Phantom in the Pond

by Dorothy Bodoin

  She glared at him.

  Helena sighed. “I was beginning to think I’ll never see my collie, Arden, again, but this meeting, all of us in it together, gives me hope. There’s strength in numbers.”

  I was glad she felt that way. For myself, I couldn’t imagine a less convivial group of people. Unity was a foreign concept to them. Most dog lovers will go to any length when their pets are threatened. I understood. I felt that way myself. But Helena had gotten the saying wrong. There’s strength in unity.

  The Sea-to-Sea Transport case required a more subtle approach, and first, we had to find them.

  Not knowing how to proceed yet, I set about to create my fictitious dog while Lyle and Harold argued about what breed of dog was best for pheasant hunting.

  ~ * ~

  Harold was the first to leave, soon followed by Lyle and Marguerite. Helena and I offered to stay and help Sue with the clean-up which included vacuuming cookie crumbs the dogs had missed.

  “That didn’t go well,” Sue murmured. “I don’t know what I expected. Your plan might work, Jennet, if everybody does what you suggest.”

  We were to meet again in a week. It would be interesting to see if everyone had contacted the transport services.

  “Your plan is too sophisticated for the likes of Harold Camden,” Helena said. “I was thinking. He’d be attractive without that chip on his shoulder.”

  “Do you think so?” Sue took the vacuum from me and expertly wound up the cord. “When he called me Suze, I took an instant dislike to him.”

  “Well, he’s a fellow victim,” Helena said. “We can’t choose our confederates.”

  She dropped the paper plates and cups in the kitchen basket and Sue shooed Scarlet away from it.

  “I baked three dozen cookies,” Sue said. “I thought I’d be sending some home with you ladies. Now I’ll bet there aren’t three dozen crumbs left.”

  Harold had eaten most of them and surreptitiously fed some to the dogs.

  “There may be more of us who fell into the transporters’ trap,” I said. “We might be more effective if we were a larger group.”

  Sue nodded. “I’ll ask Kate. Lyle is right about her. I think she should be doing more to help us. Thanks for your help tonight,” she added.

  “Thank you for hosting the meeting,” Helena said.

  Sue smiled. “You’re welcome. Since you find Harold attractive, you can have the next one at your house.”

  “I didn’t say that,” she objected. “Not exactly, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I’ll start making calls tomorrow.”

  We said goodnight and walked to our cars. Outside the house, it was marginally cooler. I took a long breath of fresh country air. It didn’t matter that it came with a liberal dose of July heat.

  “All I want is my dog,” Helena said.

  Fifteen

  During the night the hot, muggy weather gave birth to a wild thunderstorm. I woke to lightning flashes and rain pounding on glass. Drat! I’d left the bedroom windows open. Halley whimpered and raised her head as I swung my legs out of bed and hurried to shut them. Misty raised her head, assessed the situation, and went back to sleep while I closed them.

  Just in time.

  Lightning slashed the sky, and at that moment I remembered a fragment of my dream, a sound of falling water. Like… I had to think. Like a powerful waterfall drowning out every other sound on earth.

  Whatever other elements the dream possessed eluded me. There must have been more, though.

  Halley nudged my hand, waiting direction.

  “Go back to sleep,” I whispered.

  Bed for her and Misty was the doorway to our bedroom, which space they shared. They were our perpetual nighttime guards. What a pity they couldn’t protect me from bad dreams because something evil had lurked in the dream water. Something to fear. Something I couldn’t recall and probably never would as too much time had elapsed between the dream state and waking.

  I used to love to listen to the sound of falling water.

  Ever-changing images marched across my mind. Sagramore Lake. The stagnant water in Brent’s pond… Coffee, tea, cookies—and water from Sue Appleton’s tap. Or my own tap. I was making myself thirsty.

  Finally I felt myself drifting off to sleep. Only then did I sense Halley returning to the doorway.

