Chihuahua of the Baskervilles (7 page)

The man in the suit raised his hands in apology. “I’m very sorry to have approached you this way, ma’am. Mr. Baskerville told me you had agreed to a consultation.”

“You heard her say she needs therapy, right?” Thomas demanded.

The suited man took a step back. “I’ll be going now.”

“Just a moment,” Angus said, moving between him and the stairs. “I think you should give Mrs. Baskerville your card, in case she needs another witness to her husband’s harassment.”

The man groaned and reached into a pocket.

“Don’t listen to them!” Thomas raged. “The house is full of moochers, living off my wife’s money! These people are probably telling her the spirits want her to write them a big check.”

Angus shook his head sadly. “What a thing to say, and after you had dinner with a lawyer, too. Do you not know the meaning of slander, Mr. Baskerville?”

“I said
probably
. You can’t get me on that.” He jerked his head at the psychiatrist. “Let’s go. You’re no help at all.” Thomas walked quickly down the hallway, but the other man beat him and clattered down the stairs first.

Charlotte let out a breath that was almost a sob. “I just want you to know that I would
never
have married a man who acted this way. It’s as though he got into the habit of being angry and now he can’t stop.”

“Not to be too personal, but I hope the Petey’s Closet finances are separate from your joint accounts,” Angus said.

She nodded. “I set them up that way from the first, so I wouldn’t be tempted to take money from the household budget.” She sighed, then turned in the doorway and looked behind her. “
Listen.
Did you hear something?”

Followed by Angus, Charlotte tiptoed toward the window, then stopped at the sound of a faint howl, coming from somewhere outside. It ended in a tremulous warble. “That’s him,” she whispered. “That’s Petey!”

Angus turned toward Suki and Michael, who stood just outside the bedroom door. “Get out there,” he said, jerking his head toward the stairs. “Quietly.”

Michael and Suki ran back into the parlor to collect their gear. Michael found his recorder in the pocket of his jacket, then saw that Suki was already out the door.

He ran into the hallway after her, pulling his arms through the jacket’s sleeves and wishing his shoes made less noise. Suki was almost silent as they ran down the stairs, and he saw that what he’d taken for dressy shoes actually had flat, soft soles. “Is that the still or video camera?” he asked.

“Both,” she whispered back. When they got to the bottom, she turned toward the front door.

Michael grabbed her shoulder. “What are you doing? It’s in the back!”

“The kitchen light’s on, and all those windows make that room like a goldfish bowl. Whatever’s out there, it’ll see us coming if we go that way.”

“We could turn out the light,” Michael suggested.

“That’s just as obvious.” She opened the front door and slipped outside.

Michael followed as Suki ran lightly across the wet front yard, holding the camera tripod at the halfway mark. The bark came again, louder this time, still warbling at the end.

Michael switched on his recorder and held it in front of him. The little machine was designed to be spoken into, but maybe it would pick up something.

A nearby streetlight gave enough illumination to show the end of a narrow sidewalk that led to the backyard. It was darker between the houses, and they walked more slowly.

Michael saw Suki step over something and hesitated until he could make out a coiled garden hose on the path. They reached the privacy fence. Luckily, the gate stood open.

The bark came again.
It sounds the same as the last time,
Michael thought.
As though it’s a recording.

Suki stood close to the house and gently eased the tripod legs open. Then she walked a few steps forward onto the patio and set it carefully in front of her.

Michael was close enough to hear the soft noise of the camera powering on. He expected to see the tiny blink of a status light, but nothing happened. Maybe she had it disabled. He looked down at his recorder and covered the red power light with his thumb before moving quietly forward.

Rowf … OohooOOoo …

The now-familiar sound floated through the air. When it ended, Michael heard a solitary car drive by, maybe a block away. After that, the deep silence of a small town descended, broken only by the occasional drip of rainwater from branches.

Still, they weren’t the only people out here. Slits of light interrupted the dark walls of Ellen’s stone workshop, from behind lowered shades.

Michael stepped carefully to Suki’s side and put his mouth close enough to feel her hair on his lips. His voice no more than a breath, he said, “What if it’s just Ellen, putting a video of Petey on the Web site or something?”

