The Case of the Klutzy King Charles

by B R Snow

  I thought about what she said. Even though Rocco was at work, the possibility of him being charged with the murder of Teresa’s ex-husband definitely cast a shadow over what should be a very happy time for all of us.

  “So, this guy Frederick is Dr. Couch’s son?” Josie said, reaching for another slice of quiche.

  “Yeah. I was surprised,” I said, wiping mango juice off my mouth. “But I can see why his father might not want to talk about him. He’s an odd duck. And a total stoner.”

  “You think he’s somehow involved in this thing?” Josie said.

  “No, I doubt it,” I said, shaking my head. “He seems to spend his days getting high. And the thought of killing somebody would probably seem like too much work.”

  “Not to mention ruining his buzz,” Josie said, grinning.

  “Exactly,” I said, reaching for a slice of quiche before it disappeared. “But we do know that this Abigail who wrote the article is the woman Captain rescued. And she is apparently also a woman of considerable means. Frederick said she just happened to show up and offer her services.”

  “A well-to-do environmentalist who travels the globe writing opinion pieces free of charge to anyone who’ll print them?” Josie said, frowning. “Nah, that sounds way too convenient to be the whole story.”

  “I agree,” I said, sliding back into partial shade. “There has to be a local connection somewhere. Maybe a development company or a family member she’s got it in for.”

  “It’s going to be a little hard to track it down given the fact you don’t know her last name,” Chef Claire said.

  “Yeah, I know. I can’t believe she got in and out of the hospital without using her real name or showing ID,” I said. “But she also used an alias at the guesthouse where she was staying, so maybe it’s not that hard to believe after all. I don’t know. I’m at a loss.”

  “You’ll figure it out, Snoopmeister,” Josie said, gently punching me on the shoulder. “You always do. Did you ask this guy Frederick if the name Owen rang a bell?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said, chuckling. “I didn’t want to confuse him. He was having a hard enough time remembering I was even in the office.”

  “I dated a stoner once,” Josie said.

  “How did that go?” Chef Claire said.

  “I just told you. I dated him once.”

  “Got it,” Chef Claire said, laughing.

  “It wasn’t so much that he was high,” Josie said. “It was the smell. It was a chilly night, and he was wearing this thick wool sweater. Then it started raining, and we got soaked on our way to the restaurant. Did you know that hemp-scented, wet wool smells an awful lot like wet dog? It almost put me off my dinner.”

  “The operative word being almost,” I said to Chef Claire.

  “Funny. So, what’s the plan going forward?” Josie said, reaching into a cooler for bottles of water she passed out.

  “When in doubt, poke the bear,” I said, shrugging.

  “Oh, good one. That’s always highly entertaining to watch. Which bear do you plan on poking?” Josie said.

  “I thought I’d start with Dr. Couch,” I said. “I doubt if there’s anything there, but I’m thinking that if I can get him talking about his son, something might shake loose that could be useful.”

  “You know that this Abigail might be residing on the bottom of the ocean by now, don’t you?” Josie said softly.

  “Yes, I do. But it’s too early to quit looking for her,” I said. “She must be involved in all this land activity in some way. And we really can’t give her dog away to my mom until we have a better idea what happened to her.”

  “Good luck getting that dog away from your mother,” Josie said. “Earl’s like a ten-pound lump of fur that’s growing out of her lap.”

  “That’s the King Charles for you. They were basically bred to be lapdogs,” I said.

  “Well, then that little guy was certainly very well-bred,” Chef Claire said, shaking her head. “They’re inseparable.”

  I nodded in agreement. My mother, once someone who only tolerated dogs and my lifelong commitment to them, was now a card-carrying devotee of the fabulous four-legged creatures that dominated our lives.

  “Who else are you going to poke if you don’t get anything out of Dr. Couch?” Josie said, apparently torn about whether to have a third piece of quiche or not. She broke the corner off one of the pieces and tossed it into her mouth.

  “You do know it still counts even if you only eat it a bite at a time while it’s still in the container, right?” Chef Claire said, giving her a coy smile.

  “Oh, you caught that?” she said, breaking off another corner before refocusing on me. “Are you going to pay Gerald another visit?”

  “I’m never going back to that office,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Why not?” she deadpanned. “The hard part is already over.” She paused to grin at Chef Claire. “You know, the part about getting naked in front of him.”

  I sat quietly fuming and did my best to ignore her.

  “Just wear that outfit, and you’ll be fine,” Josie said, laughing. “What did your mother call it?”

  “Victorian-beekeeper,” Chef Claire said, shaking her head. “Sometimes your mom really cracks me up.”

  “Yeah, she’s a real hoot,” I said. “If and when I need to speak with Gerald again it will be in a public place.”

  “I’m sure the two of you will be able to find a nice secluded stretch of sand somewhere,” Josie deadpanned.

  I glared at her, then called out to Captain Jack.

  “Are we there yet?”

  Chapter 20

  Captain Jack slowed the boat as the island known as Little Cayman came into view, and he effortlessly transitioned from boat captain into tour guide. Reciting from memory, he told us that the island was about ten miles long and up to a mile wide in some spots. I kept waiting for the island to rise up from the sea as we got closer, but the landmass continued to hover just above the water.

