The case of the mellow m.., p.1
The Case of the Mellow Maltese, page 1
part #13 of Thousand Islands Doggy Inn Series
The Case of the
Mellow Maltese
A Thousand Islands Doggy Inn Mystery
B.R. Snow
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written consent of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher are illegal and punishable by law.
Copyright © 2017 B.R. Snow
ISBN: 978-1-942691-37-2
Website: www.brsnow.net/
Twitter:@BernSnow
Facebook: facebook.com/bernsnow
Cover Design: Reggie Cullen
Cover Photo: James R. Miller
Other Books by B.R. Snow
The Thousand Islands Doggy Inn Mysteries
The Case of the Abandoned Aussie
The Case of the Brokenhearted Bulldog
The Case of the Caged Cockers
The Case of the Dapper Dandie Dinmont
The Case of the Eccentric Elkhound
The Case of the Faithful Frenchie
The Case of the Graceful Goldens
The Case of the Hurricane Hounds
The Case of the Itinerant Ibizan
The Case of the Jaded Jack Russell
The Case of the Klutzy King Charles
The Case of the Lovable Labs
The Whiskey Run Chronicles
Episode 1 – The Dry Season Approaches
Episode 2 – Friends and Enemies
Episode 3 – Let the Games Begin
Episode 4 – Enter the Revenuer
Episode 5 – A Changing Landscape
Episode 6 – Entrepreneurial Spirits
Episode 7 – All Hands On Deck
The Whiskey Run Chronicles – The Complete Volume 1
The Damaged Posse
American Midnight
Larrikin Gene
Sneaker World
Summerman
The Duplicates
Other Books
Divorce Hotel
Either Ore
To Karen and Daisy
Chapter 1
I watched Chef Claire work her way across the surface of the water and shook my head. It was a headshake comprised of two parts; one in amazement, the other in disbelief. I was amazed by how easy she was making her paddleboard journey look. Standing tall and pulling the long paddle she held with both hands through the water, her concentration unbroken despite the streams of sweat pouring down her face and shoulders, the board gliding forward despite the headwind she was fighting. My disbelief stemmed from the still unanswered question of why any sane individual would choose to stand on a piece of fiberglass in the middle of the St. Lawrence and paddle like crazy just to see how fast and far they could travel.
“She’s getting good on that thing,” Josie said, offering me the bag of bite-sized Snickers.
I grabbed a couple and stretched my legs out on the bench seat that ran across the stern and nodded as I adjusted my sunglasses.
“Yes, she certainly is,” I said, popping a bite-sized without taking my eyes off Chef Claire. “But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t lost her mind.”
“I know,” Josie said, unwrapping a bite-sized. “If she was older, I might even consider her a bit of a dotard.”
“Dotard?”
“An older person who has pretty much lost the plot.”
“Really? I’ve never heard the term before.”
“It’s been in the news lately,” Josie said, tossing back another bite-sized.
“I’m trying to cut back on the amount of news I watch,” I said, motioning for her to hold the bag closer. “Every time I do watch it, I always end up thinking that losing the plot might not be a bad way to go.”
Josie laughed and made room for her massive Newfie, Captain, who’d decided he wanted to use her lap as a pillow.
“But since Chef Claire is still young, I’m gonna go with nuts.”
“It looks brutal,” I said, staring out at the water as Chef Claire turned the paddleboard around and headed back toward the boat. “But she’s an athlete, and that’s the sort of thing athletes do, right?”
“Yeah, I’m sure it is. But all the energy she’s using probably equals what three people would go through in a workout,” Josie said, staring out at her.
“That’s a good point,” I said, glancing over at Josie. “I’m gonna count it.”
“Well, we are watching her,” Josie said, laughing. “That must burn some calories.”
“Exactly.”
Chef Claire was training for an event called the 147. It was the brainchild of my mother and her latest project designed to fill one of the late summer weekends with an activity that would attract large numbers of visitors and extend the tourist season a little longer past Labor Day. Ostensibly, it was a triathlon, but all three events would take place on the water and consisted of swimming, paddleboarding, and kayaking. My mother had hit on the idea during one of our Monday night family dinners, and we’d spent the next hour trying to come up with a good name for it. Waterthon, Wet and Wild, SplashFest, and a host of others were discussed then discarded, but we continued our search until Josie had suggested the 147 to designate the distance each of the three events would cover. I thought that a mile swim, a four-mile paddleboard journey through a winding course, followed by a brutal seven-mile kayak trip should be called something more befitting the event and suggested the Insanity Invitational, but I got outvoted.
But Chef Claire had immediately announced her intention of participating, and Josie and I had laughed and laughed and laughed until Chef Claire whacked both of us on the hand with a wooden spoon. Now, with the event two-days away, we were once again out on our boat supervising her training.
Our term, not hers.
