“Hi, Hoovey,” said Allie as she let herself into the yard through the gate. “Dinnertime, girl.” She knelt down to pet Hoover’s silky ears and laughed as the dog covered her face with kisses. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”
They went inside, where Allie filled Hoover’s food and water dishes and talked to her while she ate. Then they went into the yard for a while, and Allie threw Hoover’s favorite toy, a green plastic frog that squeaked, for her to fetch.
After Hoover had had a good romp, Allie gave her a kiss on the nose and promised she’d be back first thing in the morning. Hoover stood by the gate, looking forlorn when Allie climbed onto her bike.
“Please don’t look so sad, Hoovey,” Allie begged, looking back over her shoulder as she rode away. “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”
Dub was in the driveway shooting baskets when Allie pulled up to his house. “Nice shot,” she called as he sunk one. She got off her bike and held out her arms, and he threw her the ball. Her shot hit the rim and bounced off. She caught it, took another try, and missed again. When her third shot went in, Dub grabbed the ball and tossed it expertly under the porch.
Allie told Dub about her latest dream and the poor dog whose name was Belle. They talked about what it might mean and tried to imagine who Belle was, but together they were no more successful than Allie had been on her own.
When they’d worn out the subject of Belle, Dub pointed next door to James’s house. He said, “So you want to see if he’s home?”
Allie nodded, and they walked across the yard and knocked on James’s door. James answered, looking first surprised to see them, then troubled.
“We just want to ask you something,” Allie said quickly.
James stood stiffly in the doorway. “What?” he asked warily.
“Right after we left the store today, a man came in. Do you remember him?”
James looked blank.
“You might have heard a lot of commotion out on the street first. Hoover, the dog that was with me, went kind of crazy on the guy.”
James’s face cleared. “Oh yeah, I know who you mean.”
“What did he want?” Allie asked.
“He wanted to see the owner. I told him Enid wouldn’t be in until Monday. He said he’d come back.”
“That’s it?” said Dub.
James shrugged. “Pretty much. He left a business card.”
“What was on the card?” Allie asked.
“I didn’t really look at it,” James answered. “I left it where Enid would see it.” The troubled expression passed over his features again. “Look, why do you guys keep asking me so many questions about the store?”
Allie responded boldly with a question of her own. “Why don’t you want to tell us anything?”
“What makes you think there’s anything to tell?”
Allie didn’t answer, and Dub remained quiet, too. Finally James looked away.
The silence grew.
“Okay, I guess we’d better get going,” Allie said. “Thanks, James.”
“See ya,” said Dub.
James closed the door without answering.
When she was sure they were out of earshot, Allie said, “I don’t get it. Something is really bugging him. It’s like he wants to talk about it, but—”
“But he doesn’t,” Dub finished.
“As if he’s scared.”
“Of what?”
It was another question they couldn’t answer. Mentally, Allie added it to her list, a list that was getting longer rather than shorter.
They decided that Allie would get up early on Monday morning to walk and feed Hoover, and that Dub would come to her house afterward, at around ten o’clock, to make dog biscuits to take to L.J. Then they’d go to his house, but without Hoover. They planned to hide and wait, if they had to, until the gray pick up wasn’t around. They agreed that if stealth and quiet were required, bringing along the rambunctious and unpredictable dog would be a big mistake.
Twelve
Allie felt almost like a normal person when she went to bed Sunday night. She’d taken care of Hoover and gone fishing with her family, and not one odd, ghostly thing had happened all day long. She slept soundly, with no bad dreams. It was a relief at first, and then became almost a worry. Was she losing her touch?
When Dub came over in the morning to make dog biscuits, she told him of her concern.
“Ghosts are unpredictable,” he said, “judging from the ones you’ve met, anyway. Who knows what a dog ghost is likely to do? I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Allie. “Let’s finish this batch and get out to L.J.’s. Maybe we’ll learn something.”
