Phantom in the Pond

by Dorothy Bodoin

  “Debbie’s on a camping trip with her family,” Miss Eidt said.

  “It’ll be just us two then,” I said.

  And a dozen Danish.

  “Later, then,” Miss Eidt said and stepped back into the library proper, leaving me to replace the material I’d scattered on the table.

  ~ * ~

  The library was one of the quietest places in Foxglove Corners. People moved soundlessly up and down aisles like ghosts. They sat at long tables reading or lounging in comfortable chairs with books or magazines. An occasional whisper or footfall broke the silence, but nothing else dared defy Miss Eidt’s unwritten rules of library conduct.

  It was amusing to see how she controlled her teenaged visitors during the school year. She should have been a teacher.

  I strolled past the Gothic Nook set aside for Gothic fiction, old and new. Miss Eidt had worked hard to find atmospheric furniture for this part of the library: Tiffany style lamps, antique tables, and even a silver tea service that served as a decoration only. A reader could sink into one of the velvet chairs and travel back in time with a thrilling tale of damsels in distress and tall, dark, handsome heroes.

  I rarely left the library without at least one Gothic novel. Today, however, I was on the trail of another book.

  Haunted Northland appeared to live up to Miss Eidt’s enthusiastic endorsement. It was a thick, handsome volume with photographs and artistic renderings of the hauntings described therein. At least a quarter of the book dealt with Michigan hauntings. I noted that I would be the first to borrow the book.

  A swishing and an inconsiderate tapping of heels alerted me to the presence of someone else in the section. A woman in a long black vintage skirt with a cream colored blouse rounded the aisle. Her single ornament was a curious necklace that seemed to be made of black lace and silver.

  Edwina Endicott, self-proclaimed ghost hunter who was probably the most annoying woman in Foxglove Corners. Was it possible that she wouldn’t recognize me?”

  “Jennet Greenway!” she exclaimed in a loud voice that Miss Eidt would decry. “I was just thinking about you.”

  Oh? I doubted that.

  “It’s Jennet Ferguson,” I reminded her.

  “Oh yes. You took that dashing deputy sheriff out of circulation.”

  “I guess I did.”

  And remember that, I thought.

  “I knew I’d find you back here with the ghost books.”

  We had met before in front of this same shelf. Edwina and I shared an eerie connection, both having seen the ghost of a girl, Violet Randall, strolling down Huron Court with her dog.

  “What did you find?” she asked, reaching for Haunted Northland. “A new edition?”

  I held on to the book. Knowing Edwina, I suspected she might try to take it from me. “Miss Eidt told me about it,” I said.

  “You’re checking it out, I guess?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I want to read it when you’re finished. What are you looking for? A ghost or a haunted house?”

  I sighed. It made no sense to allow this woman and her aggravating nature and loud voice to cut me off from any information she might have. After all, it seemed that she spent her life chasing ghosts. Or at least reading about them.

  “It’s a house,” I said, but I didn’t mention the pond. I wasn’t sure why.

  “Where is it?” she asked.

  “Here in Foxglove Corners on Loosestrife Lane. I understand the place has been vacant for years. My friend plans to renovate it.”

  “Wow!” she said. “Your friend must have money. Loosestrife House is the biggest wreck in town.”

  Thirteen

  “You’re aware of it then?” I asked.

  “Oh, my, yes. It’s fascinated me since I was a little girl. I used to walk over to the house and dream I lived there. I’d pretend the flamingoes could talk and fairies danced around that old weeping willow tree.”

  “You must have been very young,” I said.

  “Around seven or eight.”

  And a solitary child, but I didn’t say that. “Was the house vacant at the time?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “Nobody ever chased me away. But I remember there were goldfish in the pond. Who but the homeowners would supply a pond with fish?”

  “You called the house a wreck,” I reminded her.

  “Well, it needs painting. Who knows what the house is like on the inside?”

  “Shhhh!” An older woman with a cloud of pure white curls and sunglasses pushed up into her hair appeared in the aisle, glowering at us.

