Phantom in the Pond

by Dorothy Bodoin

  This wasn’t going to be easy.

  The Sea-to-Sea van had left Wisconsin with Arden aboard, destination unknown. How could we ever hope to find them? Were we already too late to free Arden from the trap Helena had unknowingly placed her in?

  No, I told myself. Don’t give up before you start.

  I shut the computer down and rested my eyes. A dark road took shape in my mind. An unfamiliar landscape. A van. On both sides, a picture of a dog lying beside a fireplace, a cozy depiction designed to inspire confidence.

  When a situation looked hopeless, I turned to Lucy Hazen who was sometimes able to see events before they happened. Not always, and they weren’t always faithfully represented. But possibly she would know where that van was headed. The name of a state, even a city, would help. If Arden had already arrived at her destination, Lucy might know that, too.

  Sue and I needed help. It only made sense to add Lucy to our team.

  ~ * ~

  A small forest of conifers hid Lucy’s home, whimsically named Dark Gables, from Spruce Road. I drove down a heavily shaded driveway, considering the drawbacks of the isolated location. But Lucy lived with a dog, her collie, Sky, and felt that most people wouldn’t know a house stood beyond the fir trees.

  From inside, Lucy’s collie barked a welcome. Like many dogs, she was somehow able to match the sound of the car to the driver. Lucy came to the door, dressed in her signature black, brightened with several gold chains.

  “What a lovely surprise,” she said as Sky dashed out to the porch and danced around my legs.

  I hadn’t thought to call, but Lucy welcomed company. It must be lonely creating worlds in which zombies and werewolves roamed free, but that was the world in which Lucy chose to dwell.

  “Come in,” she said. “We’ll have tea.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  I was happy to escape the sultry July heat. Inside the house, ceiling fans kept the air in motion, and curtains held the bright sunlight at bay, except in the sunroom. Here in the light, Lucy wrote her books and read tea leaves for her friends. With luck she would see that long dark road or maybe the Sea-to-Sea van in my cup.

  Sky trotted along ahead of us, knowing that tea meant cookie.

  “I have another collie in distress,” I said. “Do you remember Helena Millay?”

  “Our fourteenth guest? I do. She’s a lovely woman.”

  “She hired a land transport service to bring her new collie, Arden, to Foxglove Corners, but it looks as if she’s been scammed.”

  I gave her the details, admitting that I didn’t know how to begin tracing them.

  “That’s terrible,” she said. “But I don’t know how I can help.”

  “I was hoping you’d have one of your premonitions.”

  As soon as I uttered the words, I realized how naïve they sounded. Lucy’s premonitions didn’t appear on demand and usually concerned her friends.

  She said, “Perhaps if I could talk to Helena… If I saw Arden’s picture…”

  “We can certainly visit her. Sue and I offered our help, but we may be asking the impossible of ourselves.”

  Lucy busied herself with tea making and searching for a tin of shortbread cookies. “I can imagine how Helena must feel. She intended to give Arden a good home and instead may have delivered her into the clutches of Evil.”

  “We can’t let Evil win.”

  “Let’s see if the leaves can direct us,” Lucy said.

  At one time I had looked on tea leaf reading as an amusing parlor game. Make a wish and see if it comes true. Learn about the presence of an enemy before she appears. Forewarned is forearmed. At some point, although I had begun to believe, although Lucy still insisted that I take her predictions with the proverbial grain of salt.

  If Sue and I were going to return Arden to Helena, we needed every weapon in the arsenal.

  I drank my tea, nibbled on shortbread cookies, and prepared my cup for a reading. And waited while Lucy studied the formations created by the leaves.

  At last Lucy said, “I see something, but I don’t think it has anything to do with a stolen collie. It looks like a pool or pond, and a heavy cloud hangs low over it.”

  Seven

  Lucy’s white teacups had no extraneous blossoms or scrolls to interfere with the patterns formed by the leaves. She pointed to two minuscule circular shapes near the top of the cup.