As soon as the last tray of biscuits had come out of the oven and they’d had a quick lunch, Allie and Dub rode toward L.J.’s house. They turned onto Dundee Road and immediately stashed their bikes in the bushes. Then they crept along through the tangled, scrubby brush until they could see the Cutler place. There was no sign of the gray pick up. Allie and Dub exchanged glances of relief. Unless Mr. Cutler had parked the truck in the barn, the coast appeared to be clear.
Allie hitched up her backpack. It contained the bag of dog biscuits, which was supposed to be their excuse for coming back. Suddenly, though, their plan didn’t seem like such a great idea. What if Mrs. Cutler was the one who was out in the truck, and Mr. Cutler was home, after all? What if L.J. and his mother were both gone, and she and Dub were about to come face-to-face with Mr. Cutler, with no one at all around to protect them? She told herself she was being silly. As if L.J. would protect them. As if he could protect them against a man like his father, even if he wanted to.
Allie told herself to stop thinking. It wasn’t getting them anywhere. The reality was that, based on a dream journey led by a ghost dog, she and Dub were barging in where they weren’t wanted, hoping to get some information, although they had no idea what that information might be. It was a pretty lame plan, but it was all they had. She supposed they might as well get on with it.
“Let’s go,” she whispered to Dub. “We’ll knock, like we did before, and if L.J. doesn’t answer, we’ll look out back where he was last time. If nobody’s around, we can check out the barn.”
“Okay,” Dub whispered back, then added, “Why are we whispering?”
Allie giggled and Dub grinned. It made her feel braver.
They left the shelter of the bushes and started across the open, swampy ground. Rich odors rose from the wet earth as Allie and Dub squished through the mud, and Allie recognized the smells from her dream, though they were much less intense now than they’d been to her canine nose.
“Man,” said Dub, lifting a dripping, muddy sneaker and examining it. “What is this, the Black Lagoon?”
“Keep going,” Allie urged him. “If we stop, we might sink in this stuff and never be seen again.”
At the Cutlers’ yard, the ground was higher and dryer, and they walked among the scattered pieces of junk, trying to scrape some of the mud from their shoes on the browned grass. There was no scream of a saw this time, no sound at all, it seemed. It was almost spookily quiet. Allie was telling herself there was no way anyone was around when a low voice came from the house, nearly scaring her to death.
“I’m about to die laughing watching you two. Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Allie gasped and came close to tripping over the pink bicycle, which was still lying in the grass. Dub, too, let out a shout of surprise. Allie looked in the direction the voice had come from, but it took a moment before she saw him.
L.J. was slouched in a shredded lawn chair set back in the shady corner of the porch, with his feet stretched straight out and his arms folded across his chest, just as he had sat next to Allie in school. He was shaking his head and grinning. It wasn’t a friendly grin, but a mocking one.
It made Allie furious. “What about you, hiding in the dark and spying on people?”
L.J. laughed. “I ain’t hi
ding or spying. I live here, remember? You’re the ones sneaking around in the bushes. You come to rob me?” He sneered, lifted his arm, and gestured around the yard. “Help yourselves. Take whatever you want.” He sat without moving, watching them, his eyebrows lifted sardonically.
Allie thought she had never met anyone so irritating in all of her life. She was struggling to get control of herself and come up with something to say or do next when Dub said mildly, “Actually, we came to bring you something.”
Allie took a deep breath and tried to settle down. Dub had the right approach. She couldn’t let L.J. bother her. She had to get a grip and be cool, as Dub was doing.
She slipped off her backpack, removed the plastic bag filled with dog biscuits, and held it out toward L.J. “They’re dog snacks,” she said shortly.
“You came way out here with dog food?” L.J. said, sounding both amused and incredulous.
It was all Allie could do not to turn on her heel and stomp away. Hadn’t anyone ever told him it was rude to make fun of someone who was giving him something?
“What would I want with dog food?”
