Phantom in the Pond

by Dorothy Bodoin

  Annica settled in the back. “I feel like I’m in a space ship,” she said. “Destination Mars. You’re so lucky to have this car, Brent.”

  “I feel lucky.”

  “What’s that saying?” I asked. “From your lips to God’s ears.”

  The area south of Maple Creek was heavily forested, and a soft haze lay lightly on the road. The land was ripe for a developer’s touch, but I hoped it would remain wild and pristine exactly as I saw it today.

  Occasionally we came to a horse farm enclosed by a three-board plank fence with a farmhouse in the distance or a rustic cabin, but mostly we passed ‘pure country’ as Brent would say. This would be the perfect hideout for a miscreant-—if the miscreant’s girlfriend hadn’t given away the location.

  “Are you sure that girl said south?” Brent asked.

  “Positive.” But I had to stop and think. “Yes, she’d said O’Meara just moved into an apartment south of Maple Creek.”

  “I don’t see any apartments,” Brent said. “No construction at all.”

  “Maybe the apartment was closer to Maple Creek, like on the outskirts,” Annica said. “Could we have passed it?”

  “No, I’ve been looking. Unless it’s well-hidden like Lucy’s Dark Gables.”

  “Then we’ll never find it,” Brent said. “I wonder if Mac drove out this way.”

  “I’m sure he did. He’d check out every road and by-road in a hundred mile radius. If we see anything suspicious, we’ll call him,” I added. “No way are we taking the law in our own hands.”

  “Chicken,” Annica said, but she laughed. “I don’t have to answer to anybody.”

  She had her own ideas. “Lorna probably said the first thing that came into her head. She didn’t want to give O’Meara to a cop.”

  “I can’t see that young girl with an older man, especially a crooked one,” I said.

  “She may be older than she looks.”

  I considered that but didn’t think so.

  We passed two Deer X-ing signs about a mile apart and a glimpse of blue-green lake water. A reddish animal dashed across the road in our path, a small dog or a fox. It was hard to tell. Fortunately, we didn’t encounter leaping deer.

  “This is hopeless,” Annica said after miles of unbroken wilderness. “We might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  Privately I agreed with her. “Well, I’m enjoying the scenery. I never just get in a car and drive for pleasure.”

  “Listen,” Brent said.

  Somewhere ahead of us and off to the right, multiple dogs were barking, an onslaught of noise pouring in through the windows with the fresh country air.

  “I’ll bet we’re about to hit the jackpot,” Brent said.

  We approached a narrow road with no sign to indicate its name. The barking grew louder, almost frantic in tone. Brent turned right and maneuvered the Plymouth over a rugged trail of dirt and potholes with glowering woods on either side and no buildings until we spied a log cabin almost hidden by the leafy trees and conifers that crowded in front of it.

  Brent turned in a cleared space that served as a driveway and pulled up close enough so that we could see a large rectangular dog run enclosed by a high chain link fence. Perhaps a dozen dogs of all breeds and sizes vied with one another for viewing space. They were all barking. None of them sounded friendly.

  “Bonanza!” Brent said. “We found it. O’Meara’s holding place.”

  Annica opened the door and slid down to the ground. “Let’s investigate.”

  “Get back here!” Brent shouted. “Annica!”

  “Remember we’re going to call Mac.” I took my phone out of my shoulder bag.

  She leaned over the fence and waved her hand front of a golden retriever who pranced up to the fence, wagging his tail.

  “Wasn’t a golden retriever one of the Sea-to-Sea dogs?” she asked.

  “Annica!” Brent roared. “Somebody’s coming. Get in.”

  I heard the motor, too. Close and coming closer. Every trespasser’s nightmare.

  Annica dashed back to the car, Brent made a fast U-turn, and we headed back to the road, passing a mud-splattered van along the way. A massive dark dog sat in the passenger’s seat. He looked like Camille’s Belgian shepherd.

  I caught a fleeting glimpse of the driver’s face. He was dark and handsome. Every young girl’s dream. He might be tall, but, of course, I couldn’t tell as he was sitting behind the wheel. But I had a strong feeling that he was Irish. And he looked furious.

