Phantom in the Pond

by Dorothy Bodoin

  “It could be. Or it could be any lake, any beach, I suppose. She didn’t paste the picture in the album, and it fell out.”

  “Then, after Holly vanished, someone threw it in the trunk with the rest of her things and took the trunk to the attic.”

  “I guess that’s what happened.”

  I remembered the tiny gold reinforcement I’d found in the furnished bedroom. Holly must have kept the album in that room, but I couldn’t explain why this one picture was separate from the others.

  She looked happy, I thought. Or rather she was smiling. Don’t people usually smile when they’re having their picture taken, no matter what their true feelings are? And the tall, blond man—was this the only picture of him? He must have been important to Holly at one time.

  “They’re not wearing swim suits or sports clothes,” Brent pointed out.

  I’d noticed that. Holly wore a white sundress with a gold cross on a chain. Her companion was dressed in tan slacks and a blue-striped shirt.

  “It looks like they were at the lake, say at a lakeside restaurant, and wanted their picture taken,” I said.

  “There’s no restaurant anywhere near Sagramore Lake.”

  “It was taken at another lake then. I’ll check out the other photos in the album.”

  “Another guy to look for,” Brent said.

  “This could be the breakthrough we’re waiting for.”

  “What else do you want to take out of the attic?” he asked.

  “For now, just this. Can we come back?”

  “If we do it soon.”

  “I don’t see how our being here will disturb your contractors,” I said. “They’ll be working in the kitchen.”

  “It won’t. But Lucy may be right. If there’s anything harmful in the house, we should get rid of it before I bring the collies to their new home.”

  “I don’t think we can solve a mystery in an artificial timeline,” I said.

  “You can try, and we’ll take it from there.”

  He picked up the album and address book; I held on to the picture.

  “Let’s see how Lucy’s doing,” I said.

  ~ * ~

  She didn’t look very happy. “I decided I have to return to that landing again. How else will I know what’s going on?”

  “That’s the best way,” I said, “and don’t worry. We’ll both be with you.”

  “I won’t do it today, though,” she added.

  I was happy to wait for another day. It seemed as if I had spent an inordinate amount of time in Brent’s house. With work to do at home and dogs to take care of, I felt a little guilty.

  “Did you make more coffee, Lucy?” Brent asked.

  “There’s some for you and Jennet.” She pointed languidly to the stove, and the Zodiac charms on her bracelet jangled. “I don’t want anymore.”

  I showed Lucy the picture while Brent poured two cups of coffee.

  “Jennet found a photo album and an address book, too,” he said.

  Lucy brightened. “Then maybe we can trace the man. That’s assuming he’s still alive.” She held on to the picture for a moment. “He looks familiar.”

  “Do you think you might have met him?” I asked.

  “It’s possible, but more likely I saw him at one of my book signings. He’s attractive, and with that height, he’d stand out.”

  “That won’t help us trace him,” I said.

  “No, but if you find him, he can’t deny he knew Holly. You have the proof right here,” Brent pointed out.

  “Why would he deny knowing her?”

  Lucy turned the picture over and over again. “It feels just like paper. At times I can see more than is there.”

  “Come again?” Brent said.

  “When I handle something that belonged to a person, sometimes I can sense something about her. Not this time, though.”

  I studied the picture. “It looks like a stormy day,” I said.

  Brent peered over my shoulder. “How can you tell?”

  “Elementary,” I said. “Because of all the clouds.”

  “It wasn’t a good beach day, then.”

  “It was another summer,” Lucy said.

  “Well, sure it was. She wrote the date on the picture.” Brent looked puzzled. “Or is that a special Lucy comment?”

  “It was just a random thought that came into my mind.”

  She didn’t say anything more.

  ~ * ~

  At home I looked through the album but didn’t find another photo of the man on the beach. Holly had taken pictures of the house, of banks of tall pink loosestrife, and of the pond before it deteriorated into a sodden mess. Purple pansies bloomed in the rock garden, and the flamingoes stood closer to the pond’s edge than they were now.

