Phantom in the Pond

by Dorothy Bodoin

  “Yes, and you have Shamrock.”

  “But not Lady,” Marguerite said. “They must have separated them. Our two were always together, and poor Lady suffered from motion sickness.”

  Lyle had been lucky in another way. He had escaped the hand of the law because Duncan O’Meara had vanished into the ether without pressing charges, which wasn’t strange as O’Meara undoubtedly wanted to keep a low or non-existent profile. No one knew where he was; no one was currently looking for him.

  “I know why some of the dogs came back and not others,” Lyle said.

  Helena passed a plate of cookies around, pausing to let Harold take three. “Do tell.”

  “That scum had them all together in one place, likely waiting to sell them off. After the crash, he figured the law was on to him, so he let them loose. They stayed together until people noticed them wandering down that road. It’s a wonder they weren’t run over.”

  “What about the others, the ones that are still missing?” Sue asked.

  “They were in another place,” he said. “Maybe together, maybe not. He could have sold them already, for all we know.”

  Marguerite added, “Lady has been gone a whole month. We’ll never get her back.”

  “Don’t say that,” Harold said. “I’m not going to stop looking until I have my dog under my own roof and that lowlife, O’Meara, is behind bars.”

  “He hasn’t been going to his favorite bars,” Lyle said. “At least not when I’m there. I’ve been checking.”

  Sue muffled a laugh. “I hope you leave your gun at home.”

  “He does,” Marguerite said. “I see to that. I never signed up to be a fugitive.”

  Sue said, “Maybe O’Meara left the state.”

  Helena sat the plate of cookies on a wicker side table. “Everyone, help yourself. There’s more in the kitchen.”

  Including my contribution of two dozen pineapple drop cookies. I hoped Helena would have enough to serve, given Harold’s fondness for sweets. His three cookies had already disappeared.

  “I’ve been checking the internet everyday looking for a new pet transport service,” Sue said. “Yesterday I found Oceanview Transport Services, but no one answers their phone. I’m going to keep trying.”

  Sea. Ocean. I considered. “That name sounds similar to Sea-to-Sea. But a smart con artist would choose a completely different name. If he’s back in business.”

  “If he’s smart,” Harold said. “I don’t think he is.”

  Abby sighed. “I guess we have to see if Kate has anything new to report.”

  “I’ll bet you two to one that O’Meara was the hit-and-run driver,” Lyle said. “Kate is getting too close.”

  “Let’s hope she is,” Abby murmured.

  These get-togethers weren’t accomplishing anything practical. How could they? But they did foster a sense of camaraderie in a group that had little else in common. They kept positive energy flowing, and I detected another benefit. Helena and Harold seemed easier with each other. It was almost as if they’d spent time together apart from the meetings.

  Also, Abby had expressed an interest in Sue’s rescue work and asked if she had to have a collie to join the League.

  I stirred in my chair. I’d been sitting too long, and the effects of my fall were making themselves known. Luckily the meeting was winding down.

  First recover completely, I thought. Then carry on.

  ~ * ~

  Annica had helped Brent furnish the rooms of the house on Loosestrife Lane. Most of them, that is. They’d incurred very little expenditure, using furniture brought down from the attic. Annica had made curtains for the kitchen and stocked the cupboard with both human and canine staples. On a shopping trip to the Green House of Antiques, she had found an old-time collie print in an elaborate frame for the living room.

  “It’s perfect for the house,” she said as we cooled off on another record breaking hot day at Clovers with lime coolers. “There’s this sweet little girl playing with a litter of collie puppies while the mother looks on. You can just see the worry in the mother’s eyes.”

  “I’d like that myself.”

  “You’ll see it. Can you go with me while I hang it? I want it to be a surprise for Brent.”

  “When?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow, sometime after noon.”

  I didn’t have to think about it. I wanted to return to the house sooner rather than later. My calendar was free, and I was almost back to normal.

  “I’ll pick you up around one,” I said.

  “Promise me you won’t fall down any steps.”

