Case of the Ragin' Cajun

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The Corgi Case Files Series

  Case of the

  Ragin’ Cajun

  J.M. Poole

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  Acknowledgments

  I’m often asked whether I have ever attended any book signings. The answer to that is a resounding no. Like Zack, I view them as a popularity contest, and I’ve seen my fair share of authors sitting (forlornly) on the other side of the table, waiting eagerly for someone to look their way. As for this book, I had originally plotted out a Mississippi river cruise, culminating in an arrival to the Big Easy, but as you could probably deduce, the dogs wouldn’t be allowed on a boat. Not unless I tried to pass them off as service dogs, and I figure if I ever did that, I’d be doing a disservice to real service dogs everywhere. So, I thought about how much I don’t like public speaking, and voila! The story was plotted in no time flat.

  Helping me out with the creation of this book, as always, is my lovely wife, Giliane. I pass ideas by her all the time, and most of the time, she likes them. Also on the list are some beta readers. Jason, Carol, Caryl, Diane, Louise, Michelle, and Hellen. I appreciate you guys taking the time to help me out and keep me looking as good as possible!

  Also high on that list are Secret Staircase Books’ set of beta readers: Marcia, Susan, Sandra, Judith, and Paula. You guys are also part of my team, and you are all very much appreciated!

  With all that being said, I’d like to thank you, the reader, for choosing my book from all the hundreds of thousands out there to choose from! You guys rock!

  For Giliane —

  We’re going to get you to Pomme Valley yet! Fingers crossed!

  ONE

  “Zachary, have you ever been to New Orleans? I have, a few times. You have no idea how much history this town has.”

  “Yep,” I confirmed, “I’ve been here before. Sadly, I have to admit that I didn’t really get a chance to look around, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I’ve always wanted to walk along Bourbon Street, check out the shops, and try some of the food this area is known for. I know it’s the tourist-y thing to do, but I don’t care. I’ve always loved the look and feel of this place.”

  “Well, we’re here now. You’re finally going to get your chance. What about you two? Vance? Tori? Have you ever been to New Orleans?”

  Before I go any further, I suppose I should give you some context. First off, my name is Zachary Anderson, but everyone calls me Zack. That is, everyone but my fiancée, Jillian Cooper, who always seems to call me Zachary. As if you couldn’t tell, she’s here with me. We are both from a little town in southwestern Oregon called Pomme Valley. Our town is less than ten miles southwest from Medford, and about thirty minutes east of Grants Pass. PV, as we like to call it, is known for its peaceful living, quiet atmosphere, and being a crime-free town.

  Kinda.

  As my friend Vance eagerly reminds me, ever since I moved to town, the crime of the big city seemingly moved with me. We’ve had multiple murders, brazen thefts, and even had a span of time where innocent dogs were stolen. And, as if to prove my friend’s point, the last time Jillian and I went on vacation, we managed to find a dead body and get dragged into the local police investigation.

  But, I’d like to say that, if not for Sherlock and Watson, I never would have known anything was happening, let alone be paid to help solve crimes. Now, I know some of you are probably shaking your head, wondering how two fictitious characters could possibly help solve real crimes. Well, in my case, Sherlock and Watson are real, only they aren’t humans.

  They are dogs.

  I adopted Sherlock practically the moment I first set foot in Pomme Valley. My best friend from high school just happened to live in PV as well, and not only was he still a prankster at heart, Harrison Watt was the town veterinarian. His office handled all rescue dogs, too, which meant that he was always on the lookout for someone to adopt one of his dogs. Well, Harry played his cards right, had the timing down perfectly, and just like that, I suddenly had something in common with the queen of England: we both owned a corgi.

  Sherlock is a tri-colored bundle of energy. It wasn’t until I researched the breed online that I learned that this particular dog was a member of the herding group, and that meant this dog was very active. Thankfully, all my misgivings were gone after the first night of ownership. Having been recently widowed just a few months before becoming a resident of Oregon, it turned out owning a dog was just what I needed. That’s about the time Harry brought me a second corgi. This one was a red and white female, who I named Watson, much to the horror of my friends. They all figured naming a little girl like that was going to emotionally scar her for life. But, I stuck to my guns and just like that, I became the proud daddy of two little corgis. Now, several years later, I can honestly say that I don’t even remember what life was like without a dog, nor would I ever want to again.

  Now, I should give you a little background about myself. I’m a romance writer, and I should inform you that I sell an obscene amount of books each month. So many that it affords me a very comfortable lifestyle. I’m also the owner of my own private winery. Lentari Cellars had been started by the late Bonnie Davies, a distant relative of my deceased wife, Samantha. After Bonnie passed, which wasn’t that long after my own wife, I received a life-changing letter, telling me that Samantha and I had inherited great-aunt Bonnie’s estate, and that included the winery.

  You had better believe I made some enemies that day. There are those, who won’t be named, who feel that I had no business accepting something which should have stayed with the family. Well, I’m not that easily intimidated, so the winery was going to stay with me. I re-opened at the earliest opportunity.