  “If rising sea levels are a reality,” Josie said as if reading my mind, “this place is in a whole lot of trouble.”

  “Without a doubt,” I said, glancing over the side of the boat to watch a sea turtle that was gliding through the shallow water. “How many people live here?”

  “I think it’s around two hundred,” Captain Jack said.

  “Talk about your remote lifestyle,” I said, shaking my head at the prospect of living on such a small patch of sand and rock in the middle of the ocean.

  “You want remote?” Captain Jack said, pointing at what appeared to be a small island just off the southwest corner of Little Cayman. “Now, that’s what I call remote.”

  He turned the boat toward the small islet to offer us a better view. We looked at the pristine patch of sand and natural vegetation.

  “There’s nothing on it?” Josie said, holding her hand up to block the glare.

  “No,” Captain Jack said, coming to a complete stop and drifting. “It’s completely undeveloped. And the only way to get there is by boat. Most people kayak over. I guess you could swim it, but I wouldn’t recommend it. People rent kayaks on Little Cayman and spend the day over there having a picnic or doing whatever strikes their fancy. If you get my drift.”

  “Got it,” I said, nodding as I continued to stare at it.

  “It’s also a place where some people get married.”

  “That sounds pretty romantic,” I said, continuing to scan the island.

  “That’s what they say,” Captain Jack said, nodding. “And I see the occasional yacht anchored offshore and people heading for the island in dinghies.”

  “It’s gorgeous. How long does it take to paddle across from Little Cayman?”

  “Only about fifteen minutes or so,” he said. “It’s not bad at all. Unless the wind is up. But you have to bring everything with you. I think of this place every time I watch that movie Castaway.”

  “There you go, Gilligan,” Josie said. “The p
erfect getaway spot for you and Gerald to get better acquainted.”

  “Will you please stop?”

  “Yeah, it’s a pretty special place,” Captain Jack said, nodding. “A trip to Owen Island is right at the top of a lot of people’s list of things to do when they visit.

  I flinched like Chef Claire had hit me right between the eyes with her softball bat. I glanced back and forth at both of them. They hadn’t missed the reference either.

  “Did you say Owen Island?” I said, staring at Captain Jack.

  “Yeah. What about it?” he said, frowning.

  “Does the government own it?” I said.

  “No, I think it’s privately owned,” he said. “But whoever does own it must be pretty cool. There are signs on the island that say Welcome instead of Private Property or No Trespassing. It’s just one of those magical untouched spots that help you believe there might be some hope for the environment.”

  “And the owner has never tried to develop it?” I said, my neurons colliding all over the place.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. “But I imagine all hell would break loose if anybody ever tried.”

  “Is it possible this is what she was talking about?” I said, glancing back and forth at Josie and Chef Claire.

  “People trying to buy up blocks of vacant land and being very secretive about it. And an environmentalist writing negative articles about it who mysteriously disappears,” Josie said. “Yeah, I can make the connection.”

  “But why all the subterfuge? If they want to buy and develop this place, why not just do it and be done with it?” Chef Claire said.

  “They’d probably need the government’s permission to do it,” I said.

  “And didn’t Gerald say that they’re getting enough heat already from the residents and environmental groups about unchecked development?” Josie said.

  “He did,” I said, squinting hard to force the ideas and questions bouncing around my head into coherent thoughts.

  “Then building on this place might be enough to turn the current criticism into public outrage,” Josie said.

  “It would have to,” I said, concentrating hard. Then a lightbulb popped that was bright enough to light a night sky when I flashed back to something else Gerald had mentioned in passing. “Unless it was only one component of a very complicated deal.”

  “I just lost the plot,” Josie said, shrugging.

  “Yeah, me too,” Chef Claire said.

  I continued to stare at the small island as my mind continued to race.

  “Uh-oh,” Chef Claire said. “She’s got that look.”

  “Yeah, she’s a goner,” Josie said, then turned to Captain Jack. “She’s gonna be a while. What sort of restaurants do they have on Little Cayman?”

  “I always go to the Hungry Iguana,” Captain Jack said. “Conch fritters and Mudslides. What’s not to like?”

  “Then what are we doing sitting out here in the middle of the ocean?” Josie said, laughing.

  “Is she okay?” Captain Jack said, glancing over at me.

  “She’ll be fine,” Chef Claire said. “The batteries in her neurons generally run down after about ten minutes.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Chef Claire said, shaking her head, then glancing at me. “Suzy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re going to head to shore and eat lunch,” she said.

  “Okay. I could eat.”

  “See?” Chef Claire said, grinning at Captain Jack. “She’s fine.”

  “I guess I’m gonna have to take your word for it.”

  Chapter 21

  There’s a very important day that falls about a week after Christmas, and we never miss the chance to celebrate it with friends and family. I know you probably think I’m referring to New Year’s Eve, but that’s tomorrow. December 30th is National Bacon Day. And while we’re not going as overboard on the menu as we would have back home in Clay Bay, we’re still marking the day with a bacon-fest barbecue at our place.

