The Collie Connection: A Foxglove Corners Mystery, #7

By Dorothy Bodoin

In the days before her wedding to Deputy Sheriff Crane Ferguson, Jennet stops to help a stranded motorist and is repaid for her good deed with an injury and the loss of her beloved collie, Halley. 

More trouble follows and before she knows it, Jennet is making wedding plans while locked in a struggle with a surprising killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597054065

Book preview

One

The fog moved with me, streaks of white condensation as soft as chiffon. Its fragile tendrils reached for my car. They wrapped themselves around the budding trees and floated above the crocuses that grew on either side of Crispian Road.

The leaves seemed to unfurl even as I looked at them. Here in northern Lapeer County, one of the most picturesque areas of Michigan, spring was more advanced than it had been up at the cabin.

This particular morning was touched with magic, everything fresh and new. Unfortunately, it was also dangerous with diminished visibility and land on the right side of the road sloping several feet down to a wooded basin. A potentially deadly drop. Thank heavens the narrow gravel lane wasn’t slick with last night’s rain.

The fog had rolled in quickly, a few miles beyond the turn-around, as if it had waited for me to appear before draping the world in fairyland mist.

I slowed down, turned my low lights on, and steered the Taurus around a winding curve, eager to be home now that Foxglove Corners was a mere thirty miles away. My friends, Leonora and Camille, were hosting a wedding shower for me in the yellow Victorian across the lane from my house, and I’d allotted myself only two hours to get ready for the party.

Wedding showers, spring flowers and... What? Lovers’ bowers? Maidens’ dowers? I had my handsome frosty-eyed deputy sheriff, Crane Ferguson, and I was blissfully and completely happy.

The highlight of my Easter vacation from teaching English at Marston High School had been a two-day trip up north to a newly-constructed log cabin with a load of household goods in the trunk and my black collie, Halley, in the back seat.

Crane had moved the furniture last week. I’d made the bed, lined drawers, unpacked towels and dishes, and covered our maple table with a red gingham cloth. All that remained to be transported north were groceries and the cabin would be ready for our brief rustic honeymoon.

At present Crane was out of town at a seminar. As usual, his absence left a chilly, hollow space in my life, but no matter. In thirty more days, we would be married in St. Felicity’s church. Thirty miles to Foxglove Corners.

Thirty is my new lucky number, I thought.

In the back seat, Halley woke and barked twice, then lapsed into a long drawn-out whine, trying for a pitiful note. I peered into the undulating whiteness. There was nothing there that should have attracted her attention.

What’s wrong, Halley? I asked. A wild creature?

It could be anything, real or imagined, from a running fox to a whiff of jelly doughnut wafting from the box on the seat beside me. She stood and pawed imperviously at the window. I cringed at the sound of nails raking against glass and looked again into the misty swirls.

Ahead on the road’s shoulder, signs appeared to swim in ribbons of gauze. I knew what they’d say, having seen similar warnings all over Foxglove Corners. ‘Horses on the Road. Drive with Care.’ A few yards farther, the silhouette of a leaping deer with heavy black lettering on white: ‘Deer X-ing’. Finally one that said simply ‘Neighborhood Watch.’

Which was wishful thinking. There was no neighborhood. Uneven terrain and deep woods bordered this section of Crispian Road. The little restaurant where I’d stopped for take-out coffee and doughnuts was at least fifteen minutes behind us. I had yet to see a house or another vehicle, but that was typical for many parts of the county.

Halley might have seen a horse. She always overreacted at the sight of one of these gigantic creatures, especially if he had a rider.

She could have sensed a horse, I corrected myself. How could either of us see far or clearly through this murk?

But there was something ahead.

A sheen of robin’s egg blue broke through moving whiteness, a compact round shape that blended seamlessly with the spring pastels. It was a Volkswagen stalled at the edge of the road’s shoulder, perched precariously in a patch of pink blossoms. Its nose pointed downward, almost nudging the top of a pine tree.

What a place to stop a car!

There was trouble here, a motorist in apparent distress. I slowed and pulled up a few yards behind the Volkswagen, told Halley to hush, and opened the door.

The air was thick with moisture, warm, and scented with a light fragrance I could only describe as Eau de Spring. Slipping my car key into my jacket pocket, I stepped down on the tall young grasses and walked into the mist.

As I came closer to the car, I could make out the figure of a young woman inside. She clutched the wheel in a death grip, skin stretched taut over her knuckles. Her head rested on her arms. Jet black hair spilled out over her white blouse.

