since Alexandra’s husband was with her when they got run over the other day, it sure would be nice to know who the mystery woman was in the hunting camp.”

  “It would,” I said, nodding.

  “You think she could be the one who did the hit and run?” Josie said.

  “Well, I’m not sure,” Chief Abrams said. “But I always like to keep things as simple as possible and start from what I do know and see where that takes me. And since we know the husband and that woman were working together, that’s where I’d start.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Josie said, shrugging.

  “You got any ideas, Detective Snoop?” Chief Abrams said.

  “Despite your use of that rather disparaging nickname, as a matter of fact, I do,” I said, making a face at him.

  “And?”

  “I suggest we start with her,” I said, pointing at a photo of Alexandra’s sister prominently displayed on her website.

  “I can definitely see the family resemblance,” Chief Abrams said.

  “Well, we were going to mail her the bag that Alexandra forgot to take, but I think that I might drive up to her farm tomorrow and personally deliver it. And, of course, offer my deepest condolences for her loss while I’m there.”

  “I can’t go anywhere tomorrow,” Josie said. “I’m booked solid.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind going alone.”

  “There’s no way you’re going alone, Suzy,” Chief Abrams said. “That woman might have just killed two people. Two people who were close family members, by the way. If she is involved, I doubt she’d worry too much about killing a complete stranger.”

  “Chief, is that your way of saying you’d love to go for a drive in my new SUV?” I said, smiling at him.

  “No, that’s my way of saying there’s no way you’re going alone. If anything happened to you, your mother would kill me.”

  Josie nodded.

  “Not to mention what she’d do to Suzy.”

  Chapter 27

  I pulled out of the driveway at seven and headed for the police station to pick up Chief Abrams. I found him standing outside the front door chatting with my mother. I pulled into an empty parking spot, put the car in park, and left it running. My mother immediately wandered over in my direction. I lowered the window and prepared myself for the worst.

  “Hello, darling,” she said, sticking her head through the window to give me a peck on the cheek.

  “Good morning, Mom. What are you doing up and about so early?”

  “Just checking to see how things are going,” she said, smiling and nodding as she surveyed the SUV.

  “How it’s going in town, or with me?”

  “Yes, darling,” she said, beaming at me then glancing around the interior of the vehicle. “This is very nice. You did well.”

  “Thanks. And I got three grand off sticker.”

  “I heard. I knew you had it in you,” she said. “Thank you, darling.”

  “For what?” I said, frowning.

  “For doing something nice for me,” she said, giving me a small smile.

  “That was it? Buying a new car was the nice thing you wanted me to do for you?”

  “Of course. Now I don’t have to worry about you driving around in that old rust bucket.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “Yes, darling. And you overthink everything. So let’s call it even. If you would just do what I ask the first time, life would be so much easier.”

  “I thought nagging me was the thing that kept you young,” I said, glancing over as Chief Abrams climbed in the passenger seat.

  “Speaking of nagging,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

  “I made the call, Mom.”

  “Go
od girl. Now, you be careful today. And if anything does happen I expect you to get out of the way and let Chief Abrams handle it.”

  “Got it, Mom.”

  She locked eyes with me to emphasize her point, then leaned in and gave me another kiss on the cheek.

  “Drive safe,” she said. “And I’m making reservations for eight o’clock tonight at C’s. Try not to be late. We need to review our itinerary for Grand Cayman.”

  “Itinerary? Geez, Mom, it’s supposed to be a vacation,” I said, shaking my head.

  “What did I just say about listening to me the first time I asked you to do something?”

  “Yeah, I heard,” I said, putting the SUV in reverse. “But I must say, Mom, you’re looking younger every day.”

  “Funny, darling.”

  “Yeah, I kinda liked that one myself,” I said, giving her a goodbye wave.

  I checked the rear view mirror, then backed out of the parking spot.

  “She keeps you on your toes, doesn’t she?” Chief Abrams said.

