Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Dog's Honest Truth (Golden Retriever Mysteries Book 14): Golden Retriever Mysteries, #14
    Dog's Honest Truth (Golden Retriever Mysteries Book 14): Golden Retriever Mysteries, #14
    Dog's Honest Truth (Golden Retriever Mysteries Book 14): Golden Retriever Mysteries, #14
    Ebook304 pages4 hours

    Dog's Honest Truth (Golden Retriever Mysteries Book 14): Golden Retriever Mysteries, #14

    By Neil Plakcy

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Steve and Rochester seek the truth about a neighbor's murder

    There's a new dog in town – a golden retriever named Luke, in training to be a seeing-eye dog. He and Rochester immediately bond, but there's something odd about Luke's human, Ben Ji. How can someone so young afford an expensive townhouse on Sarajevo Way? When Ben is shot, Steve begins to discover the lies he has been telling.

    Steve's also forced to tell the truth about his past, when he deals with a student plagiarist at Eastern College, a professor locked in the stone age, a climate activist with dangerous habits, an angry bartender—and a rifle-wielding assassin.
    Will he and Rochester be able to dig up the clues to all these mysteries? Or will a deadly killer go unpunished?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSamwise Books
    Release dateJul 25, 2022
    ISBN9798223990727
    Dog's Honest Truth (Golden Retriever Mysteries Book 14): Golden Retriever Mysteries, #14
    Author

    Neil Plakcy

    Neil Plakcy’s golden retriever mysteries have been inspired by his own goldens, Samwise, Brody and Griffin. He has written and edited many other books; details can be found at his website, http://www.mahubooks.com. Neil, his partner, Brody and Griffin live in South Florida, where Neil is writing and the dogs are undoubtedly getting into mischief.

    Read more from Neil Plakcy

    Related authors

    Related to Dog's Honest Truth (Golden Retriever Mysteries Book 14)

    Titles in the series (25)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Amateur Sleuths For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      The Duplex

      Jun 9, 2020

      I moved to Los Angeles to sing. When was this? August? June? I was twenty-nine, and those were shapeless months, when the days blended together and I refused to pull them apart. My landlord was unusually close to her adult son. His name was Jeffrey,

      21 min read

    • Article

      Ice cream DREAMS

      Aug 4, 2021

      Ice cream DREAMS
      8 min read

    • Article

      Ashleigh Bryant Phillips

      Jun 10, 2020

      Ashleigh Bryant Phillips
      6 min read

    • Article

      Campfire Tales…

      Jan 21, 2022

      Campfire Tales…
      3 min read

    • Article

      Ode to Joy

      May 16, 2019

      Ode to Joy
      5 min read

    • Article

      Appreciating Hate

      Sep 10, 2021

      Felix thought of his mind as though it were artwork – a painting. His skull was the frame, the canvas inside the frame was the grey matter, the applied paint was his education, and that insubstantial feeling evoked by the art piece was his consciousn

      7 min read

    • Article

      Life After Death

      May 27, 2022

      Life After Death
      14 min read

    • Article

      How I Demolished My Life

      Dec 28, 2021

      How I Demolished My Life
      11 min read

    • Article

      Dead Good Job

      May 11, 2023

      Dead Good Job
      3 min read

    • Article

      Power Of A Pup

      Jun 25, 2022

      Power Of A Pup
      6 min read

    • Article

      Power Of A Pup

      Jan 24, 2020

      Power Of A Pup
      6 min read

    • Article

      How I Met My Pet

      Apr 24, 2020

      How I Met My Pet
      2 min read

    • Article

      Ordinary People

      Feb 24, 2021

      Ordinary People
      11 min read

    • Article

      Famous People

      Mar 1, 2022

      Famous People
      15 min read

    • Article

      Otterly Wonderful

      May 25, 2022

      Otterly Wonderful
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Gnome

      Oct 1, 2019

      The Gnome
      5 min read

    • Article

      Fear Of The Ferryman

      Jul 11, 2024

      Fear Of The Ferryman
      5 min read

    • Article

      Fear Of The Ferryman

      Jul 11, 2024

      Fear Of The Ferryman
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Boy Who Cried Wolf