  Nowadays, the winery pulls in almost as much as my book sales. Since I am not a fan of wine, and know next-to-nothing about how to make it, I was more than happy to allow Lentari Cellar’s former master vintner, Caden Burne, to resume his duties, giving Caden full control over Lentari Cellars’ day-to-day operation. All I have to do is sign the checks.

  And finally, if all that wasn’t enough, as I previously mentioned, I’m a paid consultant for the local police force. But, in my defense, the local PD isn’t really concerned with my powers of deductive reasoning. That all falls on my two dogs. Sherlock and Watson, true to their namesakes, can solve crimes better than any human detective, and that includes my good friend Vance Samuelson, who just so happens to be a detective on the police force. Whenever he’s working a case, and needs the help of their Royal Canineships, he gives me a buzz and I’ll take the dogs wherever they need to go. I’ve also since learned to pay close attention to my canine companions whenever we’re working a case. Whatever catches the dogs’ attention will have me reaching for my phone to take a picture. Then, after enough pictures, or corgi clues as I have started calling them, have been collected, Jillian and I will have a good laugh as we review them and try to piece together what all the pictures mean. Oftentimes, I’ll enlist the help of the gang, since every Friday night we get together for dinner and share what experiences we’ve all had the past week.

  To this date, none of us have been able to solve a case faster than the dogs. It’s a bitter point of contention with Vance, and I have secretly vowed to figure out one of these cases
before they do. When it happens, expect the fireworks.

  Fast forward to the present day. The four of us, namely myself, Jillian, Vance, and Tori, were speeding along in a cab, on our way to a convention center in New Orleans, Louisiana. Also with us were the dogs, who at the moment, were sitting on each of our laps so they could look out the windows. Yes, we were getting dog hair all over us, but we came prepared: there were several lint rollers in my backpack.

  “I still can’t believe this is happening,” Tori was saying.

  Tori is Vance’s wife. She’s tall, has red hair, green eyes, and is third-generation Irish. She and Vance have been married for fifteen years now, which was pretty much the reason why we were on this excursion.

  Let me explain.

  Late last year, I was approached by Vance, who asked me if I would be willing to write Tori into one of my books, using her likeness, personality, quirks, etc. He wanted to surprise her for their fifteenth anniversary. Well, I did one better. I came up with a story based on a strong, independent woman living in the middle of Ireland during the Great Potato Famine, which occurred in the mid-19th century. My female protagonist has to endure some pretty dire circumstances in order to keep her family fed and protected. Heart of Éire was born that day. I remember sitting there with Vance, at Casa de Joe’s, and sketching out a rough plot. It actually shocked me how fast I came up with the story. Then again, Ireland has always been one of my favorite countries to visit, and as such, it wasn’t particularly hard for me to come up with a story based on the Emerald Isle.

  No mere ties connect this one, though. Heart of Éire takes place in Ireland, is all about Ireland, and should appeal to anyone who has Irish blood in them. Well, little did I know how badly I had misjudged that. For the first time ever, thanks to the sales of this book, I hit the New York Times Best Sellers List, surprising everyone, including my publisher.

  And that was why we were here. My publisher talked me into attending a book signing, which if you’re familiar with my history, you will know is an absolute rarity. I’ve never cared for signings. Why? Well, have you ever seen any? The last few I’ve witnessed were so sad that they bordered on pathetic. The last author I saw, for example, was sitting behind a rectangular table in the middle of a bookstore. Stacks of his books were on either side of him and there he was, hands clasped in front of him, pen at the ready, as he waited for someone to make eye contact with him. He wasn’t talking, he wasn’t smiling, but instead, just waiting for an opportunity to shove his book in front of someone’s face.

  That wasn’t for me. So, if I was going to be talked into doing one of these things, then it was going to be on my terms. At no point would it be required for me to sit behind one of these tables, unless I chose to do so. I would be up, moving around, and interacting with anyone who chose to stop. Additionally, I would not be alone. I would have a few friends to talk with, since—in my opinion—most people would be willing to approach an author if he/she appears friendly and not standoffish.

  I’d like to say that was why Vance and Tori were with us, but to be honest, they were here because … well, let’s face it. They were the reason Heart of Éire was written. I was splitting the proceeds from this particular book with them, fifty-fifty, and after the Samuelsons had seen the size of the first (of many) royalty check with their names on it, they had readily accepted my invitation to join me and Jillian in New Orleans. All expenses paid, of course. This time, though, I wasn’t the one picking up the tab, nor was Jillian. It was one of my stipulations for my publisher. I honestly thought it was my ace in the hole for getting them to drop this ridiculous request of theirs. Much to my surprise, they agreed. They even agreed to my request of bringing along the dogs, even going so far as making them purchase two extra tickets so they could ride in the plane’s cabin with us. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. After all, I make them a ton of money.

  “Here we are,” the driver announced, as he pulled the van into the unloading zone in front of the biggest convention center I have ever seen. “I hope you all have fun in there!”