  “This is the pond,” she said, “And here’s the cloud, directly above it.”

  In my opinion, the formations didn’t resemble a pond and a cloud, but then I wasn’t a gifted reader of tea leaves with one foot in the world beyond.

  “Brent has a fishpond on his new property,” I said. “I don’t know about low-hanging clouds, but I saw something odd in it or rather on it. The pond may be haunted.”

  Lucy listened to my tale of the unknown collie who had displaced Misty’s reflection in the pond. “Fascinating. I know you’re going to solve the mystery. Now that I can help you with.”

  “But Helena needs us to find Arden.”

  “That’s a whole other problem, Jennet. You and Sue can pursue it. This one requires my expertise. Has anyone else seen the reflection?” she asked.

  “Brent and Annica were going to check it out. I don’t think they saw anything, or I’d have heard about it.”

  “I must see the pond,” she said. “Can we go together?”

  “Sure. I have Brent’s key if we want to take our investigation inside, but I already did that. The house is empty except for some furniture in one of the rooms.”

  “Whatever is going on with the pond may have its origin in the house,” Lucy pointed out.

  “I did sense an unwelcoming atmosphere,” I said, knowing Lucy would understand what I meant.

  “Does Brent know the house’s history?” she asked.

  “Only that it’s been on the market for years. No one mows the grass or cuts the weeds regularly. It’s a virtual wilderness.”

  “That,” Lucy said, “is a breeding ground for supernatural manifestations.”

  “And mosquitoes.”

  I thought about the reflection of the unknown collie in the pond, wondering again if it appeared when no one was there to see it. An idea slipped into my mind.

  “Maybe it needs Misty’s presence to appear.”

  As she looked confused, I elaborated. “I saw the phantom collie when Misty was looking into the water. It reacted to one of its kind.”

  “I have to see this pond,” Lucy repeated. “My writer’s imagination is awake and clamoring for more.”

  “We should go soon before the renovators take over.”

  Lucy nodded. “We can’t let anything stand in the way of Brent’s home for geriatric collies. If you think it’ll make a difference, let’s take Misty with us.”

  I called Misty my psychic collie. She had shared some of my out-of-this-world experiences and on one occasion had seen a spirit that more or less hid itself from me. Ironically, it was another ghost dog.

  “I agree, and we’ll take lots of pictures. We may have a photogenic ghost.”

  “Even if we don’t, Brent should have some before and after pictures to hang on the wall,” I said.

  ~ * ~

  It rained the next day, a steady downpour that turned Jonquil Lane into a quagmire. The dogs adjusted to the inclement weather, either sleeping or sitting at the window, staring glumly outside.

  Meanwhile, in another part of Foxglove Corners, fresh rainwater was falling on the pond, bringing its level higher. The leaves and twigs would move in the watery onslaught and form themselves into a canine face for no one to see.

  Or the phantom collie would emerge from its depths, gaze at the willow strands that dipped down to the surface—and try to escape.

  Mmm. Why couldn’t he escape? All he had to do was climb out of the pond. Unless some unknown force kept him there, a prisoner.

  Not caring for the scenarios my mind was dredging up, I sent my thoughts in another d
irection—to the house where the manifestation might have its beginning. My initial exploration had been cursory, affected by the musty atmosphere.

  Brent hadn’t been particularly curious about the furniture left behind by some past tenant. I didn’t suppose it had any connection to the mystery in the pond. But one never knows.

  I looked forward to going through the empty rooms again, this time with Lucy. I might well have overlooked something crucial to our understanding of the pond mystery. Misty, Lucy, and I—I fancied us an unbeatable team.

  But we needed the rain to stop, and that wouldn’t happen today.

  In mid-afternoon, noticing the skies had grown perceptibly darker, I turned on the television to see a ‘Severe Weather’ alert in effect. At least no tornado warnings or watches threatened my home. I was about to turn it off when a few sentences caught my attention.

  There’s a new breed of dognapper in town. Watch Kate in Your Corner tonight at five to learn about this new scam and how to avoid it.