  ~ * ~

  I didn’t have a reason to return to Brent’s house. On the other hand, at least a dozen household chores and errands awaited my attention, including further research at the library. None of these activities appealed to me, and none of them had to be done on this particular day.

  You have dogs to take care of.

  True, but it was too hot to drag them up and down the country lanes, or so they told me with elegant body language.

  You have tonight’s dinner to cook and nothing for dessert.

  Yes, but it was too hot to cook or bake. If ever there was a day for Clover’s take-out dinners and pie, this was it.

  Lucy, the soul of Gothic utterance, would say that an irresistible force was calling out to me, that I had no choice but to answer it. She might also ask why I contemplated visiting the house without a companion—herself, Annica, or even Misty.

  I had no ready answer for that. In truth I would have preferred to share the experience with a like-minded friend. Then I remembered the doughnuts that had disappeared from Brent’s kitchen. Ah! The reason! I should replace them.

  Suddenly filled with purpose, I bought a dozen orange-grazed crullers at the Hometown Bakery and, bearing gifts—or an offering?—drove to Loosestrife Lane where I parked in the shade of the weeping willow tree and walked through the gap in the picket fence. How peaceful this spot was, even with the condition of the water in the pond and the ruins that had once been a rock garden. The great weeping willow gave it an illusion of privacy, even though the road was fairly close to the lot line.

  Something was different though. After last night’s rain, the water level in the pond had risen. A few more rains and the water would spill over the bordering rocks. More leaves and miscellaneous debris littered the pond’s surface. The flamingoes were gone from the rock garden, no doubt removed by Annica who planned to repaint them.

  But none of these changes explained the difference I perceived in the scene.

  A snarl invaded the stillness. The next moment a bedraggled collie leaped out of a stand of azalea bushes and landed on the ground not three yards from me. He looked familiar. My mind registered a dark sable coat and a narrow white blaze. His face was similar to the one that had replaced Misty’s reflection.

  The only dogs I feared were those who came out of nowhere, threatening to tear me apart. This dog looked more like a water monster than a collie. His long unkempt fur was drenched with vile smelling water. Bits of vegetation clung to his fur, and his teeth were bared in an unmistakable message: Get out!

  “Good dog,” I said softly.

  I hoped he was a good dog.

  Don’t stare at him. Turn sideways. Walk slowly away. Slowly.

  I couldn’t move.

  An unsettling suspicion broke through my terror. He might be rabid. On the heels of this very real fear came another thought. Could he be the dog from the fishpond? The phantom collie?

  Whether he was a stray or a phantom who dwelled in the befouled water, he still posed a danger. Well, if he was a spirit, not so much.

  Don’t be silly, I told myself. He’s real enough.

  Instinctively I shoved my hand in my jacket pocket. On a cool day I would have worn a windbreaker with emergency bones or jerky treats in the pockets. Today the pocket of my denim skirt was empty. My arms were bare and the neckline of my blouse was cut low. I couldn’t possibly be more vulnerable.

  But wait! I still held the bag of doughnuts from the Hometown Bakery.

  The collie shook himself vigorously. I stepped back from the shower of droplets, just a bit, and found my voice. “Good dog. Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

>   Most dogs would react to ‘hungry’ and ‘eat.’

  He watched as I reached into the bag. My hands closed on two crullers. An enticing aroma of orange and sugar wafted through the air. He licked his chops. Good, he wanted them.

  I pitched them as far I could—through the opening in the gap in the fence and onto the lane—where I’d never seen a walker or a runner who might stop and help me.

  He bounded after the crullers and caught one in his mouth before it hit the ground. Now if only I could close the gap in the fence.

  That wasn’t an option.

  I sprinted to the house. With a hand that trembled, I fumbled to unlock the front door.

  Was the dog behind me intent on devouring the rest of the unexpected bounty? I didn’t hear him.

  At last the key turned. I pushed the door open and slammed it shut, leaning against it, trying to stop shaking.

  That was close, but I was safe. For now. I took the bag to the kitchen. It would come in handy when I left the house in case the collie was lying in wait for me on the other side of the door.

