Phantom in the Pond
Misty came to an abrupt halt at the pond’s edge and peered down into the water. I looked down with her, expecting to see our reflections mirrored in its depths.
It wasn’t Misty’s reflection. Another collie met my gaze. This dog had a mahogany sable coat. One ear was tipped, one pricked. It couldn’t look less like my white, tricolor headed Misty.
An impossible reflection. I should see Misty and myself and the other collies.
And I did, all four of us. Now. But a moment ago, in our place I had seen the stranger dog.
I knelt on the damp grass that grew at the pond’s side and ran my fingers through the water. It felt slimy, not at all like the pure cool water I’d envisioned. Disintegrating leaves, broken bits of wood, and the incongruous candy wrapper that I longed to remove lay on its surface. If only that wrapper hadn’t been lodged in the pond’s center.
There was no dog’s image.
Once again, what did I expect?
Imitating my action, Misty dipped one white paw into the water and quickly drew it out. She sniffed at the stones and gave a puzzled whine.
Where’s the other collie?
I pulled her close to my side. The house might not be haunted, but the pond was.
I didn’t doubt what I had seen. True, I had a lively imagination that often ran away with my common sense, but I knew I hadn’t conjured a collie’s reflection out of stagnant water and nature’s debris. Foxglove Corners was known--at least to me--for its psychic activity. In the surface of the abandoned fish pond, I had seen a fleeting, unnatural reflection.
Why not call it by its proper name? Phantom.
Table of Contents
Phantom in the Pond
What They Are Saying About Phantom in the Pond
Phantom in the Pond title page
Dedication
Chapters
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
Fifty-one
Meet Dorothy Bodoin
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What They Are Saying About Phantom in the Pond
Dorothy Bodoin is at her best with Phantom in the Pond.
Jennet’s friend, Brent, shows his generous heart when he gets ready to open a place where older collies can live out the rest of their days. When Jennet drives to the house, she takes her collie, Misty, with her. Misty looks into a pond to see her reflection, but instead that of another collie looks back at her, and that’s not the only strange thing to happen.
Annica and Lucy, Jennet’s friends, travel to the house with her and suddenly they’re up to their necks in oddities. Could a previous tenant, a writer named Holly, still linger on the property after disappearing? Along with her collie?
To add a degree of angst, a dog transportation scam occurs and the dogs aren’t arriving at their final destination.
Ms. Bodoin will keep you glued to the pages right up to the end. I couldn’t put it down, but that often happens with books in this series.
—Marja McGraw
Author of the Sandi Webster Mysteries and
The Bogey Man Mysteries
Phantom in the Pond
Dorothy Bodoin
A Wings ePress, Inc.
Cozy Mystery Novel
Edited by: Jeanne Smith
Copy Edited by: Joan Powell
Executive Editor: Jeanne Smith
Cover Artist: Trisha FitzGerald-Jung
All rights reserved
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Wings ePress Books
www.wingsepress.com
Copyright © 2019 by: Dorothy Bodoin
ISBN 978-1-61309-296-5
Published In the United States Of America
Wings ePress Inc.
3000 N. Rock Road
Newton, KS 67114
Dedication
To Mike Nickele, Layla’s good friend and mine.
Chapters
One
Red candles in ornate brass holders cast a glow on the tablecloths, deepening the forest green and scarlet colors of the plaid. The centerpieces were baskets filled with gilded pinecones and decorations that resembled leaping flames. The effect was festive—Christmas-in-July festive—or would be until one noticed the Gothic-lettered sign: Welcome to Hell.
“Oh, my! It’s all so beautiful.” Lucy Hazen reached out to touch one of the burning pinecones, and the gold Zodiac charms on her bracelet jangled in alarm.
“Careful,” Brent Fowler said. “That’s real fire.”
Quickly she withdrew her hand.
“Not really, Lucy,” he added with a devilish wink. “It just looks real.”
“Everything is perfect,” she murmured.
“Anything for our famous horror writer. I even ordered a thunderstorm for the evening.” A roll of thunder underscored his words as rain pounded on the windows.
We had gathered at the Hunt Club Inn to celebrate the premier of the movie based on Lucy’s young adult horror novel, Devilwish. Filmed in Foxglove Corners, it featured familiar places and locals in walk-on parts. The event, movie and celebration, was the highlight of my summer, made more special because my husband, Deputy Sheriff Crane Ferguson, was able to accompany me.
I freed my hand from his warm grasp and patted raindrops from my hair. A little rain couldn’t spoil our evening. On the contrary, it added to the ambience.