      Jun 9, 2020

      Josh Turner from Austin, Texas The egg landed with a splat on the truck window. ‘Bullseye,’ grinned my buddy Dave*. Hiding in the shadows, as the car drove past, we could see the driver gesticulating furiously. It was 31 October 1990 – Halloween – a

      4 min read

    • Article

      Remembering Ricky Jay

      Jun 1, 2019

      Remembering Ricky Jay
      15 min read

    • Article

      Justice

      Mar 15, 2018

      I had been told that the interviewer was waiting for me outside in the hotel garden. The muffled oceanic roar of traffic rose steadily from the nearby road. She was sitting alone on a bench amid the raw planted beds and network of gravel paths, gazin

      22 min read

    • Article

      Lies I Tell My Father

      Feb 10, 2024

      “How’s your job at the newspaper?” my father asks me. He is sitting on a couch, a plush throw blanket spread across his legs. “The newspaper’s fine,” I lie. I lie because it is simple. I lie because it is quick. I lie because it is easier than trying

      10 min read

    • Article

      Requiem for a Reader

      Jul 28, 2017

      My first memory of my father as a reader was him telling me to hurry up; it was almost time to silflay. The post Requiem for a Reader appeared first on The Millions.

      12 min read

    • Article

      There’s No Place Like Home: An Artist Reconnects to the Whispers of Her Past

      Apr 7, 2023

      Estimated reading time: 13 minutes — I would be remiss in telling you how two suburbanites found home at our farm, ‘Oakhaven’, without first sharing our motives. There were a few. We had been watching the steady decline of the small towns we love fo

      8 min read

    • Article

      A Haunting in Manhattan

      Oct 23, 2023

      A Haunting in Manhattan
      8 min read

    • Article

      A time FOR US

      Apr 8, 2020

      A time FOR US
      8 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Dog's Honest Truth (Golden Retriever Mysteries Book 14)

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Dog's Honest Truth (Golden Retriever Mysteries Book 14) - Neil Plakcy

      1: New Dog in Town

      I was relaxing on the couch on a Saturday evening in early October with my golden retriever Rochester on the floor by my side when my girlfriend Lili called from the kitchen, Steve? Can you give me a little help here?

      I jumped up, and Rochester followed me. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thine eyes, and moreover I will help you in the kitchen, I said.

      Thank you, William Shakespeare. She was standing in front of the stove, and she pulled a butterfly-shaped clip out of her hair and then realigned it. I watched in fascination, as I usually did.

      "Is that Benedick’s speech in Much Ado About Nothing? she asked. Isn’t there something about an uncle in there?"

      I substituted helping you in the kitchen for going with thee to thy uncle’s, I said, bowing with a flourish.

      Well, you can help by stirring that pan of risotto.

      I picked up the wooden spoon she’d been using from the spoon rest and stirred, then inhaled the fragrance of the rice, the mushrooms and the sliced asparagus.

      Lili was an excellent cook, having learned at the elbow of her Cuban-born mother. I’d noticed since her mother’s death during the summer that Lili had stopped preparing those dishes I had come to love – the picadillo, the ropa vieja, the arroz con pollo. She’d stopped speaking Spanish, too, even with her brother Fedi, who lived in Florida and was even more immersed in Cuban culture than she was.

      She pulled the top off a skillet and flipped over a pair of chicken breasts that had been simmering there in white wine and more mushrooms. Did I tell you I saw movers come to empty out the Franchis’ house the other day?

      Really? That house was on the market for a long time. I guess they finally got a buyer.

      I can’t count how many times I’ve moved in my life and I never needed a whole van to do it, she said. But they had so much furniture, the little boy’s miniature car and several racks of fancy clothing, both hers and his.

      She seasoned the flipped chicken and put the lid back on the skillet. The neighborhood gossip is that they only wanted a cash buyer, because they’re buying a big place in Newtown and they wanted to minimize their mortgage.

      How is your brother doing with getting your mother’s condo ready for sale, and settling the rest of her estate? I asked.