The bark came again, but this time the wavering howl at the end grew longer, louder, the final note oscillating until it sounded like words spoken in a high, quavering voice.

Woourtuhvohsss … Tuhvortahmahhhhhzzz … Duhvohhhhzzzz … Tihbohrahnowwww …
The sound died away.

Michael, still with his head next to Suki’s, whispered, “Or maybe not.”

They waited, but the night remained silent. The voice had apparently gone. Michael was just switching off his recorder when Angus’s loud whisper came from above.

“Hey, you lot. Are you down there?”

Michael and Suki walked forward into the yard and looked up and back, to where Angus and Charlotte could be seen at the open second-floor window.

“We’re here!” Suki said, just loud enough to be heard. “I didn’t see anything, did you?”

“No.”

“I had my recorder going,” Michael said, in a more normal voice. “But it’s not designed for distance. I don’t know if it picked up anything.”

“My camera has a microphone that’s for more general stuff,” Suki added. “It might have gotten something.”

“I’m coming down,” Angus called. He disappeared from the window.

“I’m going to check the workshop,” Michael said. Followed by Suki, he walked over to the stone building and knocked on the door.

After a moment, Ellen opened it. “Yes?” Classical music played in the background, the romantic swell of violins overlying the whir of an electric heater that stood in one corner of the room.

“Did you hear the howling outside?” Michael asked her.

“When?”

“Just now.”

She looked from one to the other of them. “I didn’t hear a thing. These stone walls block most sound, plus, we had storm windows put on.” She opened the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

Angus joined them. “What’s going on?”

“Can I try a brief experiment in here?” Michael asked Ellen.

“Go ahead.”

Inside, the workshop tables were bare except for papers. Several file drawers stood open.

Michael walked over to a small boom box and turned the music up to about three times the volume. “Sorry, but this will just take a second.” He gestured to Suki and Angus. “Could you two go outside and listen?”

The other two went outside, and Michael closed the door behind them. Then he opened it. “Is the music about the same volume as the dog noise?”

“Crank it up maybe twenty-five percent,” Suki said.

Angus hunched deeper into his jacket and blew out a breath. “This is a waste of time.”

Michael went inside again. The music played, and they stood in the chill air. Then the sound dropped and disappeared, and Michael opened the door.

Ellen appeared beside him, looking angry. “I wasn’t playing dog sounds from in here.”

“Of course not,” Angus soothed.

Michael stepped outside and folded his arms. “Recorded violins heard through a stone building might conceivably sound like a dog howling.”

Suki shook her head doubtfully. “This is Bach, not Stravinsky.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Ellen said, “I’m going back to work.” She closed the door.

“Where’s Charlotte?” Suki asked.

“Lying down,” Angus said. “She feels a bit rattled, as you might expect after hearing a ghost. Not to mention her husband suggesting she’s crazy.”

“Speaking of Mr. Charm,” Michael said, “where is Thomas Baskerville?”

“I suppose we ought to make sure he’s not playing tricks,” Angus said.

They went back inside and trooped through the house to the downstairs parlor, where Angus rapped on the door to Thomas’s room. No one answered.

“Anyone notice what kind of car he drives?” Angus asked.

“I saw a silver Corolla parked outside,” Suki said. “That might be his.”

They went outside and looked up and down the street. There was no Corolla, and the closest car was two houses away. “Hmm…,” Angus said. “I don’t like the idea of Charlotte being at home alone if he comes back.”

“Ellen’s here,” Michael pointed out.

“In that stone hut where she can’t hear a damn thing.”

At that moment, a battered Ford Explorer pulled up, bass speakers thumping through the closed windows. The engine and music shut off, and Cheri opened the passenger door. Her fur-trimmed suede jacket hung open, showing a silvery, low-necked top. “Hey,” she said to them. “Did you go to the Happy Mountaineer?”

“We went to Rhumbalicious,” Angus said.

A young man appeared around the other side of the car. His jet black hair was shiny and short, and led into long sideburns. He wore black jeans and a long fitted coat, and held his arms away from his body as he walked toward them.

“Hey,” he said, his glance taking them all in before coming to rest on Suki.

“Guys, this is Jay,” Cheri said. “Jay, these are the people from the magazine.”