  “Are you referring to you or me?” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, laughing. “What are you doing?”

  I kept glancing down at the navigation system as I slowly drove up Main Street.

  “Trying to remember how to work this GPS thingy.”

  “GPS? We don’t need no stinkin’ GPS,” Chief Abrams said with a fake accent.

  “That was pretty good, Chief. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, right?”

  “That’s the one,” he said, nodding. “Just take 81 south, catch the Thruway east, then head north on 87 when we hit Albany. We should be there in about four hours.”

  “But we’ll still need to find the sister’s farm when we get there,” I said.

  “And if we can’t find it, we’ll turn on the GPS thingy. How about some music?”

  “Sure,” I said, glancing at the radio that had more buttons on it than the navigation system. “What do you like? No, let me guess. You’re a country and western guy.”

  “Nope.”

  “Classical.”

  “No, I’m a jazz guy.”

  “You mean like Kenny G?”

  He made a face at me I didn’t know he had in his repertoire.

  “No, I don’t mean like Kenny G,” he said. “I’m talking about Coltrane. Miles Davis.”

  “I think I might have heard the names,” I said, frowning.

  “Philistine.”

  He pulled a CD from his bag and inserted it into the player. A quiet piano riff began that was soon followed by a soft trumpet that effortlessly sat on top.

  “Nice,” I said.

  “It’s Kind of Blue. 1959.

  “Good driving music.”

  “It’s good for anything music,” he said, adjusting his seat back. “How do you want to play it today?”

  “I thought we’d just start by chatting with her and see how things go,” I said, trying to tap the steering wheel along with the music.

  “Have a chat with her, huh?” he said, laughing. “So, you don’t really have a plan.”

  “No,” I said, glancing over at him. “Once we get past the chatting stage, I don’t have a clue. I figured we’d just improvise from there.”

  “So it’s a jazz plan,” he said, resting his head back and closing his eyes.

  “There you go,” I said, grinning. “Just call me The Jazz Detective.”

  “Well, anything’s better than Detective Snoop.”

  “This music is really hard to keep time with,” I said, abandoning my attempt at steering wheel percussion.

  “Of course it’s hard. It’s Miles Davis.”

  “I like it, but I’m having trouble following the thread. Or figure out where it’s going. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” he said, opening his eyes and glancing over. “I could probably ballpark it.”

  “Funny. Have you spent much time in Saratoga Springs?” I said.

  “A bit. I know some of the local cops.”

  “You sure do know a lot of people, Chief.”

  “I spent over twenty years with the state police. I know a lot of people everywhere,” he said, reclosing his eyes. “Saratoga is a nice town. And I’ve been to the racetrack a couple of times. They love horses there like you love your dogs.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I said, finally connecting with the melody. “This is really good.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said. “If the sister gets twitchy at some point, let me handle it okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “I called the chief of police last night and told him we were coming,” Chief Abrams said.

  “Won’t that spook her off if she sees the cops hanging around?”

  “I asked him to be present on the scene, but invisible,” he said, glancing over at me. “He promised to keep his guys out of sight until I text him.”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  “You’re convinced it’s her, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” I said, nodding. “It has to be her.”

  “Weird.”

  “Yeah. That’s the word. You want to get lunch first?”

  “That’s probably not a bad idea,” he said. “If things get squirrely, we might not get a chance to eat. Did you know the potato chip and the Club sandwich were supposed to have been invented in Saratoga?”

  “I did not. But that sounds pretty good. When in Rome, right?”

  “I thought we were going to Saratoga,” he deadpanned.

  “You’re on your game today, Chief.”

  “It’s the music,” he said, reaching over to turn the volume up.

  Apart from the music, we drove in silence for the next two hours. Chief changed CDs twice more, and I made a mental note to ask him to write down some suggestions of jazz classics for me to pick up. I wasn’t sure if the music would become my go-to driving music, but I had a good idea it would be perfect for late nights in front of the fire when I had a glass of wine in my hand and way too much going on inside my head.