      She sighed. I’m afraid to ask Fedi about the condo, because then he’ll tell me how much work he and Sara still have to do to get it ready for sale. And I’m not sure he’s telling me the whole truth about my mother’s finances. Yes, I know she squirreled away money in a bunch of different accounts, and it’s difficult to keep track of all of them. But last week I got a statement in my name, forwarded from my mother’s address, from a bank I never heard of.

      More money?

      Nothing dramatic. She had a safety deposit box there, with me as a co-signor. I scanned it and emailed to Fedi, and he had to take them a death certificate. She had a couple thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills there, along with copies of the deeds to every house she ever owned.

      Everything on the stove came together at the right time, another wonder of Lili’s cooking, and we sat at the kitchen table to eat.

      I remembered Señora Weinstock’s mania for photocopying. Whenever a bill came in, she copied it, marked it paid, then stapled it to every piece of paper that had come in with it, even the envelope and the circulars. She only owned the condo by then, right? I asked.

      That’s true. But even when she sold a property she kept a copy of the deed. You should have heard Fedi raving about that.

      You’re worried there are more accounts like that?

      Something about it made me uncomfortable. Like maybe Fedi already knew about that bank and hadn’t bothered to tell me.

      Do you want me to do some snooping? I asked. I mean, you’re a legitimate heir, so it’s not like I’d be hacking somewhere.

      No, I want to trust Fedi. I’ve always been the big sister, looking out for him. He’s never had to think about me in the same way. I think that’s what he’s doing. You know, every morning I wake up and I think about when I can fit in a call to her, and then I realize she’s not there anymore. I think Fedi understands that and he’s trying not to remind me too much.

      So that was why she’d stopped speaking Spanish, stopped cooking the dishes her mother had taught her. Because the memory was too painful.

      I didn’t know what else to say, so I complimented the chicken and the risotto. I learned how to make risotto when I was married to Adriano, she said. It was his favorite dish, and he was very picky about how it was prepared.

      And that was our life together in a nutshell. So many memories crowding in—my late parents and hers, my ex-wife and Lili’s two ex-husbands, and the very bossy golden retriever who nudged my leg in the hope of getting a bit of chicken. When I hoped Lili wasn’t looking I slipped him a piece.

      Lili’s melancholy passed, and we spent the evening companionably on the sofa, both of us reading, our bare feet meeting halfway. Rochester sprawled on the floor beside us, and only woke when his internal clock told him it was time for his late-night walk before bed. We strolled outside under a cloudless sky spangled with stars, and I easily identified the Big Dipper and Orion above us, while Rochester was more focused on terrestrial indicators.

      As we walked past the house where the Franchis had lived, Rochester sniffed eagerly all around the base of the lamp in front of the house, tugging me behind him. When I tried to get him to move, he splayed out his paws, his nose to the ground. He finally decided he had sniffed all he needed to, and copiously peed.

      Then we continued on our way. I think someone new moved into the Franchis’ house, I said to Lili as I walked back into the house. I let Rochester off his leash and he skedaddled across the tile floor to his water bowl, where he drank copiously.

      You saw movers? Or the new owners? Lili asked.

      No, but Rochester sniffed something. I bet they have a dog.

      You can’t know that. Whatever he smelled could have been any dog, from anywhere in the neighborhood.

      Yeah, but I know my boy, don’t I? Rochester gamboled back over to me and used my slacks as his napkin, wiping his wet mouth on them.

      Rochester, I said, pushing him away. Yuck.

      Rochester’s intuition was proved correct the next morning when I took him for his regular amble around the neighborhood. It was a beautiful autumn day, perfect for walking with a light sweater, a pair of jeans, and a big shaggy dog.

      We stopped at the light post again, and as Rochester was sniffing, the front door opened and a young Asian guy stepped out. He had straight black hair, and wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and khakis. He had a golden retriever puppy on a dark blue harness who strained to come out toward us.

      I wasn’t that great with dog ages, but from the jump in this one’s step I put him at only about six months old. Luke! Heel! the man said, and the dog obediently retreated to a position just beside him.

      Morning, I said, and waved. Can Rochester say hello?