  The picture of a van with a map of the United States on its side filled the screen. The name on the van was Sea-to-Sea.

  I promptly called Helena to tell her to watch the five o’clock news.

  “So someone else fell for their lies,” she said.

  “Maybe more people. Kate Brennan will keep us updated. Keep hoping, Helena.”

  I then alerted Sue to the program, and at five o’clock, I turned on the TV again and watched a half hour of local news before Kate in Your Corner came on.

  I’d watched Kate Brennan on previous newscasts, following her as she targeted unscrupulous vendors. The bridal shop that suddenly closed its doors. leaving brides without their wedding gowns. A jeweler who accepted rings for cleaning and substituted paste stones for diamonds. A contractor who’d botched a remodeling job and left town.

  Kate was the kind of reporter you’d want as your advocate when your case seemed hopeless. Friendly and compassionate with a sharp no-nonsense edge, she inspired confidence as she worked hard to secure justice for everybody.

  Tonight dressed in a long beige raincoat, she stood in a robust wind that blew her long blonde hair into her face. She was interviewing a couple in front of their house. They both spoke with soft southern accents, but the wife, Marguerite Tyrill, was doing most of the talking while her husband stood at her side glowering into the camera.

  “We wanted to make our move to Michigan as smooth as possible for the dogs,” Marguerite was saying. “Especially for Lady. She gets carsick.”

  Marguerite dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and leaned against the side of the blue Camry in the driveway.

  “So we set off without them and never dreamed they wouldn’t end up in our new home.”

  Kate gave her a sympathetic smile. “How did you learn about Sea-to-Sea?”

  “Lyle here did a Google search. We were impressed by all the good reviews they had, so we hired them.”

  Lyle said, “They took our check and picked up our dogs and that’s the last we saw of them.”

  “This happened two weeks ago,” Marguerite said. “Can you help us? It isn’t just about the money.”

  Lyle shoved his hands in his pocket. His glower grew more menacing, and it didn’t take much imagination to know that he carried a gun. “We want our dogs back. And when I track those guys down they’ll wish they hadn’t messed with me.”

  Kate made an attempt to defuse his rage, but Marguerite interrupted her. “It’s like they drove right off the map,” she said.

  Off the face of the planet, she must mean. Immediately I thought of Brandemere Road. It had a chilling reputation for leading unwary passersby to a place where they dropped off the earth and vanished forever. It was a vastly exaggerated but often repeated tale. No one disputed the fact that several unexplained disappearances had occurred on that road.

  Be that as it may, that couldn’t have happened to the Sea-to-Sea van, but it might as well have.

  Kate explained that she had made several inquiries but hadn’t been successful in finding the people behind the company—yet. Undaunted, she promised to return next week with an update and ended her segment with pictures of two of the lost dogs, a sheltie and a sleek black lab.

  “Remember,” she said in parting, “Kate is in your corner. She’ll get results.”

  Eight

  A warm wind blew over the pond, stirring the water into motion. Lucy and I stood at its edge waiting to see a collie face materialize on the surface. Misty had dipped one white paw in the stagnant water and promptly withdrew it, as she had before. Now she lay at our feet, apparently having lost interest in whatever phenomenon called the pond home.

  So much for my psychic collie.

  Lucy slapped at her wrist. “Darned mosquito.”

  They were out in full force. Fortunately my white blouse had long sleeves, but I wished I had worn boots. My shoes were already damp.

  “It’s a mess, but it’ll be charming when Brent has it cleaned,” Lucy said.

  “I wonder if the phantom dog will show itself then.” I gazed at the algae and the leaves and other debris that swam in the pond. The candy wrapper was still there. “Or maybe I imagined it,” I said.

  “Is that what you really think?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Good, we still have a mystery.”

  I glanced at the castaway lawn ornaments lying on their sides in the rock garden. “Pink flamingoes are the ultimate cliché, but they’re right for the pond.”