She didn’t move until I tapped lightly on the window. Then, with a start, she turned and stared at me. Her face was pale and heavily made up, hazel eyes smeared with black mascara at the corners.

The window slid down.

Are you all right? I asked.

She didn’t answer at once but brushed strands of hair back from her forehead. Then she said. Is he dead?

Who?

I looked around, my mind tossing out an image of a man’s crumpled body lying in the road. I saw only shimmery gray gravel and, through the veiling, shreds of green.

She hesitated and rubbed her eyes, smearing the mascara low under her lids, almost to her cheeks. Finally she said in a tremulous voice, The deer... He jumped right out in front of me. I tried to stop.

Oh. I understood. With their sudden leaps into the paths of motorists, deer were responsible for an alarming number of automobile accidents and even human deaths. They were especially active at dusk and dawn, and Foxglove Corners was practically overrun with herds as new developments filled with pricey construction chiseled away at their natural habitats. Crane was always reminding me to watch out for them. Invariably I forgot, in spite of the many warning signs in the area.

I don’t see any bodies, I said. There’s no damage to your car, no splattered blood on the hood or anywhere. Your deer must have gotten away.

So I didn’t kill him?

I don’t think so, but if you hadn’t stopped where you did, you might have ended up down there.

I glanced at the slope with a shudder, imagining my own car sliding down to the low-lying ground below. Here was one danger I didn’t forget when I drove on these lonely country roads.

As she followed my gaze, her hands began to shake. She wore a ring with an enormous diamond stone in an intricate platinum setting. It was larger than mine, ostentatious really, and her necklace had the gleam of gold

She touched her throat in a nervous gesture. He passed so close to my car. I slammed on the brakes and ended up here.

Do you think you can drive? I asked.

She leaned her head against the seat. Not just yet. I’ll wait a while.

You should back up a little. You’re too close to the edge.

Yes, I should. She rummaged through her purse, breathing heavily. Now, where’s that key?

In the ignition, I said.

At that moment, I recalled my take-out order, intended for a mid-morning snack. I have coffee in my car. A jolt of caffeine might help steady your nerves.

Or a nice hot cup of tea, she said.

All I have is coffee. Let me get it for you. I can stop for more at another place.

Without waiting for an answer, I hurried back to the Taurus where Halley was still whining. The top of the passenger’s seat was wet with drool. She watched me gravely as I extricated the coffee from the cup holder.

We’ll be on the road again soon, baby, I told her.

I made my way back to the Volkswagen and passed the cup through the window. I hope you like black. It’s still hot.

She took it and drank a few gulps, wrapping her hands around the cardboard as if to warm them. She set the cup down and rubbed her eyes.

I might have been killed, she said.

But you’re alive. Probably the deer is, too.

She reached for her purse, a large shoulder bag lying next to her on the seat. Won’t you let me pay you for the coffee?

Certainly not, I said. I’m glad I could help. Do you have a long way to go?

Not very. My house is close by. She took another sip of coffee and said, I think I’ll be on my way. Thank you so much. You’re like an angel, the way you came along.

I smiled. People have to help one another out in this wilderness. Drive safely now.

She nodded, and I turned to go. Excitement over. The day’s Good Samaritan deed done. Now on to Foxglove Corners and my wedding shower.

I walked briskly back to my car, realizing that I had lost about twenty minutes and couldn’t drive over the speed limit until the fog burned away, which should be soon. A quick glance at my watch told me that it was already ten o’clock.

Halley’s whining continued. It contained a desperate pleading note.

Of course, silly, I told myself. She needs a bathroom break.

I grabbed her leash and a jelly doughnut and led her across the road a little way into the fog. The world was truly magical this morning, if an English teacher was allowed to use a trite adjective. And everything was going my way. Finally.

While Halley sniffed at a circle of buttercup-yellow flowers, I bit into the jelly doughnut, wishing I’d bought two cups of coffee. How could I have known what would happen, though? Maybe I’d have time to make a fresh pot at home before going to the shower.

And I could take one of those flowers to Camille, the master gardener of Foxglove Corners. She would be sure to know their name. If I could find some in a nursery, they’d brighten the front of my house until the forget-me-nots bloomed. I took another bite of doughnut and another step.

I stumbled. Time slowed down. I felt myself falling forward, felt a surge of disbelief as I catapulted toward the ground. Pain exploded into waves of blankness.

A STRONG SMELL OF STRAWBERRY hung in the air. I opened my eyes and saw the pink veins of a jagged boulder and a stream of red jelly seeping out of a soggy doughnut.