  “We can hear you all the way over there.” She gestured vaguely at one of the shelves. “This is a library, I’ll have you know. Some of us are trying to read.”

  “Sorry,” I murmured.

  Edwina said, “You look like my first grade teacher, Miss Blanche. Did you teach at Foxglove Corners Elementary?”

  The woman ignored Edwina’s question and, with an indignant sniff, stalked away.

  Edwina pulled her black lace necklace away from her throat. She frowned; it might have been choking her or felt rough against her skin.

  I lowered my voice. A little. “Did you ever hear any rumors about the house? That it was haunted?”

  “Not exactly, but there was a mystery associated with it.”

  “Could it have been a murder?” I asked.

  “More of a disappearance. A woman went missing. As I recall, they never found her body, so she could have met with foul play.”

  “Do you remember her name?

  “Heavens, no. It’s not like I ever knew her.”

  “Was she the owner?”

  “I suppose she must have been or she lived there.”

  I wished Edwina’s memory were sharper, but she’d been a child when fantasizing about talking flamingoes and fairies. Maybe the disappearance had happened during that time. Although Miss Eidt had a folder for Local Disappearances, without a name I would be floundering. At any rate, I’d already stayed at the library longer than planned. I had dogs to take care of and dinner to cook.

  “Will your friend post ‘No Trespassing’ signs on the grounds?” Edwina asked.

  “I think he will, and he plans to fix the fence. Anyone can just walk right in now.”

  A home invader could also jump over the fence at any time, if he were young and agile.

  “Before he does that, I think I’ll pay a visit to the house for old times’ sake,” Edwina said. “I despise change. Don’t you?”

  “This will be a good one,” I assured her.

  I could have told her that soon several elegant collies would be running on the grounds of Loosestrife House, but for some reason I didn’t. Eventually she would find out the house’s new purpose. Which reminded me. Before Brent brought in his carpenters and caretaker, I had to rid the house of its negative energy and the fear that had been embedded in the walls.

  I thanked Edwina for the information and promised to return Haunted Northland as soon as possible. Once again I walked passed the Gothic Nook, promising myself to come back to browse and continue my research soon. After all, I had all summer.

  “Shall we have our tea now?” Miss Eidt asked as I checked out my book.

  “I should be on my way. Maybe you can share the pastries with your Summer Reading Club. Kids are always hungry.”

  She nodded. “For ice cream and candy. Danish are too sophisticated for them, but they won’t go uneaten, I promise.”

  “I’m afraid Edwina and I annoyed one of your readers.”

  “Mrs. Frost. She told me. Don’t worry about it. That was her complaint of the day.”

  I wasn’t worried, but I didn’t like to antagonize people. More to the point, I hoped the Frost woman hadn’t been eavesdropping on our conversation. My interest in Loosestrife House was my own business.

  ~ * ~

  Heat slammed into me as I closed the library door, leaving the deliciously cool air inside. One short walk to the parking lot, and
I would have access to air conditioning again.

  The noisy children and their dogs had left the park, and a mesmerizing haze settled over the Corners. The Ice Cream Parlor looked as if it were closed. Nothing moved, and the silence was absolute. Even the dogs in the animal shelter were quiet.

  As I drove away from the library, a shrill ping drew my attention, but I elected to wait to see who was sending me a message. Crane’s views on distracted driving were well known and unshakable.

  It was just as well I waited until I was home and parked in my own driveway to open the cryptic message from Brent: Donut stuff tonite. He hated texting and used as few words as possible and bizarre spelling. What on earth did this one mean?

  Could he have eaten the doughnuts and managed to do so without alerting Misty to his presence? Or… I couldn’t think of an alternative that didn’t have its roots in the Twilight Zone.

  Wait and see.

  In the house I gave the collies fresh water and biscuits but couldn’t interest any of them in a walk. Well, it was too hot. Too hot to create a dinner. Too hot to bake. In the end I decided on steaks to grill—Crane could do it—and set out to put together a magnificent salad. We’d have ice cream cake roll for dessert.