  “They were made to last,” Lucy said. “With a little paint they’ll be as good as new.”

  Not bright pink paint but a subdued mixture of pale pink and peach with black brushstrokes to indicate wings. Custom flamingoes.

  “Can you sense the melancholy that hangs over the pond?” I asked.

  “I can. It’s like a dark low-hanging cloud. Something happened here once. It wasn’t good.”

  “It may have involved the collie,” I said.

  “Probably.”

  Misty flopped over on her side and closed her eyes. I tugged gently on her leash. “Time to move,” I said.

  As we waded through grasses and weeds still wet with dew, I could only hope the pond’s story didn’t involve a collie who had died in the swirling water.

  As we approached the house, Misty tugged on the leash, coming to a stop in front of the semi-circular porch with the cupola on top. She fixed her gaze on the ground, currently overgrown with clover and dandelions.

  “This way, Misty,” I said, tugging back.

  On the wraparound porch, I turned Brent’s key in the lock and held the door for Lucy to enter the house. Freed from her leash, Misty pranced inside ahead of her. I wondered if something called out to her with a voice only she could hear.

  “It’s musty in here,” Lucy said as I closed the door. “It needs airing and cleaning.”

  The echo bounced back to us. Airing… Cleaning… Misty sniffed the bare floor and sneezed.

  “It needs a lot of work,” I said. “But when it’s ready, Brent’s geriatric collies will have a good home of their own and all this land to explore.”

  “Whoever Brent hires as a caretaker will have a dream job.”

  I led the way to the kitchen, suddenly aware of a faint pleasant aroma. “Renovating the kitchen is at the top of Brent’s list.”

  A shiny new coffeemaker sat on the counter, along with a tin of Maxwell House and an unopened package of maple frosted doughnuts. Misty placed her paws on the counter and sniffed the doughnuts. I pushed them out of her reach.

  “Brent must have brought them,” I said. “He must have been here recently.”

  But Lucy didn’t appear to be listening to me; nor was she looking at the counter. She stood at the sink, staring through a window with a hairline crack zigzagging from top to bottom.

  “Do you see something?” I asked.

  “Nothing untoward, but the window will have to be replaced,” she said.

  “Brent plans to have new windows insta
lled throughout the house.”

  “That won’t change anything,” she said. “Someone experienced panic in this house, and its imprint never left.”

  Ah! She could sense something, first at the pond, now inside the house. I was right to bring her.

  “Something happened, and the very walls absorbed the emotion,” she said. “I can almost feel it, a mindless debilitating terror.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” She touched the counter and closed her eyes. “But the fear is so intense, it’s almost my own.”

  I let my eyes sweep the room, every corner, trying to see beyond dated avocado appliances. Had it ever been a cozy place with a vase of flowers on a round table and perhaps a crystal stand holding a cake? If the kitchen had a story to tell, it was keeping its secrets from me and even from Lucy, who felt the panic but didn’t know what had caused it.

  Of course Brent’s newly-purchased house had been a home at one time, perhaps to more than one family over the years. A line from a poem I’d memorized in school came to me. All houses wherein men have lived and died are haunted houses.

  I was eager to move on, anxious to know what Lucy would sense in the other rooms.

  “Where’s that pestiferous pup?” I asked.

  She’d left the kitchen while Lucy and I had been distracted.

  “She’s conducting her own exploration,” Lucy said. “Don’t worry. She can’t get out.”

  “And she can’t get into anything,” I added. “Let’s go upstairs. Don’t touch the banister. It’s unstable.”

  We paused on a small landing to admire the one bright touch in the abandoned house, a small pane of stained glass with sunlight streaming through its rainbow colors.

  “Most geriatric dogs won’t be able to go up and down stairs,” Lucy pointed out.

  “That’s okay. The second floor will be strictly for the caretaker. Misty!”

  As I reached the top of the staircase, she came bounding toward me. A cobweb dangled from her collar. Ugh. I brushed it off with my hand. “Where were you, girl?”