  Apparently there was no one around to take pictures of Holly.

  I imagined that at the time she was new to the house on Loosestrife Lane, perhaps a summer tenant whose belongings, unclaimed, had been stored in the attic to make way for the next resident. But I had high hopes for the address book, and soon after I opened it, I found an entry for Micah Frost in Maple Falls and an address.

  What were the chances Micah Frost still lived in Maple Falls and had the same phone number? How unlikely it would be if this number were still in service? It would be fun to dial it. And say what?

  I’m investigating paranormal activity in an old Victorian house on Loosestrife Lane in Foxglove Corners. Did you ever know a writer named Holly Wickersham? I think she may haunt the place.

  If by remote chance Micah answered his phone, he’d no doubt hang up on me thinking a lunatic had dialed his number.

  When I first came to Foxglove Corners, I thought nothing of taking a day trip up north. I was single then. I didn’t have a husband and seven dogs to feed. My life had since changed. A three or four hour drive was doable, but I would have to make arrangements ahead of time.

  Okay. I’d make those arrangements. But where to start?

  I kept coming back to the picture of Micah. With his good looks and slightly old-fashioned air, he looked like a man to whom any girl would be attracted, especially one who created dashing heroes for her living.

  Micah Frost was definitely a man to investigate.

  Twenty-six

  By the time I dialed Micah Frost’s number I had my introduction in place, even though I hadn’t had a chance to use it yet:

  I’m trying to contact Michigan author Holly Wickersham and believe that you knew her at one time.

  (Three decades ago.)

  Then the ball would be in his court.

  I had added to my information by searching the Internet. I’d discovered that Micah Frost owned a camping supplies store in Maple Falls. It sounded prosperous, judging by an elaborate website ad and a half dozen glowing reviews. He had a different phone number.

  When I called, he was out to lunch. I said I’d like to speak to him about a personal matter and would call again. I’d given the collies their noon meal but hadn’t realized I was hungry as well. The thrill of the quest, an elusive man from Holly’s past, had driven hunger temporarily out of my mind. I sensed that I was on the brink of a discovery, that my luck was about to turn.

  Of course Micah might say he didn’t remember Holly, implying that she was one of his many girlfriends over the years. But Holly wasn’t just any girlfriend. She was a published author who had enjoyed a modicum of fame. For that reason alone, she should stand out in his memory.

  Unless she was indeed one of many, and that snapshot of Holly and Micah at the beach captured a one-time encounter.

  But what was the point of idle speculation? With luck, I would soon know.

  Look on the bright side, I told myself. Micah Frost might lead me to Holly. I ate a quick lunch and called again. He hadn’t returned yet. Apparently the owner of the store could take long lunch breaks.

  The clerk who answered the phone offered to have Mr. Frost call me.

  “I’ll try later.” I sensed that I
wasn’t going to make contact with Micah Frost today. Or perhaps he was there but avoiding anyone who claimed to have personal business with him.

  Maple Falls was located up north in the Lower Peninsula, near Lake Huron. We could drive there in a day and be back home before dark. I’d ask Annica to go with me.

  I didn’t reach him until the following morning.

  “Frost Sports Center.” He had a deep voice, clipped and not particularly friendly.

  I told him my name and recited my set piece.

  “Holly Wickersham,” he said after a moment. “You’re going a long way back. I haven’t heard that name in ages.”

  “You knew her then,” I said.

  “I did. May I ask what business you have with Holly?”

  Here I had to be careful. I couldn’t launch into a wild tale of hauntings in an old house and of feelings that refused to die. Even though it was true.

  “My friend purchased a house in Foxglove Corners where Holly once lived. She left some personal possessions behind. I assume she’d like to have them.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” he asked.

  I’d have thought that was obvious.