  O’Meara.

  He made a U-turn of his own. Close on our tail, he followed us out to the road.

  “Hang on, girls.” Brent stepped down hard on the accelerator. The Plymouth shot ahead over the rugged road, shaking in protest. “It’s about to get rough.”

  Annica’s voice trembled. “What’s he going to do?”

  “Follow us,” Brent said.

  “Did you bring your gun?” she asked.

  Before he could answer, O’Meara rammed the van into the driver’s side of the vintage Plymouth. Annica screamed. The front door flew open. I was catapulted through the air onto the hard, unforgiving ground.

  The world around me dissolved into a screen of solid black.

  ~ * ~

  My head hurt. And my knee. And…everything capable of feeling pain. Something scraped my arm. A sharp fang? A knife… No, a thorn or thistle.

  I opened my eyes to color. Yellow. Pink. I’d landed next to a patch of wildflowers.

  I rubbed my eyes. Brent’s prized vintage Plymouth lay on its side, battered and clearly disabled. One of the bright green fins lay in a bed of high grasses. I didn’t see my friends.

  Brent stumbled down the sloping terrain at the road’s edge and knelt on one knee in front of me. His face bore several cuts, and blood stained his shirt. “Are you hurt, Jennet?”

  Was I? Oh, yes, but not lethally. I raised my arm, then ran my hand over my knee. At least I didn’t think so.

  “I feel like I was thrown out of a car,” I said.

  “Lie still for a while.”

  “Where’s Annica?”

  “On the other side of the road. She’s shaken but otherwise okay. Those seat belts I installed didn’t hold. We were lucky. What the hell did O’Meara hope to accomplish by crashing into us?”

  “He tried to kill us so we wouldn’t lead the police to him. Lucky for us, he’s an amateur.”

  “For an amateur, he did a damn good job,” Brent said.

  “Where is he?”

  “He drove away. You got through to Mac, I hope.”

  “He’s on his way,” I said.

  “He won’t be here any time soon. We were on the road for a good hour.”

  “Just so he gets here.”

  He would turn the siren on all the way. Other drivers would let him pass. It wouldn’t take him an hour to find us.

  Brent rose. “I’ll go flag him down.”

  Brent swiped at his forehead and frowned at the blood on his hand. Something warned me to look up and beyond his straightening form.

  A dark shadow descended the slope. Then the man. O’Meara. He carried a gun.

  “Brent!” I cried. “Duck!”

  A shot rang out. Brent fell forward. Again the world went black.

  ~ * ~

  “Don’t panic,” Brent said. “A balloon bit the dust.”

  The pieces had rained down on me. Blue and red glittering on the velvety green lawn.

  My nemesis, Veronica the Viper, who had a crush on Crane, hovered over me. “I’m arresting you for littering and theft. You took Foxglove Corners’ prime catch out of circulation.”

  I wasn’t in the woods lying in a patch of wildflowers but back at the fundraiser.

  A girl with long blonde hair and smudged blue eye shadow said, “He just moved to an apartment south of Maple Creek.”

  But there was no signpost on the dirt road that led to the log cabin.

  I moved my hand. It landed in fur warm from t
he sun. Misty? No, she wasn’t with me. I was stroking a wild creature. The fox?

  A siren began its shrill wail in the distance, high, earsplitting. Ominous.

  A tornado warning? A sound from the past inaudible to Brent and Annica? Nothing to worry about.

  I shrugged and bit into my sandwich.

  Fifty-one

  I knew the hand that brushed my bangs back and lingered on my head. I knew the voice with its trace of a southern accent. I opened my eyes. “Crane?”

  “I’m here.” His hand moved down to cover mine. It felt warm and strong. The warmth spread throughout my body. “You’re going to be all right, honey.”

  “Is Brent—alive?” I asked.

  Was that my voice? Since when did I sound so hoarse?

  “He’s on his way to the hospital,” Crane said. “He’ll be all right.”

  How could he say that? I’d heard the shot, seen Brent fall. But Crane wouldn’t lie to me. I wanted desperately to believe him.

  “And Annica. Where’s Annica?”

