B R Snow [Snow - The Case of the Overdue Otterhound

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 authors 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 2018 B.R. Snow

ISBN: 978-1-942691-40-2

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 Klutz King Charles
• The Case of the Lovable Labs
• The Case of the Mellow Maltese
• The Case of the Natty Newfie

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

Although Im sure many of you will disagree, as well as have some serious concerns about my sanity, sitting in a boat fishing for Northern Pike two days before Christmas in a light snow thats defenseless against a stiff breeze out of the north is a perfectly normal and relaxing way to spend the afternoon. Besides, the sun was peeking through the clouds, and I was dressed for the elements and catching more than enough fish to keep me focused and my mind off the cold. I should also mention my good friend Rooster had brought along a thermos of hot coffee laced with brandy that warmed my insides and left me with a contented smile. Of course, like any sane person, I would have preferred to be out here in shorts and a tee shirt in eighty-degree weather with a full picnic basket and a cooler packed with cold beverages, but I was still in a boat on the magnificent St. Lawrence with a fishing pole in my hands, my Christmas shopping finished, and only good thoughts on my mind.

And it sure beats battling hordes of last-minute shoppers at the mall.

By the time Thanksgiving had come and gone, Id been certain Clay Bay and the surrounding areas were destined for record snowfall and temperatures cold enough to stop time. But about a week ago, it had warmed, and much of the snow had melted. And when Rooster called this morning inviting me to join him for a final day on the River before winter did arrive in full-force, I quickly agreed.

I glanced over the side of the boat and studied the clear bottom. At the moment, the water is shallow here in Weasel Creek, a section of the River separated from deep water by a stretch of marshland that begins at the shoreline and extends out a couple hundred yards before forming an L that runs horizontally offshore for about a mile. As such, its the perfect sanctuary for pike and other fish looking for warmer water - a relative term at this time of year in our little corner of the world - and a place to lay low for the winter.

Soon, the entire area where Roosters boat was gently rocking would become a thick sheet of ice, and dozens of ice fishermen would arrive on snowmobiles and ATVs to try their luck catching hungry Northern Pike by drilling holes for their tip-ups. But today, we were the only game in town, and the fish seemed to have figured that out judging by the way they were going after the snacks I was dangling in front of them. I had no idea why the fish were avoiding Roosters offerings like the plague, and I was doing my best not to laugh every time he muttered under his breath about his lack of success.

I felt a hard tug on my line, and I swiveled my seat ninety-degrees.

Another one? Rooster said, glancing over at me with a frown.

Yeah, I said, starting to reel the fish in. A big one, I think.

Thats five in the last hour and a half, he said, shaking his head.

Six, I said, flashing him a grin. But whos counting?