  ~ * ~

  Brent was adamant. “I bought the doughnuts for you and Annica. I wasn’t at the house yesterday or the day before.”

  “Then who ate them?” Crane asked.

  “Misty. Who else?”

  “I don’t know when she could have eaten them,” I said. “She was with us when they disappeared. I mean when they were eaten.”

  “Are you sure she wasn’t out of sight for even a minute?” Brent asked. “That’s all it would have taken.” He turned Misty’s head and stared into her eyes. “Did you eat the missing doughnuts, girl?”

  She wagged her tail, not being one to incriminate herself.

  “That’s the best explanation,” Crane said.

  “The easy one,” I countered. “But now that I think of it, Misty was out of our sight and for longer than a few minutes. We were upstairs. She was trying out the bed in the furnished room and we were wondering about the source of the scratching sound.”

  “About that scratching sound.” Brent frowned. “I was hoping you’d solve the existing mysteries, not come up with new ones.”

  I was about to throw yet another one his way.

  “I ran into Edwina Endicott at the library today,” I said. “She considers herself an expert in the supernatural. She told me about a mystery connected to the house. A woman disappeared.”

  My statement set off a barrage of questions.

  “Who disappeared?” Brent wanted to know. “How long ago did this happen?”

  “Did they ever find her?” Crane asked.

  “Why didn’t the realtor tell me about that?” Brent added.

  “That’s all Edwina knew.”

  “It isn’t enough,” Brent said. “Not even you can solve a mystery with so little information.”

  I looked at him, then turned to Brent. “Would you care to make a small wager?” I asked.

  Crane laughed. “Not when I see that look in your eyes.”

  “What look?”

  “Confidence,” he said. “You love a challenge.”

  “I don’t deny it.”

  Challenge was apparently the new watchword. Every time I turned around, I seemed to run into another one. Waiting for my attention was the situation with Sea-to-Sea Transport and the stolen dogs.

  “But I may not wrap the mystery at Loosestrife House up before your deadline,” I said. “Oh, yes, your new house has a name.”

  Fourteen

  I stirred uneasily in my chair in Sue Appleton’s family room, wishing I hadn’t come to this evening’s get-together. Could I suddenly remember a burgeoning emergency at home?

  Probably not and still hold on to my credibility and Sue’s goodwill.

  The meeting was different from our typical Rescue League gathering. The trappings were similar: Coffee, tea, and cookies, with Sue’s collies on their best behavior. But the ambience was wrong. The collective angst of the guests was practically another presence in the room. It left no room for congeniality and barely tolerated civility.

  Harold Camden, a burly man with a reddish beard, wore a shirt emblazoned with an ominous message: Guns Forever. A thin veneer of gentility—easy to see through—didn’t mask the anger in his dark eyes.

  He addressed Lyle and Marguerite. “I saw you guys on TV. Same thing happened to me. I was supposed to have a pair of labs. Why aren’t we going after those grifters?”

  “Because we don’t know where they are,” Sue pointed out.

  She looked uncomfortable, squeezing her mug of tea as if she thought she could break it, and that would be a good thing. I was reasonably certain Harold was carrying a gun. Who would bring a weapon to a private home for a meeting intended to benefit everyone present? An easy question to answer. Harold and Lyle, the man from Tennessee. I wasn’t sure about Lyle’s wife, Marguerite. In place of a purse she carried a tote embroidered with kittens and daisies and large enough for a half dozen guns.

  “They may be operating under another name,” I said.

  Harold snapped his cookie in half, then fed pieces to Scarlet without asking Sue’s permission. “Then Sea-to-Sea Transport doesn’t exist? I thought that Kate in Your Corner woman was going to help us,” he added.

  “I’m sure she’s doing all she can,” Helena said.

  “Well, I’m not.” Harold reached for another cookie. “Got any beer, Suze?”

  Sue frowned. “Sorry. Just coffee, tea, and cookies—or water. And it’s Sue.”