  I should have brought Misty. On second thought, maybe not. I didn’t want either collie hurt.

  A ghost dog can’t harm a living one. Or you either. So calm down.

  I sat in one of the hard, uncomfortable chairs Brent had brought up from the basement.

  Rest, recover, think…

  Did I just throw two crullers out to a phantom?

  Don’t be silly. A ghost wouldn’t gobble down crullers.

  My reasoning swung back and forth and finally settled on the most sensible fact. The dog who had wolfed down the crullers was as real as Misty.

  Foxglove Corners had a large population of stray dogs, most of whom found their way to Letty and Lila Woodville at the animal shelter and from there to new homes. It made more sense that the collie was one of these poor abandoned creatures. Also, I’d already dealt with two phantom canines in the recent past. Surely that was anybody’s limit.

  I’d been letting my imagination and the vestiges of my fright color my thoughts. I needed to continue my planned investigation and give the ferocious dog plenty of time to move to another locale. In the meantime, I’d sample one of the miracle crullers for fortification.

  I would have liked to explore the attic and the basement, but I would definitely need a companion, preferably Brent, to venture into those gloomy out-of-the-way places. In the meantime I could search the various rooms in the house, especially on the second floor, in case Annica and I had missed something like the tiny reinforcement that had fallen out of the thin air. So far that was our only tangible clue.

  I paused on the landing to admire the stained glass window. It didn’t communicate yesterday’s terror to me, but a vague feeling of unease settled over me. It was a long way to the ground floor. Still longer to the front door. Could I make it in time?

  Make what? And where had that thought come from?

  I stood on the landing trying to catch strands that something—a force?—was trying to pull away from me in a bizarre tug-of-war.

  It was no use. They were slipping out of my hands. I didn’t even know what they were. Memories? Possibly, but not my memories.

  Lucy had come closer to deciphering the secret of the wall. A woman frozen in terror, trapped in this small space where the colors of the stained glass provided the only brightness while the house swam in darkness.

  I needed Lucy’s talent and perception, but as she wasn’t there. I climbed to the second floor and proceeded to look inside every room, even the closets. I found nothing more interesting than hangers, and nothing fell through the air. I even checked the bathroom with its outdated plumbing fixtures and faded wallpaper.

  Nowhere did an alien thought break through my impressions of dust and stillness and emptiness. And thank heavens for that.

  Last I went into the furnished room, telling myself that I would leave as soon as I’d searched it. After all, all decent clues are to be found in old attics, tucked away in trunks and chests and boxes. And old attics could wait for another day.

  A scratching sound began, at first faint, barely discernible. Gradually it grew louder. It seemed to be in this room where a previous occupant had emptied drawers, stripped the bed, and left the furniture for another tenant.

  Or above it, above the ceiling, which would be in the attic.

  I thought immediately of Annica’s rat. A giant rodent capable of making an unusually loud scratching noise. I didn’t want to see a creature that could do that.

  It was time to leave.

  At the landing I had another fleeting thought, this one of distances. Of the way out.

  Count the number of stairs to the ground floor. The number of steps to the front door. Will I have time to reach the outside?

  Downstairs I made a quick detour to the kitchen, hoping the thing that scratched at wood hadn’t devoured the rest of the crullers. Cautiously I opened the bag. They were all there, minus the two I’d thrown to the dog and the one I’d eaten.

  On an impulse, I tried the back door. To my surprise, it swung open. Had I just discovered the secret of the missing doughnuts? Time would tell.

  Before leaving, I made sure the door was locked. Now to head home, and I hoped nothing would happen to prevent it.

  Sixteen

  Later that afternoon I found both Brent and Annica at Clovers. Brent was eating apple pie while Annica hovered over him with a coffee pot. I also found our dinner featured at the top of day’s menu board: Fried chicken and farm fresh string beans. That, with one of the apple pies in the dessert carousel, would make Crane happy…and me as well. Putting a savory meal on the table with little preparation would be a good ending to a trying day.