  “There’s no reason to go upstairs.”

  Annica had reported that the attic was practically empty. Only Holly’s possessions remained, along with furnishings too shabby to grace the newly restored house.

  “I’m bringing Misty,” I said.

  “Bring whoever you like. Brent thinks he may have found his caretakers. After they move in with the dogs, we can’t roam around at will.”

  “We’ve had the house to ourselves for a nice long spell,” I said.

  And it was still a place of mystery. All the new paint in the world, all the restoration and rearrangements, couldn’t rid Brent’s house of its dark ambience.

  Could anything?

  Forty-two

  Steamy morning. Afternoon storms.

  I thought about the day’s forecast as I came down the stairs the next day. I could have hoped for better weather, but we’d be there and back before the storms. I hoped.

  I fastened Misty’s leash to her collar and reached for the umbrella. Candy, who had followed me downstairs, treading in my shadow, retreated with a short bark and growl rolled into one.

  None of the dogs liked my umbrella, dating from the day I’d inadvertently opened it in the house. I had no intention of doing so today. “It’s bad luck,” my mother used to say. Who believed that? Still, out of habit, one paid heed to old superstitions like knocking on wood and walking around a ladder rather than under it.

  Candy sensed an adventure and wanted to be a part of it. Impossible, of course, and she knew that. Crane was the only one who could handle her when the urge to break away on her own overrode training and manners.

  “Misty is going to be working today,” I announced for the benefit of all. I imagined a happy scenario in which she pranced through the house like an ice princess, uncovering all of its secrets. And we lived happily ever after.

  Right. We weren’t going to wander through any rooms, nor the attic or basement. Annica would hang the picture, I’d supervise, and perhaps on the way back, we’d stop at the Green House of Antiques where Annica said as of yesterday three similar prints were displayed on the wall. Admittedly I was running out of wall space, but if I saw a picture I liked, I’d find room. Somewhere.

  As I led Misty toward the door, the others watched me quietly. They knew this wasn’t going to be a walk bestowed on a favored one.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I told them and, at the last minute, grabbed my raincoat. And we were ready.

  ~ *~

  Some days the house on Loosestrife Lane looked innocuous and even inviting in its surround of green lawn, now freshly mowed, neatly pruned shrubbery, and the massive weeping willow tree that shaded the pond. Other times it seemed to glower, warning away all comers who paused to admire its beauty.

  Today was a glowering day. The house waited silently under low clouds. Waiting to pounce?

  But I was being fanciful. Soon I’d see collies patrolling the grounds, bestowing new life on an old structure. I’d knock on the door instead of unlocking it, and Brent’s kind caregiver would make me welcome.

  Annica lifted the print out of the backseat. She had wrapped it in heavy brown paper to protect it from the elements. I carried a package containing a picture hanging kit and a hammer.

  “This frame is gorgeous, but it’s so heavy,” she said as Misty gave it an interested sniff. “I can’t wait till Brent sees the picture.”

/>   We walked up to the porch, Annica holding the print while I tried to keep Misty at my heel. As soon as her paws had touched the ground, she had turned into a whirling dervish.

  “She’s wild today,” Annica observed.

  “For some reason. Misty, heel!”

  Surprisingly, she obeyed me. I unlocked the door, and she pushed inside ahead of us, long nose first. I unfastened her leash and set it on a chair.

  Annica shivered. “It feels clammy.”

  “No more so than usual. It needs fresh air.”

  But we weren’t going to stay long enough to warrant opening windows. Annica leaned the print against the wall and tore off the protective paper, letting it fall to the floor. “There, Jennet. Look.”

  I beheld one of those nostalgic turn-of-the-century scenes set in a flower garden with a stately white house in the distance. A little girl, clad in pink with a white pinafore, held a fluffy golden collie puppy in her arms. The puppy’s littermates were gathered around her under the watchful eyes of the mother.

  “I call it, Don’t Drop Him, Annica said.

  I smiled. “Children and collies used to be a popular subject for artists. Not anymore.”