The lower left side of my face hurt, and the back of my head throbbed, and... Dear God! The leash! My right hand lay against the rock’s sharp side, the left under my chest. Both were empty.

Halley!

I forced myself to sit up, felt the pain migrate to my eyes, and made myself focus. I must have tripped over the rock and let the leash fall out of my hand.

I called Halley’s name and heard the rising panic in my voice. There was no answering bark, no sound except for the merry chirruping of unseen birds. I was alone on an isolated road, and the landscape was subtly different. The fog had dissipated, leaving the world greener and brighter under a warm sun.

How long had I been unconscious? And where was Halley?

I stood shakily and looked at my watch. The crystal had broken, but time moved on; it was ten-fifteen. Although every part of my body hurt, nothing seemed to be broken. One panel of my long denim skirt was damp from the dewy grasses. Absently I smoothed it, gasping at the tenderness in my hip.

Memories came in a parade of rapidly-changing images: The Volkswagen. The driver who thought she’d hit a deer. My offer to help her. The brief walk with Halley. Stumbling over the boulder. Waking up.

Abruptly I switched the memories off, trying to breathe away the nausea that settled deep inside my body. Halley was gone. I’d lost her in this godforsaken wilderness.

I leaned against a willow sapling that grew near the road and scanned my surroundings: Woods too thick to see through on my left side; that deadly slope and treetops that rose up to meet the ground on my right. Not a car in sight. No houses. No sign of life.

A sense of unreality gripped me, a suspicion that the woman had been unreal, only an illusion; that with the wave of a fairy wand, everything had vanished—the fog, the Volkswagen, its driver, and my dog. It was magic again. Dark, dreadful magic that had stolen my best friend.

I half expected the Taurus to be gone, too, but it was where I’d left it, silver and gleaming in the morning light, with the door ajar.

In my mind I could hear Crane’s voice with his strict deputy sheriff’s tone. ‘Never get out of your car on one of these lonely roads, Jennet. No matter what happens. And don’t forget to keep your doors locked.’

But how could I have driven past a woman who might have been ill, whose car might have broken down?

If you had, you’d be driving up Jonquil Lane now, and Halley would still be in the back seat, I told myself.

Recriminations were futile. I had to do something. To make a plan.

I remembered the last time I’d fallen two winters ago when I lived in Oakpoint. I was leading Halley across an unplowed street. As we were about to step up to the curb, I’d slid on ice hidden beneath the snow and fallen on my back.

Halley promptly lay down by my side, licking my face anxiously. She wouldn’t leave me of her own accord. Not then; not now.

A thought slipped into my mind. Somebody stole her. The woman in the Volkswagen, the only other person on Crispian Road.

But how unlikely is that? Logic whispered. You do her a good turn and she steals your dog? Besides, she left before you took Halley out of the car.

Did she?

I couldn’t recall hearing an accelerating engine. Intent on resuming my journey, I’d never looked back. Concentrating on Halley, yellow flowers, and my doughnut, I’d never even glanced across the road.

I didn’t know the woman’s name, and there’d have been no reason for me to notice her license plate number. What did I remember?

A white blouse with lace on the front and dainty scallop-edged cuffs. Shoulder-length jet black hair. The large diamond ring, the gold necklace. A Volkswagen the soft blue color of a robin’s egg. That was unusual. The only Volkswagens I’d seen were a bright lime green.

I was almost certain that, seeing a beautiful, obviously valuable dog, this woman had coaxed Halley into her car, leaving me lying unconscious on the ground. Still, I called Halley’s name over and over again and listened to echoes in the silence.

What could I do? Go on home without Halley? Come back tomorrow with ‘Lost Dog’ flyers? Try to find a black-haired woman in a pale blue Volkswagen who might well have left the county by now?

Whatever I did, the prospect of being reunited with my dog seemed hopeless.

Back in my car, I surveyed my reflection in the mirror. An ugly purple bruise discolored the left side of my face from my cheekbones down to my chin. At that moment I remembered my wedding shower. Suddenly it didn’t matter.

Tears burned in my eyes, obscuring my vision as the fog had earlier. Automatically, I started the car and drove out onto Crispian Road.

‘Never drive when you’re upset,’ Crane would have said.

Once again, I didn’t see another option. Somehow I had to track down the black-haired woman. When I found her, I’d find Halley.

Two

Without Halley snoozing in the back seat of the Taurus, the way home seemed interminable, one quiet country lane after another shadowed by trees with leaves fuller and greener than the ones on Crispian Road.