  “She’s giving her statement to Mac. It could have been so much worse for all of you. The Belvedere is the only casualty. It’s totaled.”

  “Did O’Meara get away?” I asked.

  “He tried, but Mac saw his van coming toward him on the road and cut him off. O’Meara’s in custody. He was driving drunk.”

  “Among other crimes,” I said. “Someone has to liberate the dogs. They’re in a large run behind his cabin. I hope he still has the missing ones. Can we go home now?”

  “As soon as you and Annica get checked out at the hospital.”

  Why had I bothered to ask? I could have anticipated his answer.

  “I’m just hurting. Like when I fell down the stairs at Brent’s house,” I said.

  Crane sighed but didn’t say anything.

  But as soon as I stood, the world began spinning around. I leaned heavily on Crane. It was an effort to walk. That knee… People need their knees.

  “Maybe the hospital is a good idea,” I said.

  ~ * ~

  And just like that, it was over. In the blink of an eye, or so it seemed. I was examined and released, told to ice the knee and take pain-killing medication. Duncan O’Meara remained in custody. I heard he hadn’t been able to raise money for his bail.

  Lorna distanced herself from him, claiming they’d only recently met and she never heard of Sea-to-Sea. O’Meara denied that he had a partner. Possibly it was true.

  The woman in the black sundress who had taken the setter out of Lorna’s tub was only retrieving her property. She chose to stay out of the limelight.

  Kate Brennan wrapped up the case with a happy segment of Kate in Your Corner on which all of the still missing dogs were reunited with their true owners. I limped across the living room to turn off the television. Kate had been helpful, but, really, I had done most of the work.

  Best of all, once Brent’s cuts and scrapes were treated, he was released from the hospital. The bullet had grazed his shoulder, knocking him to the ground where he sprained his wrist. Along with a bruised face and miscellaneous lesions, Annica had lost her seashell earring in the crash.

  Brent was already attempting to locate another vintage Belvedere.

  “I’m looking for a white one, and I’m going to paint the fins green. For luck.”

  “The luck of the Irish?” I asked.

  “The luck of Brent Fowler, Huntsman,” he said.

  Finally I could say ‘All’s well that ends well’ and mean it.

  With nothing more pressing to do with my evening, I looked through my closet and my jewelry box, planning what to wear to dinner at the Hunt Club Inn.

  ~ * ~

  Wildflowers in mason jars decorated our long table, giving the Inn an uncharacteristic feminine touch. I was seated facing away from the stuffed fox’s head which allowed me to forget the sorrowful expression in his eyes. For the evening.

  As it turned out, we were all wearing black. Lucy, of course, almost always donned one of her black dresses with a prodigious amount of gold jewelry that jingled when she moved. I’d pinned an elaborate glittering rhinestone brooch to my bodice, thinking a curious onlooker would think it was made of diamonds. As for the Woodville sisters, it dawned on me that I had never seen them dressed up. Even Annica joined in with a black sheath that drew attention to her curves.

  “Damn,” Brent said. “You all look like you’re in mourning. This is a happy occasion. Jennet and Company drove the ghosts out of the house. The collies and I thank you.”

  “I think we look great,” Annica said.

  “I didn’t say you didn’t.”

  “I don’t think of Holly Wickersham as a ghost,” I said. “She was killed before her time by an act of God. We’re here to honor her.”

  Holly was to be quietly re-interred in the cemetery where Violet Randall of the pink Victorian lay in a well-tended grave.

  “I’m going to take care of our strays,” Letty said. “They’re more likely to find their forever homes than old collies. We’re bringing five of them.”

  “I’ve always wanted to have one of those magnificent collies,” Lila added. “Ever since you brought Winter to us. Do you remember Winter, Jennet?”

  I could never forget my first rescue, a blue merle abandoned on a snowy country road.

  “We’re so excited about living in a house with a history,” Letty said. “We were always a bit envious of our neighbor, Henry McCullough, who saw the phantom Christmas tree.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have any supernatural experiences,” I said. “But if you do, if the house is still haunted, you’ll know why. When are you moving in?”

  “Next week.” Letty set her menu down. Although a pseudo vegetarian, she’d ordered prime rib along with the rest of us.