His jeering tone was really getting on Allie’s nerves.
“Oh, I get it. You think I’m so hard up, that’s what I gotta eat. Is that it?”
Allie stared at him. Why would he say such a thing?
Dub explained calmly, “We heard dogs barking when we were here before. The treats are for them.”
As any normal person would have realized, Allie thought.
“Who says those dogs you heard were ours?” L.J. asked.
“Well, it sounded like they were in your barn,” Dub answered. “Weren’t they?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But say they were. They wouldn’t need charity from you and Little Miss Fix-it.”
Allie forced herself to stifle her anger. Why was L.J. being such a pain? Was he trying to hide something, or was he just too proud or too pigheaded to accept what he saw as “charity”? Or was he too smart to buy their story?
“My old man told you to get lost. So why’d you come back? What do you want?” L.J. demanded.
In L.J.’s experience, Allie realized, people didn’t go out of their way to be nice unless there was something in it for them. She had to admit, this time he was right. She and Dub were after information. She had to figure out a way to get L.J. talking.
“Look,” she said, holding the bag of biscuits by her side. “We’re thinking of starting a business selling these things, and this is part of our marketing strategy. We’re giving out free samples to everybody we know who has dogs, figuring that if the dogs like them, the people will come back to buy more. So, do you want them or not?”
L.J. shrugged, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.
Allie decided to take this as a yes. She walked closer, stepped onto the porch, and set the bag down on top of one of the cardboard boxes. Dub followed right behind her.
An awkward silence fell. Allie didn’t expect L.J. to offer them a seat or a glass of water or say or do anything that smacked of common courtesy, and he didn’t. At least he no longer seemed to be giving off palpable waves of hostility. She told herself this was progress.
Then L.J. asked, “Where’s the dog?”
The unexpected question flustered Allie. “What dog? Hoover? Oh, she’s not mine,” she answered, then mentally kicked herself. Duh. L.J. had first seen Hoover at school. “Well, you knew that,” she amended. “I’m dog-sitting for Mr. Henry because he had to go away for a while.”
L.J. waited for a second, then repeated, “So where’s the dog?”
“Oh, she’s home. I mean, at Mr. Henry’s house. She can go in and out through her doggy door, and she’s got a big yard to play in. I already fed her and took her for a walk, so she’ll be okay until I go back.”
Allie realized she was babbling and stopped herself. She wished L.J. didn’t make her so nervous!
“How come you didn’t bring her?”
Allie looked at Dub for help. She couldn’t very well admit that they had planned to sneak close enough to make sure that Mr. Cutler wasn’t home, and had been afraid they wouldn’t be able to keep Hoover quiet.
Dub answered. “She kind of flipped out on your dad, and he didn’t seem to like her too much, either. So we thought it would be better to leave her.” L.J. nodded slightly, as if this made sense.
“So,” Allie said, hoping to keep the conversation going, “what kinds of dogs do you have?”
A curtain seemed to fall over L.J.’s eyes for a moment. “Just dogs,” he said. “No fancy breeds like that one the teacher’s got.”
“Oh, I like mutts,” Allie said. “I like all dogs, really, but I can’t have one because my brother’s allergic. How many have you got? Could we see them?” She didn’t seem to be able to stop chattering.
Something flickered in L.J.’s eyes, something Allie thought might be fear. “My old man doesn’t like anybody going out there,” he said.
Allie and Dub’s puzzled expressions must have made L.J. realize that his comment required further explanation, because he added, “The dogs get all excited, and start barking, and next thing you know, the neighbors are complaining.”
Allie gazed about. There were no other houses nearby, no neighbors to complain. She almost pointed this out, but stopped herself. L.J. wasn’t going to take them to the barn, and Allie couldn’t blame him. If she were in L.J.’s shoes, she wouldn’t do anything to make her father mad, either.
But her dream had made it clear that there was a connection between that barn and her ghost, or between the barn and a dog named Belle.