      Sure, the man said. He was skinny, with slightly darker skin, a broad nose, round eyes and a round face, with prominent ears. He looked a lot like a Chinese-American student I’d had at Eastern a few years before. Dealing with other dogs is a part of Luke’s training.

      I kept Rochester on a tight leash because I didn’t want him overwhelming the puppy, and we stepped closer. Luke sprawled on his back in a show of submission, and Rochester leaned over, sniffed and then licked him.

      Then Luke sprang up. I let go of Rochester’s leash and the two dogs tumbled happily in the driveway. I’m Ben Ji, the man said, sticking out his right hand. He kept Luke’s leash firmly in his left.

      For a moment I thought he was giving me only his first name, but then I realized he’d paused between the two syllables. He also had a hint of a British accent somewhere in there, which meant it was unlikely he was being so informal as to simply give me his nickname.

      Steve Levitan. I live three doors down. You just moved in?

      Ben nodded. I’ve been working in the city, but my company set up a new work from home policy, so I took this opportunity to buy a place and get a dog.

      Welcome to River Bend, and Stewart’s Crossing, I said. You’ll find it’s a nice, laid-back area.

      That’s what drew me here, he said. And I was impressed by the security. The company that runs the gates and does the patrols has a four-star rating online.

      I’d never thought to look up the company’s rating. I saw the guards on patrol when Rochester and I walked, and waved to them. Then, as if on cue, one of the patrol cars cruised by, and I gave the guard behind the wheel a thumbs-up.

      By then I thought Rochester had played enough. If he didn’t get down to business we’d be out there forever, and I heard a chocolate-chip muffin calling my name from our kitchen.

      Rochester, I called. Come to me.

      He looked up, twisted his big golden head to stare at me for a moment, then went back to playing.

      Luke, Ben said. Come.

      The golden puppy immediately disengaged himself from Rochester and came right to Ben’s side. Rochester followed, and I got hold of his leash. See, that’s how you’re supposed to behave, I said to him.

      I said goodbye to Ben and dragged Rochester down the street towards home. He planted his feet firmly halfway there, though, and while looking up at me and sniffing the air, he peed. If dogs had human motives I’d say he was almost defiant.

      But they don’t, even though we think they do. Well, maybe I’d make an exception for Rochester.

      2: Crime Wave

      When we got back to our townhouse, Lili was in the kitchen sipping a cup of Cuban coffee, the kind of tiny espresso she called a Cafecito. At least that part of her heritage hadn’t been affected by her mother’s death.

      I was right about the new neighbor, I said. Young guy, maybe thirty or so, black hair, Asian-looking. He said his name is Ben Ji. And of course I immediately though of the dog movies, but the way he said it made me realize it was his first and last name.

      I went to school in Kansas City with a Chinese boy whose first name was Donald, she said. And his last name was D-U-K, pronounced duck.

      No. Someone really named a kid Donald Duck?

      His parents were immigrants and I don’t think they knew anything about Disney. Just an unfortunate coincidence, like your Mr. Ji.

      That afternoon I took Rochester for a long walk along the Delaware, reveling in the gorgeous colors of the autumn leaves and the peaceful susurrus of the water heading downstream. Lili and I went out to dinner, and soon after we got home my cell phone rang and the display read Unknown Number.

      I already had software on my phone that blocked telemarketers and suspected spam numbers, but sometimes I saw that message. It was usually someone like a doctor calling from his personal cell phone, so I answered tentatively.

      Hello?

      Rochester heard something worrying in my voice, so he got up from his place on the on the floor a few feet away and moved over to rest his head on my knee.

      Steve, it’s Rick.

      I recognized the voice immediately. Rick Stemper was my best friend, a detective in our hometown of Stewart’s Crossing, and we met for coffee or family get-togethers at least once a week.

      Sorry, I just realized I’m calling you from my desk phone in the station. I’ve been on the phone so much tonight I didn’t even think of picking up my cell.

      Why are you at work so late?

      Believe me, Tamsen has asked the same question, several days in a row, he said. We’re having a crime wave in town, and I’ve been here til ten or eleven every night for most of the last week.

