Chihuahua of the Baskervilles (3 page)

From the backseat, Michael asked, “Do you actually believe in ghost dogs?”

Angus glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned. “If you don’t, for God’s sake keep it to yourself.”

Michael tapped Suki’s shoulder. “You on board with astral Airedales and ectoplasmic Afghans?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Eh. Who knows?”

“Michael, I hope your personal beliefs won’t interfere with your professionalism,” Angus said. “We want to be very respectful of Mrs. Baskerville’s experience.”

“Don’t worry about me. It’s just the lack of real coffee talking.”

“I hope so. Suki, ghosts are notoriously hard to photograph, but at the very least, get some atmospheric shots of the yard and house.” He hesitated. “Reflective surfaces look nice in pictures.”

“I brought a fog filter that does some cool stuff,” she said.

Angus smiled. “There’s a good lass.”

Four

The Baskervilles lived in a large Victorian house on a corner lot, not far from the main street of Manitou Avenue.

Ellen Froehlich opened the door. “Can I help you?”

Angus smiled graciously. “We’re with
Tripping,
ma’am.”

“Excuse me?” She smiled nervously. “I’ll lend you my cell phone if someone’s had an overdose, but you can’t come in the house.”

Michael looked at Angus. “We really need to change the magazine’s name.”

“If we did that, we’d lose existing readers.”

Suki caught Ellen’s eye and lifted the camera around her neck. “We’re here about the ghost dog.”

“Oh, the magazine people!” Ellen’s expression lightened, and she opened the door wider. “Charlotte’s expecting you. Come on in.”

They followed her into the foyer.

“Um…” She peeked into the front parlor. “You can wait in here for a minute. I’ll get Charlotte for you.”

As Ellen’s footsteps pattered up the stairs, Suki took a few photos of the room. “Nice clock. It’d be spookier without the stuffed pooch.”

Michael took out a notebook and scribbled a few notes as he looked at the framed photos of costumed dogs. “Do you suppose they put on doggy fashion shows, and if so, do they use a catwalk?”

Angus wandered over to a bookshelf. “I don’t know, but if Charlotte Baskerville likes the article, she’ll mention our magazine to everyone on her client list, and her business is worth three hundred thousand a year.”

Michael looked up from taking notes. “Are you serious?”

“Toy breeds are on the rise.” Angus angled his head to see a book title better. “Small dogs are cheaper to keep, and outfits from Petey’s Closet start at under twenty dollars. It’s inexpensive entertainment to take your dressed-up pup for a walk.” He turned as a door opened in the back wall of the room.

Thomas Baskerville took two steps before coming to a halt. His gaze took in the newcomers and stopped on Suki. “Who are you people?”

Angus stepped forward and offered his hand. “Angus MacGregor.
Tripping
.”

Thomas took a step back. “Damn hippies.”

“
Tripping
magazine,” Suki said. “We’re here about the ghost.”

Thomas’s mouth turned up in a sneer. “I suppose you’re here to capitalize on my wife’s increasing instability.”

Angus’s smile disappeared. “We’re here to report on a legitimate phenomenon. Fifty percent of Americans believe in hauntings.”

“Which means half don’t—the sane half.”

Angus regained his smile. “Let’s talk about Petey’s Closet. Presumably you have no objection to promoting the family business.”

“It’s nothing to do with me, and I wouldn’t dignify it with the name
business
. Just a club of crazy women who think their dogs are babies.” Thomas went back into his room. The door closed behind him with a sharp click.

“Well,”
Angus said. “So much for Mr. Baskerville.”

Michael shook his head in disbelief. “Talk about dirty laundry. Why is Charlotte Baskerville’s husband trying to sabotage her?”

Angus shook his head. “We’re not here to unearth family skeletons. We’ll write up the ghost and the town—that’s it.”

They turned as Charlotte Baskerville entered the room, followed by Ellen. Lila trotted at their heels.

Angus strode forward and engulfed Charlotte’s small hand in both of his. “Angus MacGregor,” he said, his Scottish accent thickening. “It’s a pleasure to meet such an accomplished lady.”

Charlotte’s smile strengthened. “Thank you, Mr. MacGregor. I’m so glad you could come.”

“It must be very exciting to have seen your beloved Petey.”