  “I’m looking for people who knew her.” I might as well give him a grain of truth. “One of the items was her address book which is where I found your name.”

  I thought it best not to mention the picture.

  “Holly is dead,” he said. “Obviously she won’t be needing an address book.”

  In a way I’d expected that. Still, it came as a shock, a sense of loss for a woman I’d never met.

  “I hate to throw her belongings away,” I said, adding, “My friend has plans for the house. He wants everything cleared out of it.”

  After a pause that lasted a bit too long, Micah said, “There’s nothing stopping him. If he doesn’t want to throw Holly’s stuff out, he can donate it to a charity. Does that help?”

  His question held an air of finality. I couldn’t let the conversation end here.

  “Did she have a next of kin?” I asked.

  “One.”

  “Could you tell me his name? I’d like to contact him. Or her.”

  “Look,” he said. “I can’t talk about this over the phone. Can you stop by the store sometime?”

  “Sure. Any special time?”

  “On Friday. We close early. I can give you about a half hour.”

  “That’ll be great. I’ll bring a friend with me,” I added.

  There was another pause. “The new homeowner?”

  “Someone else,” I said.

  ~ * ~

  The someone else nodded her head vigorously, setting her wind chime earrings to ringing. I’d just asked her if she’d accompany me on a little day trip.

  “You bet,” she said. “Where? When?”

  That was Annica. She could detect my inner excitement and wanted to play a part in the coming adventure even before knowing what it might involve. She slid into the booth opposite me and picked up her lime cooler.

  “Nothing tastes better on a hot day,” she murmured. “Tell me. Where are we going?”

  “I plan to drive up north to Maple Falls on Friday,” I said. “I have a lead on Holly Wickersham.”

  “The lady who left her emotions in the walls of Brent’s new house?”

  “No, but a possible friend of hers. I found his picture with Holly in the trunk.”

  I summarized my conversation with Micah Frost. “He said Holly’s dead.”

  “Well, she’d have to be if she haunts the house, wouldn’t she?”

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  But… An idea I’d had earlier resurfaced. What if she wasn’t? Could she still leave her feelings of terror trapped in the walls of a house? I’d asked Lucy about that once, but she hadn’t given me a definitive answer. She didn’t know.

  “What are we looking for?” Annica asked.

  “Any information about Holly Wickersham that can help us understand the phenomena at the house,” I said. “So far Micah Frost is our only connection to her.”

  “Why do you think he didn’t want to talk about her on the phone?”

  “I suspect there’s something about the matter that isn’t generally known.”

  “Secrets! Ah.”

  She sipped her drink and gazed across Crispian Road at the woods with their green sparkle in the sunlight. The woods were forever, green in the summer, ablaze with color in the fall, gaunt and draped in snow in the winter. This mystery might be forever, too, if we didn’t take steps to solve it.

  “Crane is okay with my leaving for the day if I don’t go alone,” I said, “and Camille will take care of the dogs.”

  “I’ll have to ask Mary Jeanne for time off, but she won’t object. Business has been slow.”

  “It’s all set then.”

  She turned away from the window, her expression suddenly grim. “Brent said Lucy had a traumatic experience on the landing. She doesn’t want to set foot in that part of the house again. What exactly happened?”

  “I’m not sure if I can explain it,” I said. “She felt that somebody shoved her. She might have fallen down the stairs if I hadn’t been there. Then she talked about furniture moving through the air and herself spinning around with it.”

  “Like clothes in a dryer?”

  “Something like that.”

  Annica set her spoon spinning through what was left of her drink. “Like that. Weird. Do you think we could be dealing with an evil spirit?”

  “At this point, I don’t know. I’ve been thinking of Holly Wickersham as a victim.”

  Possibly as a woman who had been slain, whose murder had been covered up, all traces of her existence erased. For some reason.

  “But you don’t know,” Annica said.

  “No.” I drained my glass, not wanting to waste a single drop. The trouble with Clovers’ lime coolers was that they didn’t last long enough.