      Rochester had a pretty good vocabulary for a four-year-old dog, and I think he recognized the word crime, because he looked up at me immediately. Rochester and I had often been able to provide a clue or two in Rick’s investigations. At first Rick had resisted believing that my golden had a nose for crime, insisting that anything I discovered via my dog’s inquisitive nose and digging paws was just coincidental. But Rochester had eventually won him over.

      A crime wave? In Stewart’s Crossing?

      Patrol spotted a light on in the basement of one of those old Victorians on Cadwalader Streets last night, investigated, and found a whole meth lab, Rick said. Jerry was on call last night, and fortunately he was the one who got stuck with intake. Apparently several of the tweakers smelled very ripe.

      He turned away from the phone and spoke to someone in the station, then came back to me. I was supposed to be off today, but I had to come in because we also caught a DUI on River Road, and a couple of teens breaking into the back of the brewpub.

      That is a crime wave, I said.

      So listen, I could use some help. Gwen Seitzinger is out on maternity leave, and she usually does all the background research for us, so it’s Jerry and me picking our fingers across the keyboards collecting all the data we need. You have some free time?

      You’re in luck. Eastern is closed tomorrow for Columbus Day, so I’ve got the whole day free to help you.

      Awesome. How about eight o’clock at the Chocolate Ear? I’ll buy.

      Back in the days before I had a dog, I loved to sleep late on weekends and holidays. I’d wake up at seven-thirty or eight like usual, roll over and look at the clock, then go back under for another couple of hours.

      Once I adopted Rochester, though, sleeping late no longer was an option. If I tried, he stuck his big face onto the pillow next to me and huffed and sniffed until I woke up. If that didn’t work, he’d lick his scratchy tongue over my nose.

      I can do eight, I said. Remember my canine assistant gets a biscuit.

      Always.

      When I put the phone down I scratched under Rochester’s jowls. You ready to go to work tomorrow? I asked. Want to help Uncle Rick?

      He went down on his front paws in his play position, which indicated his assent.

      What did Rick want? Lili asked.

      Crime wave in town, I said. Steve and Rochester to the rescue.

      What does he want you to do?

      Something computer-related. He mumbled something about fumbling around on keyboards.

      The next morning, after a quick and uneventful walk, Rochester and I hustled into my aged BMW sedan to head to The Chocolate Ear to meet Rick. The center of Stewart’s Crossing wasn’t much of a downtown, just a dozen blocks of commercial buildings, many of them converted out of old Victorian-era houses. Gingerbread adorned the doctor’s offices and the pizza parlor as well as the cell phone vendor and the karate dojo.

      Halloween would be there in a couple of weeks, and the porches and front yards were decorated with an assortment of pumpkins, squashes, and fake scarecrows who looked more like 1930s hobos. Clusters of Indian corn and seasonal wreaths hung on many doors.

      Because we had some time before meeting Rick, and it was such a gorgeous fall day, I parked in the small lot behind the Chocolate Ear and took Rochester on a long, circuitous walk around town.

      It seemed like everyone in the neighborhood who had a dog was out for a walk, though, which made it more difficult for me and Rochester. He’s such a friendly dog and assumes everyone he meets feels the same way. The chihuahua we met as we turned onto Canal Street yapped shrilly, showing tiny teeth, and I pulled Rochester close to me.

      Oh, he doesn’t mean any harm, the woman walking him said. The worst he’d do is nip you.

      I smiled at her. If he hurt my dog, I’d throw him in the canal, I said sweetly. So I’d keep him on a tight leash if I were you.

      She humphed, and walked on quickly. A nip could draw blood, and an open wound could invite infection, which could spread through the bloodstream. Nope, no nipping today.

      We passed a slouching young man with the hood of his sweatshirt up, arguing volubly with someone. At first I thought he was crazy, because there was no one there, but then I realized he was on the phone.

      Rochester didn’t like his tone of voice, or something else about him, and he walked around behind my legs to the other side of the street. He had a good instinct about people and I often relied on his impressions.