She could mention Belle and see what happened. It was worth a try. “If I ever did get a dog,” she said, “I’d get a female. I guess because I like Hoover so much and she’s a girl. And I even know what I’d call her. Belle.”
At that, L.J. jerked out of his slouching position as if he’d been stung. He sat up straight, all the color draining from his face. Just a few moments ago, Allie would have enjoyed seeing L.J. lose his cool, and been pleased to be the cause. But the expression on his face held so much pain that she had to turn away.
Before she could say or do anything more, Mr. Cutler’s gray pickup truck appeared at the foot of Dundee Road, headed toward the house. Panic-stricken, Allie and Dub looked at L.J.
“You better get outta here,” he said. He sounded worried and, worse, scared.
The truck neared the driveway and turned in, and the house blocked their view of it. For the moment, Mr. Cutler’s view of them was blocked, as well. Allie and Dub ran across the yard, through the swamp, and into the shelter of the bushes. When they reached their bikes, they had to decide: should they stay hidden, or make a run for it on the open highway?
“Let’s just get out of here,” Allie said, panting. Dub nodded and jumped onto his bike.
Pedaling down the road, Allie looked back over her shoulder so often that she felt lucky not to crash. When she and Dub reached the edge of town with no sign of Mr. Cutler or his truck, they stopped.
“Man, that was a close one,” Dub said, wiping the sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve.
“I think there’s a chance he didn’t see us,” Allie said, gasping, “if he didn’t look over at the porch when he was driving up the road. And he couldn’t have seen us running across the yard because the house was in the way.”
“Yeah,” Dub answered, but he didn’t sound convinced.
Allie caught her breath, then said, “Obviously, there’s something in that barn L.J.’s father doesn’t want us to see.”
“Right. But if it’s the dogs, I don’t get what the big deal is,” Dub said, looking puzzled.
“Maybe they’re watchdogs or guard dogs,” Allie said thoughtfully. “I doubt L.J. or his father is worried about the dogs hurting us. More likely, the dogs are there to scare people off and keep them from discovering whatever it is they’re trying to hide.”
Dub nodded. “Makes sense, I guess. What do you think they’re
hiding?”
Allie shrugged. “Drugs? Stolen stuff? I don’t know. Something illegal.”
“I don’t get the connection between that and the ghost, though,” Dub said.
“Me neither. But we definitely made one connection. Did you see L.J.’s face when I said the name Belle?”
Dub nodded, lifting his eyebrows. “You sure hit a nerve with that one.”
“I wish I knew why.”
“Maybe Belle’s in the barn,” Dub speculated.
“Maybe,” said Allie. Then she reminded him, “But even though the ghost dog led me to L.J.’s house in the dream, the part about Belle seemed to take place somewhere else.”
“The same place as your first dream, right? The mazelike place where the dog is whimpering?”
“Yeah,” Allie said, feeling as if they were back to Square One. “It was a lot easier when the ghosts were human. They could talk to me, even write in my journal. But it’s tough trying to understand these messages from a dog.”
“I know,” said Dub. He shrugged. “We’re just going to have to be better detectives, I guess, and figure stuff out on our own.”
Allie supposed he was right. There was something else she wanted to talk over with Dub. From the time she had met L.J. in Mr. Henry’s classroom, she’d found him annoying. But for a brief moment on the porch, she had put herself in L.J.’s shoes. And now she was really trying to imagine being L.J., not for just a moment, but for every minute of every day. There was a lot that she couldn’t know, or could only guess at, but she was pretty sure that being L.J. wouldn’t feel too good.
She had no idea why her mention of Belle had upset him so badly, but she’d felt sorry when she saw his wounded expression. She tried to explain all this to Dub.
“Uh-oh,” he said when she’d finished. “You want to go back, don’t you?” He was pretending reluctance, but his eyes held a gleam of excitement.
The Ghost of Cutler Creek Page 6