  “But let’s hope Micah Frost does.”

  Twenty-seven

  We stood in front of Frost’s Outfitters on Main Street within walking distance of Lake Huron. Surprisingly it was almost as warm in Maple Falls as it had been this morning in Foxglove Corners when we’d set out on our trip. I brushed my bangs off my forehead; they were damp. Feeling crumpled and not at my best, I surveyed our destination.

  The store stood close to an imposing blue Victorian house at which point elegant private residences in pastel colors gave gradual way to businesses. Micah Frost’s window display was a clever re-creation of a well-equipped campsite over which an oversized black bear, a marvel of taxidermy, loomed in a menacing manner.

  “Surely they’re not that big.” Annica patted down her long denim skirt which had acquired a sheen of wrinkles as we made our way up to the North Country. “Just the thought of bears would discourage me from camping—ever.”

  “I guess that’s why they sell shotguns and rifles here,” I said. “For me it’s snakes. I couldn’t close my eyes if I thought snakes were slithering past my tent.”

  “Well, no one ever accused us of being outdoor girls.” She moved closer to the window. “Do you think that was a live bear once or a statue in a fur coat?”

  “It’s hard to tell. I’d say it was live, but you can ask.”

  “Uh, no. I’d sound like a jerk.”

  “I’ll sound like one when I start talking about haunted houses.”

  Fortunately we weren’t at Micah Frost’s store under false pretenses because we would never fool anyone if we pretended to be shopping for camping supplies. Micah knew what we wanted; he was expecting us. Now that we were in Maple Falls, I anticipated great developments to grow out of our meeting. I would be disappointed if we didn’t learn anything new.

  A quick glance at my watch told me we were a half hour early, which was somewhat a miracle, considering all the road construction we’d encountered on the way.

  “We might as well go in.” I pushed the door open and stepped into a blast of cold air and
aisles filled with sporting goods in neutral, uninspired colors. I didn’t see any customers, then remembered the store’s three o’clock closing time.

  Micah Frost was waiting for us, possibly having watched through the window as we gazed at his display. Strangely, he hadn’t changed much from the day all those years ago when he posed on the beach beside Holly except for fine lines around his eyes and mouth. His hair had more gray in it than blond and the color of his eyes were the clear blue of a summer sky. Ironically, he wore the same kind of shirt, blue and white striped with sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  I stepped forward. He held out his hand. “You must be Jennet Ferguson and this is…”

  “My friend, Annica.”

  “Come into my office.” He led us to the back of the store and ushered us through a half-open door. “Have a seat. Care for some coffee?”

  “None for me,” Annica said.

  “I’d like a cup if it’s no trouble,” I said, suddenly aware of a dryness in my mouth accompanied by a stab of uncertainty. Would this meeting lead to a solution of the Holly Wickersham mystery?

  I looked around the office trying to form an impression of Micah Frost. His office was small with a large desk and three plain chairs. There was clutter everywhere and a coffee machine on a small table near a window. On the walls, deer, bear, and wolf heads, stuffed and mounted, looked pathetic with their unseeing eyes.

  He poured two cups of coffee and seated himself behind the desk. “After we talked, I got to thinking,” he said. “How did you ladies get involved in a house downstate? In Foxglove Corners, is it?”

  He fixed his gaze on Annica. She cleared her throat and glanced at me. We’d agreed that I would lead the conversation.

  “We live in Foxglove Corners,” I said. “A good friend of ours bought a house on Loosestrife Lane. In the course of preparing it for occupancy, we discovered Holly Wickersham’s possessions in the attic, including boxes of her published books.”

  “You’ve come a long way for this meeting,” he said.

  “It’s important.”

  “I’m surprised anything of Holly’s is still there. Now, how can I help you?”

  “You could give me the name of Holly’s next of kin. I don’t want to make the decision to discard her belongings if there’s someone who’d like to have them.”