  “Guess I’ll make do with coffee.”

  He rose and filled an empty mug to the brim. A bit of dark liquid splashed on Sue’s paper table runner. He ignored it.

  What a clumsy lout!

  “Kate isn’t doing enough,” Lyle said.

  “Does everyone have enough to eat and drink? Just let me know.” Sue sent a beseeching glance at me. As if I could defuse the rapidly deteriorating situation.

  I tried. “I made a list of other transport services. Two of them appear to be legitimate. Three haven’t responded yet. Two others are suspicious. As you may know, the Sea-to-Sea website has been taken down.” I read the names aloud. “As I see it, we have five possibilities to investigate.”

  “Who are they?” Lyle demanded.

  Quickly I read the names I’d jotted down earlier. “I suggest we get in touch with each of them. Say we have a dog to transport from Point A to Point B.”

  As Harold looked puzzled, I clarified. “Each one of us should contact each service.”

  “Then what?” Helena asked.

  “We create a fictitious dog we need to transport. No dogs will be harmed in making this plan.”

  “Rover,” Harold announced with a straight face. “I like it.

  Polite laughter greeted his comment. Good. A touch of levity might alter the tone of the meeting. Sue sent me a grateful look.

  “Rover,” I said. “Okay. He’s a three-year-old show collie being shipped to a new kennel in…let’s see. Kentucky. He’s been known to start fights with other dogs. He has to be handled with care.”

  “Will we all have the same dog?” Helena asked.

  “You all can make up your own dogs,” I said. “It’s not like you’re going to have to produce them.”

  “I repeat. Then what?” Helena asked.

  “I say, Sue,” Harold said. “Got any more of these oatmeal cookies?”

  She sprang up, obviously glad to have a tiny respite, leaving me to address Helena’s concerns.

  “We bombard them with questions. How long have they been in business? Can they give us the names of satisfied customers? Has anyone ever lodged a complaint against them? What provisions will be made for the dogs’ comfort on the ride? Most of all, you need a believable reason for shipping your collie to Point B. For example, the kennel in Kentucky wants to invest in a
new stud dog.”

  “Won’t work,” Lyle snapped.

  I could picture him answering the door with a shotgun in his hand or threatening a transporter with violence.

  I dabbed at my throat with a tissue. Unfortunately, Sue’s air conditioning had malfunctioned, but she had all the windows open and the fans stirring hot air around. Still it was warm and close in the family room. Heat and discomfort were guaranteed to raise tempers to a boiling point.

  “Why won’t it work?” I asked.

  “Like they’re gonna tell you who they cheated,” Lyle said.

  Helena spoke up. “At this point, wouldn’t we need to have an actual dog? The dog we plan to transport?”

  “An actual dog. Sure. We can come up with one.”

  “But don’t let them take her,” Marguerite said.

  “Of course not.”

  Superimposed over the image of a gun-toting Lyle I saw our good friend, Lieutenant Mac Dalby of the Foxglove Corners Police Department. He’d arrest the bad guys and carry them off to jail. The stolen dogs would be restored to their owners.

  Dream on.

  “Why don’t we let Kate do her job?” asked Helena.

  “Bad idea,” Lyle said. “At the rate she’s going, we’ll never get our dogs back.”

  Sue came back in, escorted by Bluebell and Icy. She carried a tray with another dozen oatmeal cookies. She hovered over Harold. For a moment I thought she was going to drop them in his lap.

  “Bad idea,” she echoed.

  Choosing to interpret her comment as a criticism of my ‘catch the villain’ trap, I said, “Can you think of a better one?”

  “Not at the moment,” Sue said. “I’ll get in touch with Kate Brennan and see if she’s made any progress. In the meantime I’ll create my fake dog. It’ll be a collie, of course.

  “Where are you sending her?” I asked.

  “To my cousin up north in Harrisville. I don’t drive on freeways. That’s why I need a transport service.”

  “How do you get around?” Harold wanted to know.

  “On country roads,” she said.

  “All across the state? That’s crazy.”