She let go of his hand and sat rather suddenly. “I’ve never given ghosts any thought, but not only did I see something, I
heard
Petey. He had a very distinctive bark, with a little yodel at the end.” She looked up at Ellen, who stood beside her. “You remember.”

Ellen smiled. “We used to call him our little coyote.”

“I’m sorry,” Angus said to Ellen, “but I didn’t get your name.”

“Ellen Froehlich. I design the clothes for Petey’s Closet.”

“Then compliments are in order. I particularly like the sweater with the leather elbow patches. It’s something I might wear myself.”

She flushed slightly. “Thank you. I was one of the first designers to use patches. They’re actually Ultrasuede, so the dog’s joints aren’t restricted.”

Angus nodded. “It’s all in the details.” He looked down at Lila, who stood at the bottom of Charlotte’s chair, wearing a periwinkle blue jacket with white piping. “This must be someone important.”

“Lila, sit,” Charlotte said. The dog’s rump went down smartly. “Now be pretty.”

Lila cocked her head at Angus and raised one paw.

Angus chuckled. “Very sweet.”

“She’ll stay that way until you shake hands,” Charlotte said.

Angus squatted and gently clasped the tiny black paw. “Pleasure,” he said solemnly. He stood and gestured to Michael and Suki. “This is my staff, Michael Abernathy, writer, and Suki Oota, photographer. Perhaps we could have a look at where the apparition appeared?”

“Of course.” Charlotte pushed herself to her feet and led the way out of the parlor, down the hall, and into the kitchen. “There’s always a pot of coffee on the counter, and cookies in the jar. Please feel free to help yourself.” She passed a large kitchen table and opened the door to the backyard.

Lila rushed to the edge of the yard and began a circuit of the wooden fence, sniffing as she went.

The rest of them walked across the flagstone patio. A weak autumn sun shone through the bare branches of an ash on the east side of the yard. The other side was taken up with an extensive agility course, complete with tube, ladder, and jumps.

The stone workshop sat near the back of the lot. A man squatted next to the corner of the building, staring at the ground.

Angus narrowed his eyes. “Is that someone from another publication?”

“No, that’s Ivan Blotski, the dogs’ trainer,” Charlotte said.

Ivan stood as they neared him. He wasn’t tall, but the black pullover sweater he wore accentuated powerful shoulders and gave the illusion of stature, as did his heeled Italian boots. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, though deep lines ran on either side of his mouth. A ponytail held his thick black hair away from his face.

“Ivan, these are the people from
Tripping
magazine,” Charlotte said. She introduced each of them.

When introduced to Suki, Ivan smiled, revealing yellowed teeth, one of them broken. “You look like Mongol princess.”

“Not really, but thanks. Can I take your picture?”

“Please. I could use new head shot.” He closed his mouth and looked moodily into the distance.

“Are you an entertainer?” Suki snapped the picture and lowered the camera.

“Not yet, but I will have TV show soon.” He shot a glance at Charlotte. “It will be excellent for Petey’s Closet to sponsor it.”

Michael lifted his notebook. “What’s the show’s name?”

Charlotte smiled a little wearily. “There’s no show. I’d love to help Ivan, but I have too much on my plate to get involved with a new project.” She looked at the ground Ivan had been examining. “Oh, you’ve put stakes around the tracks—what a good idea.”

He glowered at her. “All Ivan’s ideas are excellent.”

Charlotte pushed him gently to one side. “See the little paw prints? They glow in the dark.”

“Could you all stand back a little?” Suki came forward and shot a series of pictures from overhead.

Michael took a small device from his pocket.

“Is that ghost meter?” Ivan asked.

“No, it’s a digital recorder. Ms. Baskerville, is it all right if I record our conversations?”

“Of course, dear,” Charlotte said.

Michael switched on the machine. “Do you have to shine a light on the tracks for them to glow?”

Angus chuckled, but there was an edge to the sound. “Perhaps you think Petey carried his own flashlight.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. “I don’t understand.”

“What I mean is, do they work like commercial glow-in-the-dark paint or chalk, which needs to be charged with light?” Michael asked.

“Oh, I see.” Charlotte smiled. “I don’t think so. They were glowing when I came out here, and it was night.”

Michael nodded. “Sure, but if someone charged the paint somewhere else—say, the workshop—it would glow for a while. I see your dogs run around in the yard.”