She approached the boat, and all four of our dogs hopped up onto the bow and barked to welcome her. She straddled the board and held onto the boat with one hand as she tried to catch her breath. Sweat poured down her entire body, and the muscles in her shoulders were twitching from the workout. I handed her a bottle of water, and she gulped it down in two large swallows. She tossed the empty bottle onto the boat then slid into the water and lifted the end of her paddleboard. Josie and I pulled it onboard then helped Chef Claire into the boat. The dogs greeted her, and she petted all of them, then leaned back, legs splayed. She glanced down at the tracking device on her wrist and shook her head sadly.
“That was just under four miles,” Chef Claire said. “It felt like fifty.”
“And you didn’t do the swim first,” I said, offering her the bag of bite-sized. She waved it away, exhausted.
“Not to mention the seven-mile kayak trip to finish,” Josie said.
“What have I gotten myself into?” Chef Claire said, arching her back. “I’m a chef, not a triathlete.”
“It’s not too late to back out,” Josie said, reaching for the bag.
“I’d look like a big baby if I did that,” she said, grabbing another bottle of water.
“Fake an injury,” I said, shrugging. “That’s what I’d do. A pulled hamstring should work.”
“You don’t even know where your hamstring is,” Josie said, laughing.
I made a face at her, then grinned.
“No, I have to go through with it,” Chef Claire said. “Just on principle alone.”
“Have it your way,” Josie said, opening a bottle of wine. “What’s the special tonight at the restaurant?”
“We’re doing a two for one surf and turf,” Chef Claire said, waving off Josie’s offer of wine.
“Perfect,” Josie said, then glanced at me. “What are you gonna have?”
Chef Claire and I both laughed. But we knew that Josie wasn’t kidding. She’d be able to polish off both and still have room for dessert.
“You should be the one on the paddleboard,” Chef Claire said. “You know, to work off all those calories.”
“Hey, I spend all day dealing with fifty dogs. Trust me, that’s all the workout I need.”
“I should have thought of that before I signed up for this stupid thing,” Chef Claire said, getting to her feet and rubbing her lower back with a grimace.
“Do what I do at times like this,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“Blame my mother.”
“I can’t do that,” Chef Claire said. “She tried to talk me out of it, too. How many people have signed up to do this thing?”
“Just over two hundred,” I said.
“Society continues to lose its collective mind,” Josie said as she sat down in the driver seat. “We should get going. Somebody has to work tonight.”
“Don’t remind me,” Chef Claire said, sitting back down. Her Goldens, Al and Dente, hopped up on the seat next to her and she stroked their heads. “Your mama is an idiot. You do know that, don’t you?” Both dogs thumped their tails on the padded seat then rolled over onto their backs in unison. Chef Claire used both hands for their tummy rubs.
Josie started the engine, and we were soon cruising across the water heading for home. About five minutes later, I caught a glimpse of something off to our r
“What is that?” she said, squinting into the sunlight that was reflecting off the water.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was a paddleboard.”
“I don’t see anybody on it,” Josie said, slowing the boat even further. “But it looks like there’s something on it. What’s that white thing?”
“Maybe a towel,” I said. “No, whatever it is, it’s moving.”
“Wait a sec,” Josie said. “I think it’s a dog.”
I grabbed my binoculars and focused on the object floating in the distance.
“It’s a Maltese,” I said, frowning. “What the heck is a dog doing on a paddleboard all by itself in the middle of the River?”
“I have no idea,” Josie said, accelerating. “But we are certainly going to find out.”
When we got close to the paddleboard and the dog, Josie put the boat in neutral, and we drifted until we were right next to the board. The dog was trembling but didn’t appear to be panicked, and when it saw us, the dog got to its feet and wagged its tail. Our dogs stared down at the Maltese, apparently also confused by what they were seeing.
“Weird,” Josie said, staring at the Maltese.
“That’s the word for it,” I said, leaning over the side of the boat.
The dog took a step closer, sniffed my hand, then licked it. I lifted the dog onto the boat and gently set her down on the padded seat next to me.
“We should probably grab the board, too,” Josie said, still puzzled. She pulled the paddleboard out of the water and set it down on the deck. “Wow, that’s really light.”
“Fiberglass,” Chef Claire said, shrugging.
Josie and I examined the Maltese who was sitting quietly but closely watching our movements. I examined the collar she was wearing and read the name tag.
“Her name’s Mellow,” I said, rubbing the dog’s head.
“That’s a great name for her,” Chef Claire said. “Look at that face. It’s like she doesn’t have a care in the world.”
“She must be used to being out here on the board,” Josie said, kneeling down to pet the Maltese that was a brilliant white with dark eyes and cute as all get out.
Then the Maltese emitted a soft whimper followed by two barks. Josie rubbed her hand over the dog’s back, and she relaxed and licked Josie’s hand.
