Chihuahua of the Baskervilles (10 page)

“Pet costume parades are popular,” Angus said. “And you have a designer of dog clothing right here in town.”

“Puppy paraphernalia. Proceeds to go to an animal charity. Would your magazine want to sponsor it?”

“I was thinking more of Charlotte Baskerville. It would be a good promotional opportunity for her. Of course, she’s going through a rough time right now, what with being haunted and all, but I thought I’d mention the idea, to make sure you hadn’t tried it and struck it from the list, for some reason.”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“You know,” Angus said, “I’m a little surprised that Bob Hume hasn’t already suggested this.”

“Bob Hume?” Shermont gave a dismissive grunt. “This isn’t something he’s involved with, is it?”

“No. Is there something I should know about him?” Angus asked.

“Sorry. I only gossip about people after they’re dead.”

Nine

After conferring by cell phone, Angus, Suki, and Michael met for dinner at the Happy Mountaineer restaurant. A young woman showed them to a booth beneath a Halloween decoration of a large spider with blinking eyes.

“I thought this wasn’t your usual kind of place,” Suki said to Angus.

“I feel like having fish-and-chips. Also, this is one of the least expensive places to eat, unless we want a hot dog down at the arcade.”

“I saw the arcade. It’s a pretty interesting place, isn’t it?” Michael observed. “It’s like they picked up a tiny chunk of Coney Island and plopped it in the middle of Manitou Avenue. You’d think the rent would be too high for something like that.”

“Every town should have a place for the kids to hang out,” Angus said, “and the middle of town is ideal. You can see ’em better there.”

The server came back. Suki and Michael ordered burgers, and Angus asked for fish-and-chips.

“You know they’re French fries, right?” the server asked.

“I figured.”

When she left, Michael stood and stuck his hand in his pocket. “I’m going to play something on the jukebox.”

“I doubt you’ll find any Thelonius Monk on it, if that’s what you’re after,” Angus said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You have to play Johnny Cash or Patsy Cline on a jukebox. It’s the rule.” Michael went over and pushed buttons for a while, then sauntered back in rhythm to Cline’s “Walkin’ After Midnight.”

“Nice strut,” Suki said.

“So what did you come up with today?” Angus asked her.

“Charlotte Baskerville pulled Ellen Froehlich out of a deep depression over a man,” Suki said.

“Hah. That’s paltry,” Michael scoffed. “I saw Bob Hume give a ride to a woman who then sneaked all the way around the block to go inside the Baskerville house.”

“That’s weird,” Suki said. “If she didn’t want to be seen with him, why not have him drop her half a block away?”

“Maybe Bob wouldn’t do it,” Michael suggested.

“Or maybe she just wanted the exercise,” Suki countered.

“I
meant,
” Angus said loudly, “what did you come up with in the way of material for our article?”

“Oh.” Suki stared into space for a moment. “Possible ghost in the cellar of the Regency restaurant, and the lights went out while we were there.”

“Did they indeed?” Angus asked.

“Turned out to be a prep cook who’s keen on saving energy. Still, that Barb Metcalf has a pair of lungs on her.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Michael asked.

“No, I’m talking about actual lungs. Judging by the scream she let out, she must have the aerobic capacity of a triathlete. I got a great picture of her looking terrified. At first she didn’t want to sign a release, but I told her it made her look like Jodie Foster.”

“Good work, Suki.” Angus gave Michael a pointed look.

“I did stuff,” Michael said. “I took a tour of Miramont Castle and saw some pictures of ghosts and orbs—little circles of light.”

“You get those when the flash reflects off particles in the air,” Suki said.

“I figured it was something like that,” Michael said. “Anyway, Phoebe said that since we’re press, we can come to the wake for free. We just don’t get to eat. Oh, and on the way here, I got some man-on-the-street interviews about the ghosts of pets—people who feel their cat jump up on the bed at night, even though Fluffy is buried in a box in the backyard.”

Angus nodded. “That’s good, relatable material.”

“It’s a hypnagogic hallucination is what it is,” Michael said.

“What’s that?” Suki asked.

“It’s—,” Michael began.

Angus cut him off. “Hypnagogia is the state between being awake and being asleep. During it, people sometimes hear, see, or feel things.”