“Yes.”

“So the glowing tracks could be their tracks that were simply rubbed with—”

Angus cleared his throat loudly. “None of that explains a spectral dog that can float onto a ten-foot roof, of course.”

Michael looked at the workshop. “Its only six feet at the edge.”

Ivan chortled. “Americans—always looking for the complicated explanation. Is simple. Is ghost. We had two ghosts follow us through the countryside in Siberia, till we laid a trail of dried peas.” He frowned. “Peas might not stop ghost dog. Trail of raw liver, maybe.”

Suki looked up from her camera. “That would certainly stop me.”

“What’s on the other side of the workshop?” Michael asked. He headed that way, and the others followed.

The fence at the back of the yard was older and shorter than the privacy fence that surrounded the rest of the backyard. In the middle, a decrepit gate sagged on its hinges.

Michael jotted a note. “Did you look in the workshop after you saw the ghost?”

“We didn’t.” Charlotte looked from Ivan to Ellen. “There didn’t seem to be a reason.”

“Can we go in there now?” Michael asked.

“I really don’t think—,” Angus began.

“No, it’s fine,” Charlotte said. “Ellen, do you have your key with you? Mine is in the house.”

“Um, let me think. Oh, it’s all right, I have it.” She patted her pants pockets, then pulled out a key.

They followed her to the other side, where a modern door looked incongruous in the rough stone wall.

“Why doesn’t the workshop face the back of the house?” Michael asked.

Charlotte answered. “The workshop is the original house, dating from 1867. They built it to face the other street of this corner lot. You don’t make structural changes lightly when it comes to stone.”

Ellen opened the door. The rest of them followed her inside, except for Ivan. He waved a box of cigarettes and said, “I will stay here,” before closing the door.

The workshop’s long interior was surprisingly modern, with white walls and track lighting. Tables and shelves lined the walls, and long bolts of fabric hung from a rack in a corner.

“This is a nice space,” Suki said, raising her camera.

“No pictures.” Ellen spoke sharply, then looked apologetic. “It’s just that we have to protect the designs.”

“Of course.” Angus wandered over to one of the tables. “I’ve never seen a sewing machine with a computer screen in the side.” He picked up a scrap of dark blue fabric. “Little embroidered bones! Where do you find something like that?”

“The machine sews them, along with about sixty other things.” Ellen smiled at her employer. “Charlotte insisted on getting the best.”

Charlotte squeezed her arm. “You needed something to distract you.”

“Distract her from what?” Michael asked.

Ellen looked at the floor. “I was going through a rough time, personally.”

“I see.” When she didn’t say anything more, Michael pointed toward two file cabinets on the far wall. “Aren’t you worried someone will break in here one night and steal your design records?”

Charlotte shook her head. “Anyone who wants previous patterns could just look in our back catalogs. It’s the current work that needs to be kept under wraps, but the workshop has a good lock, and we can look out the window from the house and see it.”

Suki scanned the worktables, which were almost clear. “What are you working on?”

Ellen bit her lip.

“Nothing, at the moment,” Charlotte answered brightly. “I guess all artists need some time to percolate. Shall we go back to the house? The heater’s not on in here, and I’m getting cold.”

Outside, Ivan ground out the stub of his cigarette and followed them as they returned to the house.

“Mr. MacGregor, would you like to set up headquarters in the upstairs parlor?” Charlotte smiled at Michael. “We can come out tonight after it’s dark and see if the tracks glow before we shine a light on them.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Mrs. Baskerville,” Angus said. “Would it also be possible to interview the members of your staff? We’ll try not to take too much of their time, but it sounds as though Ivan here has some previous experiences with the supernatural.”

“That is true,” Ivan said. “When you are ready, I will go first.”

“We’ll probably interview Mrs. Baskerville first,” Angus said.

“It’s up to each of them,” Charlotte said, “but as far as I’m concerned, you can interview anyone. And please, call me Charlotte.”

As they neared the house, Ellen lagged behind. “I think I’ll turn on the heater in the workshop. Get some stuff done.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, dear.”

The back door opened, and a petite young woman stood there, one hand over the mouthpiece of a portable phone. “Grandma? It’s for you.” Her mouth turned down, giving her a bored, sulky look.