“But where the heck is her owner?” I said, using my binoculars to survey the immediate stretch of water.
“That’s a very good question,” Josie said, standing up to join me in my search. “You think whoever it was might have gotten into some sort of trouble and fallen in?”
“That’s the only thing that makes any sense,” I said, frowning as my scan of the water came up empty. “But if they did fall in, wouldn’t the board have tipped over? The dog is dry as a bone.”
“Maybe she fell in a couple of hours ago, and she dried off,” Chef Claire said, shrugging.
“I suppose,” I said. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. This is too bizarre.”
I grabbed my phone and made the call. Chief Abrams answered on the third ring, and I set the phone down on the seat and put it on speaker.
“Hey, Snoopmeister,” the Chief said. “I thought you guys were going out on the River to watch Chef Claire torture herself.”
“We did,” I said. “And mission accomplished.”
“Hey, at least I’m making an effort,” Chef Claire said, shooting me a dirty look.
“Actually, we’re still out here. We’re near the entrance to the Lake of the Isles,” I said, returning Chef Claire’s glare with a grin.
“And since it’s such a beautiful day over there, you’re calling just to rub it in?” the Chief said.
“No, we found something you probably want to check out.”
“Not another one?” the Chief said, his voice rising. “What is it with you and dead bodies?”
“No, it’s not that,” I said, glancing around the water again. “At least, not yet. We found a dog sitting on a paddleboard all by itself in the middle of the River.”
“Okay,” he said. “You have my attention.”
“She’s a gorgeous Maltese,” I said. “But we don’t have a clue how she ended up out here all by herself.”
“And you think that something bad might have happened to her owner?”
“Nothing gets past you, Chief.”
“Don’t get smart with me, young lady,” he said, doing his best imitation of my mother.
“Not bad. You’ve almost got it,” I said, laughing. “But the thought that something bad might have happened did cross our minds.”
“Okay, I’ll grab the police boat and head over. Can you guys stick around until I get there?”
I glanced at my watch then at Chef Claire. She checked her own watch then nodded.
“I’m good,” she said. “I was planning on taking a shower first, but I’ll just head straight to the restaurant when we get back.”
“We’ll be here,” I said. “You’ll see us a couple hundred yards on your left as soon as you make the turn into the lake.”
“Okay. Is the dog hurt? You need me to bring anything?”
“No,” I said, rubbing the Maltese’s head. “Actually, she’s doing remarkably well.”
“I would have thought the dog would be freaked out,” the Chief said. “Too bad she can’t talk, right?”
“Oh, she’s talking. It’s just that we can’t understand a word she’s saying.”
Chapter 2
I put my knife and fork down then swiveled on my stool and glanced around the crowded lounge. Still surprised by the number of people in the restaurant, I turned back to the bar and watched Josie who was in the final stages of making her second lobster tail disappear. Millie, our head bartender, although well-versed in Josie’s prodigious appetite, still shook her head then caught my eye.
“Can I take your plate without running the risk of getting stabbed with a fork?” Millie deadpanned.
“Funny,” Josie said, wiping her mouth. “I’ll swap you. The plate for a dessert menu.”
I snorted then reached for my wine glass.
“Your mother certainly knows what she’s doing,” Millie said, nodding at the crowd. “This looks more like a night in July than September.”
“Yeah, we’ll probably do over two hundred dinners,” I said. “Chef Claire will sleep good tonight.”
“I still can’t believe she entered that thing,” Millie said. “It’s…how do I even describe it?”
“Self-inflicted torture,” Josie said, not looking up from the dessert menu.
“Close enough,” Millie said.
“No desire to get out on the water and join the fun?” I said.
“Yeah, right,” Millie said, scoffing. “I spent all afternoon bench-pressing cases of beer and wine. That’s all the workout I need. How about you, Josie? You going to enter?”
Josie glanced up and raised an eyebrow at Millie who laughed when she saw the expression on her face.
“Maybe your mother will organize a competitive eating contest,” Millie said.
“Don’t give her any ideas,” I said.
“Don’t give who any ideas, darling?”
I turned around and smiled at my mother then gave her a hug.
“Hey, Mom. I didn’t know you were here,” I said, glancing into the packed dining room. “Who are you having dinner with?”
“The people handling the logistics of the 147 and a couple of their sponsors,” she said, giving Josie a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Let me guess, you had the two for one surf and turf.”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Josie said. “How’d you know that?”
“Well, unless you’ve started using it as a body lotion, it’s the only way to explain all that butter,” my mother said, nodding at the large stain on Josie’s blouse.
“Again?” Josie said, glancing down and shaking her head. “I can’t believe it.” She slid off her barstool. “I’ll be right back.”
We watched her head for the ladies’ room, then my mother slid into Josie’s seat.