Camille, my neighbor on Jonquil Lane and aunt by marriage, started as thunder crashed over the inn.
“Everybody, let’s sit,” Brent said. “Lucy at the head of the table. Annica, you’re with me.”
My sometime partner-in-detection positively glowed to be thus favored. We women had agreed to wear red or black in honor of Lucy’s movie. Annica had chosen a shimmery dress of crimson and garnet chandelier earrings to complement her red-gold hair, while I wore my favorite black dress with crystal jewelry.
Brent indicated a space in the middle of the table, in front of the largest basket. “Helena, you’re right here.”
A stunning
beauty with auburn hair, warm brown eyes, and a rare peaches and cream complexion, Helena smiled and lowered herself gracefully into the chair.
Helena Millay was not one of Lucy’s intimates, which prompted Brent to make her feel especially welcome. She had joined our group in a move to placate the Fates. I smiled as I recalled Lucy’s apprehension when she learned that our party would number thirteen.
“Thirteen is an unlucky number,” Lucy had declared. “We can’t afford to jinx Devilwish now that it’s been safely released.” She referred to the series of setbacks and tragic happenings that had accompanied the making of the movie.
Brent was unimpressed. “Superstitious claptrap.”
“I’m serious, Brent.”
Mentally I reviewed the guest list. Relatives, friends, and fellow members of the Lakeville Collie Rescue League. Yes, with Crane and me, we were thirteen.
“It wouldn’t hurt to invite a fourteenth guest,” I said.
“Okay, but who?”
“There must be someone who’d love a nice prime rib dinner, good wine, and devil’s food cake.”
Reciting the Inn’s renowned menu, I could hardly wait to eat.
“Mmm. Who?” Brent stared into space as if to find the answer there. Finally he said, “I have it! Helena Millay. She boards her horse at my barn. Helena just moved to Foxglove Corners and probably doesn’t know many people yet.”
“That’s perfect,” Lucy said. “Please invite her.”
That was how Helena, a virtual stranger, came to join our group. Crane pulled out the chair next to her for me, and I slipped into it, wondering how fake fire could look so realistic.
“This is an elegant place,” Helena murmured. “Let’s see. You’re Jennet.”
“And this is my husband, Crane.”
No need to add his title as he was off duty.
Crane reached over me to shake her hand. “Welcome to Foxglove Corners, Helena.”
A somber young waiter moved silently around the table serving garden salads. Another followed his steps, pouring the wine.
“A toast,” Brent announced. “To Lucy Hazen, our one and only celebrity.”
A faint blush stained Lucy’s cheeks. “And to good friends. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
That was Lucy, retiring and ever-gracious.
I took a sip of wine and turned to Helena. “Have you read Devilwish?”
“Not yet, but I loved the movie. That Mr. Horn was so sinister, and those poor kids…They fell so easily into his trap.”
“Lucy writes for young readers, but people of any age can enjoy her books,” I pointed out.
One subject down. I floundered, wondering what to say next. How do you like living in the country? Have you ever gone fox hunting? No, not that. The sport, long established in Foxglove Corners, was too controversial. Brent was a fox hunter. I and most of my friends championed the fox.
Horses? Helena boarded her horse at Brent’s stable.
“I take it you like riding,” I said. “Sue Appleton has horses.”
Sue was seated at the far end of the table with her young summer helpers, Diane and Kristie, and Ronda Leigh, a fellow member of the Lakeville Collie Rescue League of which Sue was president. If Sue were seated closer to us, we could discuss horses.
Helena’s face lit up. “I just bought my mare, Bonny, and in a few days, I’m going to have a dog.”
“What breed?” I asked.
“A rough collie.”
Ah, I thought, thinking of my own seven collies. The magic word.
When collie lovers meet, they form an instant bond. Was Helena buying a puppy? Who was the breeder? What color was the dog? What was his or her name? I didn’t know which question to ask first.
“Arden is a retired show dog out of a Wisconsin kennel,” Helena said. “She’s a tricolor. I almost bought a puppy, then I heard she was available. I had to have her.”
“Are you having Arden flown to Michigan?” I asked.
“I’d be afraid to do that. No, I found a pet land transport company on the Net. It’s called Sea-to-Sea. It’s more expensive, but Arden will be safer.”
“You’ll have to come visit my collies,” I said. “Halley came from a breeder, but the rest are rescues. I have one of each color,” I added. “Even a bi-black.”
Brent’s booming voice drowned out our conversation. “Here come the prime ribs—and the whitefish for you vegetarians. Both of you.”
I pushed my salad to the side. I’d only eaten a bit of it, a tomato slice and an olive. Now that the prime rib had arrived, salad was a lost cause.