  “Sometimes they added ponies.”

  She took the picture hanging kit out of the bag and studied it. “All these nails. How are you supposed to know which one to use?”

  “You need a long, strong nail. The picture is heavy. You don’t want it to fall off the wall. Did you bring a level?”

  “A what?”

  “A gadget that tells you if you’re hanging it straight.”

  “Uh, no.” She took a pencil out of her skirt pocket. “We should be able to see if it’s straight. I want it above the sofa, in the middle. It’ll be the focal point of the room.”

  I helped her move the sofa. She marked the wall with a small ‘x’ and lifted the print.

  “Maybe I should have let Brent hang it,” she said, handing it to me.

  “It’ll be more of a surprise if he walks in and sees it.”

  “Here goes.” She picked up the hammer. “This has to be right the first time. I don’t want to crack the plaster.”

  She pounded the nail into the wall. Instantly the house filled with the most ungodly shriek I’d ever heard. She jumped back as if the wall had bitten her, and my heart skipped a beat. The hammer fell to the floor; the nail remained imbedded in the wall.

  I heard a heart-rending howl. Misty?

  Annica made no move to retrieve the hammer. “For the love of God, what was that?”

  I battled an inappropriate urge to laugh. To keep laughing until my body compelled me to stop. “You wounded the wall.”

  “Don’t make jokes, Jennet. Wood can’t feel.”

  “And the house isn’t haunted,” I said.

  It seemed I could still hear the echo of that cry. What had we done? Yes, we. Annica and I were a team.

  Suddenly Annica froze. “What’s that sound? Do you hear scratching?”

  I listened. Nothing would surprise me, but what we were hearing was pattering on the windows. “It’s raining,” I said.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Rain.” Gingerly she touched the nail. Embedded firmly in the wall, surrounded by a quarter-sized pool of cracked paint, it didn’t move.

  “You did well,” I said.

  “Let’s hang the picture and get out of here,” Annica said. “Help me, Jennet.”

  I took one end of the print, and together we lifted the thin cord attached to the back over the nail. Annica moved the frame slightly to the left and gave it a small tug.

  “It’s as straight as I can make it,” she said.

  “The picture looks good there.”

  The many shades of green in the scene blended perfectly with the stripes in the sofa. The print added a final finishing touch to the room.

  “I think something else hung above the sofa at one time,” Annica said. “A mirror or a painting.”

  “In which case the wall shouldn’t have cried out when you drove the nail into it.”

  “Good grief, Jennet, you have a morbid turn of mind. What we heard was the wall settling.”

  “Walls don’t settle. Floors do that.”

  “Houses do that.”

  She picked up the wrapping paper and gathered the picture hanging kit and the hammer. “Let’s get out of here,” she repeated.

  “Where’s that dog?” I murmured. “Misty?”

  But she was at the foot of the stairs, dragging her leash, as ready as we were to leave Brent’s house.

  Annica said, “I wish Brent had never bought this place. I’ve lost all my enthusiasm for it. It’s evil.”

  “It does have some strange properties.”

  “It’s too much for us, Jennet.”

  “Well, you’re finished decorating, aren’t you?”

  “I thought I’d look for some more collie prints, but I’ll let Brent do that. Maybe he’ll want pictures of his collies instead.”

  “We’ll have to tell him about the sound the wall made,” I said.

  She nodded. “And we both heard it. I hope he believes us.”

  Forty-three

  It was pouring outside. I paused on the threshold, one hand on the umbrella, the other on Misty’s leash. She pawed the floor impatiently. She might be eager to get wet, but I had to summon all my courage to plunge into the maelstrom.

  “Should we wait for it to let up a bit?” I asked.

  Annica glanced back at the print and frowned. It seemed to have moved a little. We’d have to straighten it, or Brent could do that. I didn’t mention it to her.

  “It may get worse,” she said. “I vote we make a dash for it.”

  The Ford Focus waited for us, parked on the lane, a port in the storm. I took the keys out of my pocket. How far to the car? If we ran?