“Like something jumping on the bed,” Michael finished. “Or spiders crawling across the ceiling. That’s very popular for some reason.”

“Here’s a question for you, Michael,” Angus said. “If you hear a loud bang, do you assume that it’s a gunshot?”

“No. It’s more likely to be a car backfiring.”

“It could also be caused by someone dropping a stack of boards, or any number of things. My point is, different events can be responsible for the same result—a loud noise. So why does hypnagogia have to be the
only
explanation for feeling that your cat is jumping on the bed?”

“Because you can spot the signs of hypnagogia on an EEG, but to my knowledge, people aren’t reliably spotting ghosts. In real life, you don’t get to choose what makes the loud noise.”

Angus held up a finger. “Ah, but ghosts aren’t real life. They’re outside life, and can’t be measured.”

“Then why do ghost hunters run around measuring drops in temperature?” Michael asked triumphantly.

As the waitress brought their food to the table, Angus shook out his napkin. “Let’s get something straight. While you’re working for
Tripping,
strange noises are caused by spirit activity and orbs are…” He looked at Suki pointedly. “What?”

She paused with a fry halfway to her mouth. “Ghost cats jumping on the bed?”

“Floating entities.”

“You’re the boss.” Suki wiped her fingers on her napkin. “Do you think Charlotte has kicked Thomas out yet?”

Michael unwrapped his flatware from its paper napkin. “Is she really going to ask for a divorce, based on a ghostly voice?”

“I think it’s based on the fact that he’s an asshole,” Suki said. “The voice was just the kicker.”

“There’s no asking about it,” Angus said. “She’s telling him they’re getting a divorce.” He dipped a fry in ketchup. “Perhaps we should call first instead of showing up unannounced.”

*   *   *

The sky had clouded over and it was near dark when they reached the Baskerville house.

Charlotte opened the door to them. She had dark circles under her eyes but looked happier than they’d seen her last. “You won’t believe the change in Thomas,” she whispered. “I should have threatened to divorce him years ago.”

“So you’re not going to do it?” Angus whispered.

“We’ll see, but he’s apologized and promised to see a therapist about his anger.”

Angus squeezed her shoulder. “That’s good news.”

“And to think that Petey was the catalyst.” She took Angus’s hands and gripped them. “He’s still looking out for me from beyond the grave.” She gave his hands a final squeeze and turned toward the interior of the house. “If you want to go into the kitchen, there’s a fresh pot of decaf. I’m going to put on something warmer, and then I’ll join you to finish the interview.”

They went into the kitchen as her footsteps pattered up the stairs.

Angus sat on one of the kitchen chairs, looking pleased. “This has just turned into one hell of a story. Dog’s ghost reconciles beloved owners.
It was the one thing he had to do before his spirit could rest.
”

Michael picked up the coffeepot and sniffed it before filling a mug with a picture of a Chihuahua on it. “That’s assuming Charlotte Baskerville wants her personal life put in a magazine.”

“We needn’t go into details.” Angus straightened a plaid place mat with an appliquéd Chihuahua. “We’ll say something like,
Their busy lives kept them apart—until Petey’s ghost reminded them of what they meant to each other.
”

Suki laughed. “Thomas’s busy life consisting of trying to get his wife committed.”

“Shh…” Angus held up a hand and looked toward the doorway.

A moment later, Thomas Baskerville entered, neck thrust forward and hands in his pockets. He saw them and stopped, frowning. Then he straightened and smiled, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Come to tie up some loose ends before you go?”

“Something like that,” Angus said.

“Good, good.” Thomas went over to the coffeemaker. His hand hovered over the upturned mugs on the draining rack before picking one that pictured a Chihuahua in a clown costume and filling it. “I won’t intrude,” he said, turning to leave.

Charlotte appeared in the doorway, wearing a rose-colored cardigan with a ruffled scarf tied around her neck. She held out both hands to her husband. “Don’t go, Thomas. We’re going to talk about Petey. You can help me remember some of the funny things he used to do.”

As they found seats, Michael looked at Suki and mouthed,
Awkward
. Then he took his recorder out of his pocket and raised it. “Do you mind if I turn this on?”

“Of course not,” Charlotte said. “Do you, Thomas?”

Thomas shook his head and stared glassily out the window.