~ * ~
The rain continued throughout dinner, enhancing the atmosphere with rumbles of thunder and lightning flashes. In keeping with the mood, orange frosting flames decorated the two devil’s food sheet cakes with their simple message: Congratulations, Lucy.
Annica volunteered to cut the cake, dividing it into several large slices and a few slivers for those who’d eaten their fill of prime rib. As she passed the plates around, Helena asked Lucy a question often posted to writers.
“Where did you get the idea for Devilwish, Lucy?”
“I borrowed it. The plight of the individual who makes a bargain with the devil occurs throughout literature.”
The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, I thought. More recently, The Devil and Daniel Webster. Stephen Vincent Benet's classic short story was part of the American Literature curriculum at Marston High School. As a teacher in the English department, I had taught it almost every year.
“I just transferred the story to a modern school. The devil appears as Mr. Horn, a charismatic college professor who tempts students by offering them their hearts’ desire. Beauty, popularity, a dream career, their true love.”
“For a while I was afraid the students would lose their souls,” Helena said.
“I write horror, but I also write happy endings.”
“How wonderful to have your heart’s desire,” Annica said.
Crane laid his hand on mine and whispered, “I do.”
“Not when it came time to give the devil his due,” Lucy pointed out.
“Hell,” Brent said. “If you want my opinion—”
Before he could complete his statement, the power went out, leaving only the red candles for illumination.
Two
The noise level rose perceptibly. A modicum of brightness returned as the wait staff scurried to the tables with extra candles. From the main dining room came a faint cry followed by a petulant complaint: “How am I going to see to eat?” A child wailed. Who kept a child up so late?
“Oh, no!” Leonora, my fellow English teacher at Marston High School, turned to her husband, Jake, as if he had all the answers. “What do we do now?”
“We power on,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “The Inn has a generator.”
Which was more than we did at home. I thought of my seven collies alone in a dark house. They didn’t even have moonlight for illumination. We had left lights on for them, anticipating that they’d stay on. As a general rule they weren’t afraid in storms, except for the timid blue merle, Sky. She would be in her safe place, under the dining room table, and I imagined one of the other collies would keep her company there. Probably Misty.
“Does this happen often in Foxglove Corners?” Helena asked.
“Fairly often,” I said. “We prepare for it with extra flashlights and batteries, blankets in the winter, and we have a wood burning stove.”
“I hope we didn’t lose power at home,” Leonora said.
Jake shrugged. “It could be worse. It’s eighty degrees out.”
“But we have so much food in the freezer.”
“It’ll keep. For a while.”
Our waiter materialized in the shadows with a coffee pot in each hand. “More coffee while it’s hot?”
I held out my cup. The cake had made me thirsty, and in spite of the burning candles, I felt a slight chill. It must be the
sound of all the rain pouring down on the earth.
“Did you order the power outage, too, Brent?” Lucy asked.
“Sure did, and timed it for the end of dinner.”
“Well, I love it,” she said. “I can’t think of a better way to wind up our evening.”
Neither could I. With dancing shadows and firelight and haunting darkness, to say nothing of the incessant pounding on the windows that held their own in the onslaught, it was a tiny preview of hell.
Sue Appleton stopped to thank Brent for his hospitality. “We’ll be on our way,” she said. “The girls are spending the night with me. Come over and see my horses, Helena,” she added, obviously having talked to Helena previously. “We’re the only horse ranch on Squill Lane. Practically the only house.”
Helena happily agreed to do so.
Brent disappeared and came back with an armload of black umbrellas. “For those who don’t want to get wet,” he said.
“Thanks,” Sue said. “We’ll share it.”
I gazed at the emptying tables. The power failure had brought a definite end to the party. People stirred, said their goodbyes, and taking umbrellas, moved toward the exit. Sue, Diane, and Kristie had already left. Before long only Lucy remained at the table, supervising the transfer of leftover cake to boxes.
“I hate to see the evening end,” I said.
“We can continue celebrating tomorrow,” Brent pointed out. “Dinner at your house. I’ll bring the wine.”
“Don’t forget to bring Lucy,” Crane reminded him.
“Lucy—sure. And Annica.”
Dinner for three guests. My mind leaped ahead to menu planning. Did I have enough on hand to cook a meal for five or would I have to go to the store?
“See you tomorrow, then, Fowler,” Crane said.
He took my hand and ushered me toward the door and the darkness where the candlelight didn’t reach. “Be careful, honey,” he added, and we went outside, fairly blown to the Jeep by the high wind that had accompanied the storm.
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