      Or it could be that there was something he wanted to smell over there, and it had nothing to do with the slouchy guy.

      We turned onto Ferry Street, which connected the center of town to the Delaware, and was the original home of the eponymous ferry, which crossed the river and gave the town its name. I saw the slouchy guy turn that way and realized that I knew him. His name was Harvey Winter, and he was a former Eastern student who tended bar down by the river.

      We passed the antique shop run by my friend Mark Figueroa, which was closed, but we waved anyway. Then we turned onto Main Street and spotted the Chocolate Ear café, which looked incongruously French in this sea of autumnal Americana. The awning was green and white striped, and small wrought-iron café tables sat on the sidewalk. Inside, it was a bright yellow, accented with big art deco posters advertising French food products.

      Gail Dukowski, who owned the café, had rented the space next door and broken through the wall, creating a dog-friendly café. All the food preparation stayed on one side, allowing canine companions on the other.

      I left Rochester sitting beside a table and walked over to the Dutch door that separated the two rooms. Gail’s mother Lorraine was at the register. Both had the same blonde hair, though Lorraine’s was longer, caught up in a ponytail, while Gail’s was no-nonsense short. I saw her in the kitchen behind her mother and waved at her.

      I would like a chocolate croissant and a café mocha for myself, and a fresh-baked biscuit for my golden friend, I said.

      Lorraine moved to the cappuccino machine and started pulling my coffee. How’s the weather treating you? she asked, as I lounged against the Dutch door.

      Fall seems to start later and later each year, I said. When I was a kid I seem to remember there was a chill in the air by this time.

      We used to carve pumpkins when Gail was young, Lorraine said. As you can imagine, she was very talented with a knife even then.

      Mother, Gail called from the back.

      Lorraine half turned toward her. Please, can’t a mother brag about her daughter?

      When you talk about my knife skills you make me sound like serial killer.

      Lorraine plated my croissant and handed it to me with one of Gail’s special biscuits for Rochester, and I told her to put everything on Rick’s tab. Then I saw him approaching the café on foot from the police station a few blocks down on Main Street.

      Rick and I had gone to Pennsbury High together, but we hadn’t become friends until I’d returned to town and we’d bonded over the bitterness of our divorces. Since then, however, we’d both found terrific women, and our lives were much better because of it.

      He was a couple of inches shorter than my six feet, but in better shape; he had more gray hair than I did, and a square face with only the hint of a scar under his chin where he’d been knifed by a criminal years before.

      While I returned to Rochester in the doggy half of the café, Rick ordered his own coffee, which I knew from experience would be black, with extra sugar. Then he joined us at the table and laid a manila folder in front of us.

      What’s in there?

      I need to know who owns each of the properties on Cadwalader Street, he said. That’s as much as I’ve been able to dig up. A couple of trusts, a woman no one can find, and a couple of out-of-state owners, probably the kids of people who once lived there.

      And you need this because...

      Because we have to provide that information to the building department so they can serve the owners with notice to fix up their properties and keep the bad guys out. And before you ask, the building department is as swamped as we are. One of the women who works there retired, and the other can barely keep up with permit requests for new construction.

      I’m happy to take a look, I said.

      I had a long and somewhat spotted history with computers and software. After a move to California with my then-wife, I’d developed some minor proficiency in hacking, back when safeguards were rudimentary. I’d still gotten caught, served my time, and returned home with my tail between my legs.

      Since then, I’d learned to channel my computer curiosity into helping Rick find information online. It was good for him, because it freed him up for real police work, and good for me because it was a legal outlet for my tendencies. Well, I struggled to keep things legal, though I admit I crossed the line now and then.

      Always with good intentions, though.

      3: Cadwalader Street

      We talked for a few more minutes, and then he took the remains of his coffee and walked back to work. Rochester and I stayed at the café for a while, enjoying the small-town morning and the freedom of not having to go to work, then returned home. Lili had been a globe-trotting photojournalist before returning to school and getting her PhD, then accepting the job as chair of the Fine Arts department at Eastern College. She’d planned to spend the day photographing fall foliage for a project she was working on.

      We exchanged a few words and a kiss,

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1