  By the time we turned off Interstate 87 and saw the signs for Saratoga, I was relaxed, had a game plan formulated in my head and my game face on. We agreed to skip lunch, and I drove past a wooden white horse fence and turned into a long stretch of driveway that led up the hill to where the house and two large barns sat nestled among a stand of oak and maple trees.

  I reached into the back seat and grabbed Alexandra’s bag, then we hopped out of the car and took some time to stretch. I glanced around at the empty paddocks and felt the stiff breeze coming from the north.

  “The horses must all be inside,” I said.

  “Smart horses,” Chief Abrams said, zipping up his jacket. “It’s cold.”

  I looked at the house and noticed a woman in the large fenced backyard tossing a tennis ball for two Golden Retrievers. Her back was to us and didn’t see us heading her way. But the dogs noticed, and they forgot all about the tennis ball and galloped toward us and waited on the other side of the gate wagging their tails.

  “Hey, Lucky. Lucy,” I said. “How are you guys doing?”

  “Gorgeous dogs,” Chief Abrams said.

  Both dogs stood on their hind legs and put their front paws on the top rail of the fence. I used both hands to rub their heads, then looked at the woman who was standing a few feet behind the dogs.

  “Can I help you?” she said, glancing back and forth at us.

  “We’re sorry to just pop in on you, but I wanted to return Alexandra’s bag,” I said, extending the bag over the fence. “Sorry about the chewed strap. One of our Goldens got a bit carried away.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” she said, glancing at the bag before refocusing on us. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Suzy Chandler. And this is Chief Abrams.”

  “The police?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “I’m just Suzy’s traveling companion today,” Chief Abrams said. “I’m the chief of police for Clay Bay. And way out of my jurisdiction if you’re worried about th
at.”

  “No,” she said, relaxing a bit. “Not worried, just curious.”

  “Are you Abigail Johnson?” I said.

  “I am.”

  “I’m so sorry about Alexandra and her husband,” I said. “She stayed with us recently when she judged our dog show.”

  “Oh, of course. And that’s why you know the dogs,” she said, opening the gate for us. “Alexandra mentioned you when she was here last week.”

  “Did she tell you what happened?” I said, stepping into the backyard.

  “She did. Someone tried to steal Lucky and Lucy, and then tried to kill her,” she said, tearing up.

  I studied the pain on her face, then compared her appearance with Alexandra. They were about the same height, but Abigail was a bit heavier. And her hair was different. Where Alexandra had chosen to let her hair grow and stay gray, Abigail opted for short and a blonde rinse. She also wore glasses with round frames that reminded me of our local librarian. But the smile, although tight and probably forced, was identical to her sister’s.

  “Where did you find the dogs?” I said, kneeling down to pet both of them.

  “Just after the accident, the police found them wandering around in an alley behind the hotel. My number was listed as one of the emergency contacts, so they called me. I drove to Boston and picked them up the other day.”

  “You’re going to keep them?” I said.

  “Of course,” she said, smiling down at them. “Alexandra had me listed in the will as their appointed guardian. And they’re the only thing left to keep her memory alive.”

  I thought about my rust bucket SUV now safely parked in Rooster’s garage.

  “Yeah, I get that. They seem happy here,” I said, glancing around the large property. “But it must be a lot of work. Dogs and all those horses.”

  “The horses are all gone,” she whispered. “I’m selling the farm, and the last of the horses were picked up yesterday.”

  “Why are you selling? It’s a beautiful place,” I said.

  “I just can’t deal with it anymore,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Since the accident, I’ve been taking stock of my life. And I think it’s time for a change.”

  “Where do you plan on going?” I said.

  “Someplace warm,” she said. “But not too warm for the dogs. I’ve been wracking my brain, but it’s not that easy to find a place like that. Any suggestions?”