  I slipped a few bills into the driver’s tip jar, thanked him, and followed the rest of my group outside. Jillian handed me Sherlock’s leash while she held onto Watson’s. I waited to see if anyone was going to take the lead when I noticed that the others had fallen back and were currently standing behind me. Everyone’s eyes were on me.

  “I guess this is my show. Fine. I’m supposed to be meeting someone from MCU somewhere in there, so might as well start looking. Come on, guys. We’re heading inside.”

  As I gave a gentle tug on the leash, Sherlock turned to look back at me, gave himself a solid shake, and then headed toward a long row of glass doors—all propped open—which led inside. Behind me, I could hear the girls talking.

  “I’m so surprised that we’re doing this,” Jillian was saying.

  “Why?” Tori wanted to know.

  “Zachary absolutely hates book signings. He views them as popularity contests, and it’s something he’s steadfastly against. Then again, I think he was tired of looking at bridal venues with me.”

  “Oh? You two can’t decide where to get married?” Tori asked.

  “His guest list isn’t too bad,” Jillian confirmed, “but mine? It’s pure insanity. I know everyone in PV, and if I leave someone off the guest list, then feelings will be hurt. We have to be sure to invite everyone.”

  “That’s a lot of people,” Tori agreed.

  “Right? I’ve made a few calls, but it doesn’t look good. I think we might have to have the wedding outside of PV.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for you, too,” Tori promised.

  “Thank you. Did Vance say anything about Zack’s reluctance to do this signing?”

  “A little. He’s an author, and a very successful one. Does he really hate book signings that much?”

  “He does,” Jillian confirmed.

  “Then, why did he agree to do it?” I heard Tori softly ask.

  “I would imagine it’s because of you and Vance,” Jillian guessed. “He told me he may have written this book, but he owes its creation to you. Or, more specifically, Vance.”

  “Hmm?” Vance asked, overhearing his name.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Tori assured him. “We’re just chatting.”

  “About?”

  “How much you owe Zack,” Tori giggled.

  I grinned to myself and elected to remain quiet.

  “Have any of your titles ever sold this well before?” Vance asked me a few minutes later, in a low voice, once the girls had returned to their conversation.

  “No,” I said, as I reached the front doors and stepped aside to let the girls go through first. Vance quickly mimicked me. “In order to have a shot at hitting the New York Times list, you have to sell a minimum of 5,000 copies in a single week. Many of the books sell more, but that’s the barest minimum in order to be considered. I’ve been trying to hit this particular milestone for quite a while.”

  “Good grief, buddy,” Vance whispered. “How many copies have been sold so far?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. But, based on the last three royalty checks, and the fact that each check is bigger than the previous month’s, I’d say it’s doing pretty darn good.”

  “I’ll say,” Vance said, nodding. “I think we’ve already covered Vick and Tiffany’s college education, and there’s still plenty left over.” My friend looked over at me and held up a fist. “Thanks, pal. I mean it.”

  I bumped his fist with my own. “Any time, amigo. Have you figured out what you’re going to do yet with your share of the royalties? I just heard you say something to the effect of the girls’ college tuitions are paid for. Any other plans?”

  “No freakin’ idea, pal,” Vance admitted. “What about you?”

  “Me, personally? I’m seriously considering creating the ultimate man-cave. I’m talking full-size arcade games, pinball machines, and, of course, what arcade would be complete without skee
-ball?”

  “Skee-ball,” Vance moaned, as a look of pure bliss passed across his features. “Oh, man, I had forgotten how much I love that game. What a fantastic idea! You’re looking for one now?”

  “I’m thinking two, but I want them to be official games, not the cheap reproductions. So, I’ve been checking with arcades. Someone, somewhere, has gotta be selling some of those original units.”

  “If you find one, then you let me know, okay?”

  Vance and I bumped fists again. “You got it. Holy crap on a cracker! Look who it is!”

  Our little group came to an immediate stop and it was all I could do to not start sputtering like an idiot. There, in front of me, was the author of The Da Vinci Code.

  “It’s Dan Brown!” I continued.

  Jillian’s eyes widened appreciatively, while Vance and Tori politely nodded.

  “He wrote the Robert Langdon series,” I hastily explained. “Angels & Demons, The Da Vinci Code, Lost Symbol, and so on. Wow. I had no idea he was going to be here.”

  The world-famous author was getting ready to pass me with his entourage when he noticed Sherlock and Watson. He paused long enough to give each of them a pat before turning to me.

  “Cute dogs. You should put them in a book.”

  I felt my mouth open with surprise. Dan Brown was talking to me! “I, er, have considered it, many times. They’re more famous than I’ll ever be.”

  Dan Brown laughed heartily and gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder before moving on. Vance immediately sidled up to me and pointed at my shoulder.

  “Let me guess. You’re never going to wash it again, are you?”

  “Bite me, pal.”

  “How many of these people do you recognize?” Jillian wanted to know, as we slowly made our way deeper into the convention center. Booths and tables were everywhere. “Would anyone know you?”