  I struggled to maintain my control of Misty who was acting wild again, not like herself at all. Annica reached for the umbrella, and we stepped into the temporary shelter of the wraparound. “Stay close to me. One, two, three—Go!”

  She dashed into a wall of water. A sudden wind turned the umbrella inside out. I struggled to hold on to it and the leash. To my dismay, Misty veered to the right, in the direction of the fishpond.

  A bolt of lightning split the sky, for a fleeting moment illuminating the pond. The water churned under wind-whipped willow strands. Then the world sank back into darkness. The only reality was the driving rain.

  I concentrated all my strength on pulling Misty away from her chosen path.

  “Jennet!”

  Annica’s voice seemed far away. High and desperate. Had I heard it? Or imagined it?

  “Jennet! Over here. Hurry!”

  Misty gave the leash a mighty tug, and a streak of pain burst in my arm, the one I had fallen on.

  Drop the leash!

  I hesitated too long. With an incredible surge of power, Misty dived into the pond, taking me with her.

  I couldn’t breathe. I was going to drown.

  Drown in a backyard pond?

  My body felt as heavy as if it were weighted with a boulder. Whirling water closed in on me, choking me. I swallowed a mouthful of vile warmish liquid. Frantically I reached for the surface. It had to be there. Just above me. If I could grab one of the large jagged-edged stones that ringed the pond—if I could hold on—I could pull myself to safety.

  Help!

  That was a thought, not a cry.

  Annica would have seen what had happened. She’d be here. Any minute now.

  Would she be in time?

  Misty had wrenched the leash out of my hands. I couldn’t see it, couldn’t see her. My long wet hair and the pounding water blinded me. The world turned dark.

  ~ * ~

  No human can outrun a tornado. It had wrenched the leash out of my hands, taken hold of Tristan and thrown him into the pond. Too fast. It had happened too fast. And I couldn’t see him.

  The water in the pond reached the boiling point. It leaped up, turned d
ark and ravenous. The leash floated on the surface and promptly disappeared, snatched away by the wind.

  I couldn’t leave my dog in the pond to drown.

  I turned to look at the sky, dark and eerie. To my horror, the monstrous funnel cloud bore down on me.

  It was too late.

  A crash splintered the air as the cupola and the small porch beneath it broke apart, raining wood and brick and pieces of glass. Debris flew through the air. A piece of glass cut into my forehead above my left eye. Warm liquid trickled down my face.

  My dog!

  How deep was that pond? Why didn’t I know?

  I stepped over the rock border and sank down into the pond’s churning depths.

  ~ * ~

  “Hey, Jennet. Give me your hand.”

  A voice in the darkness and rain.

  “The tornado?” I said.

  “There’s no tornado. Just rain.”

  Like a jet-propelled ball of fur, Misty leaped out of the pond water into the rain and jumped on me.

  Annica shouted. “Run!” She grabbed my hand, and Misty sprang forward.

  I barely heard her. But I ran, plowing through the wind and rain. Misty beat us to the Focus and pawed at the door. I pulled it open and collapsed on the seat, which was already drenched.

  I held her leash in my hand. How had that happened? Hadn’t the wind snatched it away?

  I sat for a moment, letting my heartbeat resume its normal rate, letting water drip from my hair. Puzzled I touched my cheek. It was wet with rainwater, not blood, and it didn’t hurt. My hair was its usual shoulder length. For a moment, it had seemed to hang down my back.

  “Thank God,” Annica said as she dropped into the passenger’s seat. “I thought you were right behind me. Then I didn’t see you. What made you go toward the pond?”

  “Misty dragged me.”

  “Well, why didn’t you let go of the leash?”

  That was a good question, one without a good answer.

  Annica was shivering. “Let’s get home and change into some dry clothes. Can you turn the heater on?”

  “We can’t go anywhere yet,” I said. “I can’t see to drive. I can’t see anything.”

  “Who else is going to be out on the road in this storm? You can drive slowly.”