Angus took out a notepad. “Charlotte, I’d like to start with your experience of seeing Petey’s ghost the first time. Did you feel any kind of intent from him?”

She thought for a moment. “No, I can’t say that I did. I just remember thinking it couldn’t be real—I must be dreaming.”

“Maybe you were dreaming,” Thomas put in. His hands tightened on the mug he held.

Charlotte patted his wrist. “No, dear. I think getting the window up would have woken me. It took a bit of work, and it was so cold outside. Plus, Lila and Chum both heard him.”

“You might have dreamed that, too.”

“I don’t think so.” Her tone held a little asperity. She turned back to Angus. “Anyway, all I remember is the sense of disbelief. I was a little afraid, too. Have you ever seen a ghost?”

Angus hesitated. “No.”

Her penciled brows rose. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Can you describe the ghost’s appearance?”

Charlotte stared into space. “Vague and floaty. It didn’t look exactly like Petey, but it was definitely Chihuahua-shaped. And it moved so lightly, like a soap bubble on the air.” Her gaze returned to Angus. “I knew it was Petey, because of his voice.”

As if on cue, the yodeling bark of a dog came from outside. Charlotte gasped.

Michael turned toward the back door. “So much for Petey’s spirit being able to rest.”

Suki went to her camera bag and unzipped it. “Maybe he’s doing one last check.”

The bark came again, and Charlotte pushed back her chair.

Thomas put a hand on her shoulder. “Charlotte, do not go out there.”

“But it’s Petey!” She braced herself on the table and squirmed from under his grip.

“Charlotte, don’t be an idiot!” He stood and struggled to keep her in her chair. “There’s no such thing as ghosts!”

She bent and lunged forward, managing to stand but hitting the corner of the table as she did so. “Ow!” She trotted toward the door, one hand pressed to her hip.

Thomas’s long stride took him there before her. “It’s not Petey! I’ll show you.” He wrenched open the door. A gust of cold air flowed in, and the howl came again, sounding closer. Leaving the door open, he ran into the backyard. “Where are you, you bastard?!”

The rest of them followed, Suki holding up her video camera.

Thomas stood on the patio like an angry bull, swinging his head back and forth.

AhoooahooooooooooOOooOO!

“It’s around front!” Michael whispered loudly, holding his recorder aloft. He took a few quiet steps in that direction.

Thomas ran past him, but instead of heading toward the narrow corridor between the Baskerville house and Bob Hume’s place, he ran toward the side yard that ran along the street. The rest of them gave up on stealth and pelted after him, Michael in the lead.

Thomas stopped in the front yard, breathing hard. The others came to a halt behind him.

Angus felt a drop of wetness on his cheek and looked up. Sparse flakes of snow fell through the light of a streetlamp. Suki cupped a hand over the top of her camera lens.

As they peered into the dark, a tiny glowing shape seemed to materialize in front of the dark hump of a bush. The head turned toward them, showing large, triangular ears.

Thomas lunged forward. “I’ll get you!” he roared, breaking into a run.

“Thomas, don’t!” Charlotte cried.

The glowing shape moved rapidly away, its legs seeming to drift above the ground. It hesitated briefly, then made a beeline for the street that curved around the house.

It all happened very quickly.

The glowing shape, looking more like a ball now, ran into the street as a car rounded the corner. Thomas Baskerville, pursuing, reached the road and windmilled his arms to stop his trajectory. Instead, he slipped on the wet asphalt and went down, out of sight.

“No!” Charlotte screamed, and her voice seemed to echo in a high-pitched wail.

The car hit something—
thud, thump
—and stopped with a screech of brakes.

Ten

Charlotte Baskerville and the
Tripping
crew stood as if frozen for a moment. Then they heard the sound of a car door opening, and it was as if the world rushed forward.

“Oh, no. No!” The man’s voice came from the road.

Charlotte turned to Angus and clutched his arm, her face anguished. Then her other hand went to her chest, and her grip on him slackened.

He caught her as she slumped. “Call 911.” The snow thickened, spiraling down onto Charlotte Baskerville’s still face.

“I’ll do it.” Suki put her camera under her arm. “Michael, give me your cell phone and help him get her inside.” She took the phone he held out and ran across the lawn toward the street and the sound of a woman’s hysterical crying.