  The party was an excellent excuse to invite Dr. Couch and hopefully get him in a relaxed mood where he’d be comfortable talking about his son. He hadn’t arrived yet, but he’d promised my mother he’d drop by as soon as he completed his evening rounds at the hospital. She was sitting at a table on the lawn chatting with Gerald, John Smith, and a few other people I’d seen before but did not know. Rocco and Teresa had taken her girls and Captain and Chloe for a stroll on the beach. They’d invited Chef Claire’s Goldens to join them, but as soon as Al and Dente got a whiff of the smells coming off the grill, they plopped themselves down at Chef Claire’s feet and made it clear they weren’t going anywhere.

  I was stretched out in one of the recliners sipping a Mudslide and trying to decide whether to start with my traditional bacon cheeseburger or stretch my wings a bit and go with a couple of the chicken and bacon quesadillas drizzled with a bacon-bourbon cream sauce that was a total knee-buckler. But before I could decide, Chef Claire walked by with a tray of bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers that caught my attention.

  “Get them while they’re hot,” she said, extending the tray.

  “Thanks. Do you need any help?” I said, selecting two of the poppers.

  “No, we’re all set,” she said, glancing around. “I’m just going to pass these out then I’ll join you. Henry has got the grill covered.”

  “How’s your sunburn?” I said, grinning at her.

  “It hurts,” she said, gently rubbing her free hand over the back of her thighs. “I guess that’s what we get for laughing at you. Save me a seat.”

  I watched her stroll off with the tray and munched on one of the poppers. I spotted Josie coming out onto the patio and doing her best to look casual. But I knew she was hurting. She waved to my mother as she stepped outside, closed the screen door behind her, then eased her way onto the recliner next to me.

  “How you doing?” I said, casually.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” she said, wincing.

  “Yes, I can see that,” I deadpanned. “I have some more of that Aloe Vera lotion if you want it. I’m sure Captain Jack would be more than happy to rub it in.”

  “Okay, go ahead. Knock yourself out,” she said, gingerly moving around to get comfortable. “I deserve it.”

  “I told you to cover up,” I said, shaking my head. “I distinctively remember saying, Josie, you’re going to get burned. Don’t you remember me telling you that? Because I certainly remember saying it. At least three different times. But what do I know, right?”

  “Suzy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re being very annoying.”

  “Good. That’s what I was going for.”

  I noticed Dr. Couch coming through the gate off the front of the house. He glanced around, caught my mother’s eye and waved, then headed for the makeshift bar we’d set up.

  “Save a recliner for Chef Claire,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’m going to go have a little chat with Dr. Couch.”

  I walked across the lawn toward the bar. Dr. Couch saw me coming and greeted me with a warm smile.

  “Thanks so much for the invitation,” he said, opening a beer. “National Bacon Day? As a cardiologist, I suppose I should thank you for your marketing efforts on my behalf.” He laughed loudly at his own joke and took a long pull from his beer. “Any excuse for a party, huh?”

  “Bacon Day is sacred around our house,” I said, laughing. “Say, can I have a word with you?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  I headed for an empty table near the shallow end of the pool, and we sat down. He took a sip, set the bottle down, then folded his hands and looked at me.

  “What’s up?”

  “I recently met your son,” I said, going for casual. “We had quite a chat.”

  “Really? I do hope it didn’t ruin your day,” he said, surprised by the news. “How did you manage to run into him?”

  “Well, I’ve been doing some…research in
the hope of tracking down the woman who owns the King Charles spaniel that’s staying with my mom.”

  “Research?” he said, grinning at me with raised eyebrows.

  “It’s a nicer word than snooping,” I said, shrugging.

  “Yes, it is,” he said, laughing. “Please, continue.”

  “Anyway, I came across an article that was focused on the battle between the environmentalists and developers as well as various land deals and some of the companies who might be involved.”

  “I see,” he said without emotion. “You’re referring to the article in that disgusting rag my son likes to call a newspaper.”

  “I take it you’re not a big fan of The People’s Paradise.”

  He snorted contempt and shook his head as he stared off at the surf.

  “Was he smoking weed when you met with him?”

  “No,” I said. “But he was eating cookies.”

  “I see. Well, I suppose his lungs appreciated the break,” he said, flatly. “What did he have to say?”

  “Not much, really. He made a few token references to the worker’s struggles, laid out a bit of his personal history, then got back to his cookies and video game.”

  “Lenin would be so proud,” Dr. Couch said, not even bothering to hide his disdain.

  “Yeah, I have to say that his commitment to the cause appears to be a bit situational,” I said. “Not to mention being driven by self-interest and a genuine desire to poke you in the eye with a sharp stick.”

  “That sums it up quite well,” he said, nodding. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. His mother made sure of that before she passed.”

  “Yes, he did mention the irrevocable trust,” I said.

  “I see,” he said, nodding. “Did he mention anything else?”

  “Well, he did confirm the identity of the woman we rescued on the beach. It turns out she was the one who wrote the article.”

  “Interesting,” he said, nodding.

  “And she’s still missing,” I said. “Or at least I can’t find her. We still have her dog. Are you sure she didn’t give you any other information while she was in the hospital? Even her last name might help me track her down.”