“You missed all the excitement,” Angus said.

“Did you see something?” Cheri asked eagerly.

“We heard something,” Angus said. “If we’re lucky, either Michael or Suki will have caught it on tape.”

“Digital, actually,” Michael said.

The sound of a sliding-glass door preceded Bob Hume’s voice. “Are you having a party? I have some dip.” Light silhouetted his rounded figure as he stood on the upstairs deck of the neighboring house.

Jay muttered something too quiet to hear.

“I’ll come over,” Bob called.

Angus raised his hands to his mouth. “It’s not neces—” He broke off as the sliding door thumped shut.

“You gotta be quick,” Jay said quietly.

In moments, Bob was pattering up the sidewalk, holding a bowl in both hands.

Angus reluctantly held open the door to the Baskerville house. “We’re not having a party.”

“That’s all right. Dip is good anytime. This one has celery and Tabasco added to regular onion dip.”

“I’ll see if Charlotte is up to joining us.” Angus said, his hand on the banister. “Why don’t the rest of you go into the kitchen?”

“I have to get my laptop.” Suki went up the stairs past him, carrying her camera on its tripod.

Bob followed Michael, Cheri, and Jay toward the kitchen, chattering as he went. “The only thing is, I don’t have chips. I was going to buy chips tomorrow. Maybe we could eat this on toast. Is Charlotte all right?”

“She’s fine.” Michael sat at the kitchen table and fiddled with his recorder.

Cheri opened a cupboard and took out a bag of corn chips, which she put on the table. “So you heard the ghost. What did it sound like?”

“Like a dog that was trying to talk,” Michael said.

“Whoa.” Jay took off his black coat and folded it carefully over the back of his chair before sitting.

Angus and Charlotte came in. Suki followed, carrying her laptop, her video camera, and a handful of other equipment.

They settled around the table, Charlotte at the head, her hands clasped tightly. “I’ve never heard anything so frightening.” Her voice was barely audible over the crackling of the chip bag as Bob opened it.

“Michael, did your machine get anything?” Angus asked.

Michael turned the volume all the way up on his recorder and held it to his ear. “You can tell there’s a sound, but that’s about it.”

“We might be able to jack into my car stereo,” Jay said.

Suki plugged a set of small cube speakers into her laptop. “Let’s see what we get with this.”

On the laptop screen, the video frame showed a foggy square of charcoal. They heard the gentle crunch of a leaf under someone’s foot, remarkably clear. And then the sound of Petey’s distinctive bark.

Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself.

“I think it’s the next one where he talks,” Suki said.

They sat, tense and listening. Soft white noise came through, and then a slight breathy sound.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Michael said. “Is that it?”

Suki raised a hand. “That’s
you,
whispering.”

“Oh.”

Rowf … OohooOOoo … Woourtuhvohsss … Tuhvortahmahhhhhzzz … Duhvohhhhzzzz … Tihbohrahnowwww …

“Oh, my
God,
” Cheri whispered.

“That is seriously weird.” Jay shook his head solemnly, then put a loaded chip in his mouth.

Bob bounced in his chair. “It sounds like words, doesn’t it? Can we hear it again?”

“Just a sec.” Suki pulled the laptop toward her. “I have a video-editing program on this. I’ll cut the talking part out and put it on loop. It’ll be quicker in the long run.”

After a few minutes, she clicked on the touchpad and sat back. The weirdly modulated words played through once, then started over. “Hold on. Let me see if I can screen out the fuzz.” She made an adjustment. “That’s better.”

Charlotte leaned forward on the table. “That almost sounded like ‘Thomas.’”

“Try making it faster,” Michael suggested.

Their lips moved as they tried to make sense of the syllables.

“That last word kind of sounds like
tiburón,
” Suki said.

“It does,” Bob agreed. “
Tiburón
means
shark
in Spanish. Maybe it’s a warning.”

Angus gave him a wry look. “I think we’re pretty safe from sharks, here in the center of the country.”

Woourtuhvohsss … Tuhvortahmahhhhhzzz … Duhvohhhhzzzz … Tihbohrahnowwww …

“Tuhvor, duhvohz…,” Michael muttered.