  “Hi, Jennet,” Brent said. “Join me.”

  “How about if I bring you a lime cooler?” Annica asked.

  Having fallen in love with the delicious cooling drink earlier this summer, as had most of Clovers’ other customers, I accepted happily, gave her my take-out order, and lost no time in telling Brent what was on my mind.

  “You should check out that scratching sound in your house. I heard it again. A creature may have made its home there. A rat or something can do a lot of damage.”

  “I’ll bring over one of the barn cats,” he said. “Unless you think you’re hearing a ghost.”

  “I don’t know what it is. I saw a wet collie on your property, too. He might have been cooling off in the pond.”

  I omitted my earlier speculation that the dog might be the phantom. But Brent pounced on the possibility.

  “Do you think you saw the phantom dog?” he asked.

  “Not at all. I threw two of the pastries I was bringing you outside the fence. That gave me a chance to escape to the house.”

  “Escape?” he echoed. “You were afraid of a collie? Tell me you’re joking.”

  “Well, yes. He might have rabies. He bared his teeth at me.”

  “Who has rabies?” Annica set my drink on the table. “Are you sure you don’t want a piece of apple pie to go with it, Jennet?”

  “Just a whole pie to take out. I saw a stray collie running loose on the grounds,” I added.

  “I’m going to fix the fence tomorrow,” Brent said. “I meant to do it before, but I’ve been busy trying to find the right caretakers. Without them, my project won’t get off the ground.”

  Annica glanced around. Seeing that all of her customers were engrossed in their dinners and conversations, she slipped into a chair.

  “That sounds to me like a dream job for the right person,” she said.

  Brent nodded. “I’m including room and board with a nice salary, but my offer seems to draw the lunatic fringe of society. One guy who applied is a reformed hoarder who thinks he might be allergic to dogs. There’s a lady who never had a dog in her life. Then there’s a single mother with three kids. All brats from what I could tell. I wouldn’t trust them not to hurt the dogs.”

  Annica gasped. “Surely not.”

>   “By playing rough,” he amended. “One little devil asked if he could ride the dogs.” He ate the last bit of pie, a miniscule morsel of crust with a sliver of apple clinging to it. “Can I have another piece, Annica? That one was too small.”

  She rolled her eyes, turning her head so that Brent couldn’t see the gesture. “Coming right up. Should I bring you two slices?”

  “One’ll do if you make it a decent size.”

  “While you’re at the house, see if you can figure out where the scratching sound is coming from,” I said. After a pause, I added, “If you can hear it, I’ll know it isn’t just me.”

  Annica was back in record time, setting a generous slice of pie in front of Brent and refilling his coffee cup. “Does this meet with your approval, sir?”

  “Looks good,” he said.

  “I heard Jennet talking about that sound,” Annica said. “For the record, I didn’t hear it.”

  “When you take a break from interviewing caretakers, will you go with me up to the attic?” I asked. “I’m dying to know more about Lucy’s frightened woman.”

  “I want to go, too.” Annica sounded like a child in danger of being left out of an adventure.

  “I’ll take both of you if you promise to dress sensibly,” Brent said. “Especially wear the right kind of shoes. The floor isn’t stable.”

  “You’ve been in the attic already?” I asked.

  “Before I bought the house, sure. It’s loaded with stuff. The realtor said I could do whatever I liked with it.”

  Loaded with stuff. That was what I’d hoped to hear. Maybe we’d find a diary or old letters. Possibly newspaper clippings.

  “How soon can we go?” Annica asked.

  He consulted his phone. “Are you both free day after tomorrow? Say around noon?”

  “I can be,” Annica said. “I’ll ask Mary Jeanne and switch shifts with Marcy. Marcy wants more hours anyway.”

  “It’s a date,” he said. “I’ll have the fence fixed by then and maybe the pond drained.”

  With the pond cleared of debris and filled with fresh water, would I still see the phantom collie’s reflection in the water? I couldn’t wait to find out.