  “So soon?”

  “Most of the furniture will go with the house on Park Street,” Lila said. “We left our own things on the farm.”

  Annica said, “We’ve been filling the rooms with antiques from the attic, and wait till you see the collie picture I found for the living room.”

  Our waiter served the salads and everyone busied themselves adding their favorite dressings. My thoughts drifted off. If the sisters were going to be at the house next week, I had only one day to make a last solitary visit.

  ~ * ~

  I wanted to see the fishpond again, and I wanted to go to Loosestrife Lane alone. Well, not strictly speaking alone. I planned to take Misty with me. The remains of Holly Wickersham had been buried with the canine skeleton. I trusted that Holly was at peace but couldn’t help but wonder if her collie, Tristan, still haunted the pond.

  Brent stood. “A toast to Holly Wickersham. Long may her books be…uh…read. And a blessing on my house and my lovely caretakers.”

  We all drank. Dear Brent. It was the most elegant speech he’d ever made.

  ~ * ~

  A light wind stirred the strands of the weeping willow. They blew over the fish pond, and the water rippled in answer. Holding tightly to Misty’s leash, I stood at the pond’s edge, enthralled by its beauty. Blown from the nearby plants, pink loosestrife blossoms floated on the surface, and I saw the occasional flash of goldfish. This was such a peaceful place, so like the pond in the backyard of my childhood.

  I supposed Tristan had gone.

  Brent had promised he’d keep the pond, have it professionally cleaned and regularly stocked with goldfish. We could come and sit in front of it in lawn chairs anytime we liked. The dogs would chase predators away, and the fish would thrive.

  Misty stepped over the rock border and lowered her head. I held my breath as a dark sable collie stared back at her, one ear tipped, one pricked, and a look of infinite peace in his eyes. Misty stuck her mouth in the water, and the phantom vanished. All I could see were goldfish and loosestrife blooms and another reflection, Misty’s mirror image.

  It was enough.

  Meet Dorothy Bodoin

  Dorothy Bodoin lives in Royal Oak
, Michigan with her blue merle collie, Layla. A graduate of Oakland University with Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in English literature. Dorothy worked as a secretary for Chrysler Missile Corporation, two years of which were spent in Italy. For several more years she taught English in a Michigan high school. She is the author of the Foxglove Corners Cozy Mystery series, six novels of romantic suspense, and one Gothic romance.

  Other Works From The Pen Of Dorothy Bodoin

  Treasure at Trail’s End (Gothic romance) - The House at Trail’s End seemed to beckon to Mara Marsden, promising the happy future she longed for. But could she discover its secret without forfeiting her life?

  Ghost across the Water (romantic suspense)—March, 2006—Water falling from an invisible force and a ghostly man who appears across Spearmint Lake draw Joanna Larne into a haunting twenty-year-old mystery.

  Darkness at Foxglove Corners—Foxglove Corners offers tornado survivor Jennet Greenway country peace and romance, but the secret of the yellow Victorian house across the lane holds a threat to her new life. (#1)

  Cry for the Fox—In Foxglove Corners, the fox runs from the hunters, the animal activists target the Hunt Club, and a killer stalks human prey on the fox trail. (#2)

  Winter’s Tale—On her first winter in Foxglove Corners Jennet Greenway battles dognappers, investigates the murder of the town’s beloved veterinarian, and tries to outwit a dangerous enemy. (#3)

  A Shortcut through the Shadows—Jennet Greenway’s search for the missing owner of her rescue collie, Winter, sets her on a collision course with an unknown killer. (#4)

  The Witches of Foxglove Corners—With a haunting in the library, a demented prankster who invades her home, and a murder in Foxglove Corners, Halloween turns deadly for Jennet Greenway. (#5)

  The Snow Dogs of Lost Lake—A ghostly white collie and a lost locket lead Jennet Greenway to a body in the woods and a dangerous new mystery. (#6)

  The Collie Connection—As Jennet Greenway’s wedding to Crane Ferguson approaches, her happiness is shattered when a Good Samaritan deed leaves her without her beloved black collie, Halley, and ultimately in grave danger. (#7)