They cast a darkness on my day. At last I reached Foxglove Corners and a little while later turned onto Jonquil Lane where my green-gabled farmhouse waited for me. Its fanciful gingerbread trim and stained glass window gleamed in the afternoon light.

This was my dream house, from the first days shared with Halley after a spring tornado had damaged my home in Oakpoint. It was my refuge and sanctuary, a place for private tears and regrouping.

But there’s no time for grieving, I thought, as I wiped my eyes. I was late for the shower and, judging from the cars parked around Camille’s vintage yellow Victorian, all of the guests had arrived. Multi-colored balloons swayed to and fro in the gentlest of spring breezes, and pansies lined the stone-bordered path to the wraparound porch.

I parked the Taurus in my driveway and entered the house through the side door that opened onto the kitchen. Deep silence greeted me, and no energetic collie raced past me to investigate the rooms and assure herself that nothing had changed in our absence.

It’ll be like this until Halley comes home, I told myself.

And she would. I just didn’t know when.

For a moment, I stood in the kitchen, stunned, my eyes fixed on Halley’s empty food dish on the floor and the Lassie tin on the counter that held her biscuits. Realizing that I had to hurry, I forced myself to move.

First, I needed to notify the police that my dog had been stolen. I refused to say lost or strayed, so convinced was I that the woman in the Volkswagen had repaid my good deed by abducting my collie.

Next I’d let Camille know that I’d arrived, wash all signs of weeping away, redo my makeup, and change clothes. I wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened to Halley on Crispian Road until after the shower. I couldn’t possibly spoil the party Camille had so lovingly planned.

After I made my calls, I walked slowly upstairs. Every step awakened a new ache in my body, reminding me of my fall. But I knew I hadn’t broken any bones, and eventually the soreness would go away. Until then two Tylenol should help me get through the rest of the day.

In the dresser mirror, I examined the bruises on the left side of my body and a deep red break in the skin on my knee. It looked as if I’d been flung down on a hard surface, which was close to what had happened. If I was in pain and bereft, I had only myself to blame. I’d let my attention wander, thinking about how good a jelly doughnut tastes and the yellow wildflowers.

My clothes would hide the damage to my body, but what would camouflage the bruise on my face? I dusted Ivory powder on, and it looked even worse. I tried brushing my layered dark hair forward. When I moved my head, it slipped back into its accustomed place.

Disheartened, I clasped a strand of pearls around my neck and slipped on my blue rayon dress. The shade complemented the bruise. Perfect, I thought. It’s a match.

As soon as the shower was over, I intended to head back to Crispian Road. In my imaginings, which were kind, my precious black collie would be waiting at the roadside for me. Halley was the perfect gift. The only one I wanted.

I CROSSED JONQUIL LANE and climbed the eight stairs to the yellow Victorian, dodging a pair of restless red balloons. The door opened immediately, and there stood Camille, with her black Belgian shepherd, Twister, at her heel.

Oh, my dear. Her gaze fell on my face. I made myself keep my hand from traveling up to the bruise. She hugged me. We’ve been so worried about you. What happened?

A minor setback, I said, attempting a smile. But my lips began to tremble.

Twister ambled up to me and stood at my side, patiently waiting to be acknowledged. I gave him a few gentle pats on the head.

They gathered in the vestibule, the friends I’d made during my two years in Foxglove Corners: Lila and Letty Woodville, the elderly sisters who ran the Caroline Meilland Animal Shelter; Lucy Hazen, our celebrated horror story writer, in her signature black with gold chains and bracelets that jingled and clanged when she moved; Jill Lodge, sprightly reporter for the Maple Falls Banner; fragile Miss Eidt of the Foxglove Corners Public Library with her new assistant; young Nikki Holland, who lived on Park Street near the library, and Sue, my new neighbor who had moved into the grand white Queen Anne Victorian, the fanciest house on Jonquil Lane.

Among the Marston High School guests was Carola, our new teacher in the English Department. She’d come with my good friend, Leonora, and Katie, Leonora’s rival for the affections of Coach Adam Barrett. Because Leonora claimed she wasn’t serious about Adam, her relationship with Katie could be congenial.

Through a rain of white and silver crepe paper streamers, I saw a high stack of presents on Camille’s coffee table, boxes of all shapes, hiding treasures.

Were you in an accident? asked Leonora.

I had a fall with Halley. Nothing serious. It looks worse than it is. I glanced beyond the presents to the antique mahogany table in Camille’s dining room. The table, resplendent with silver, antique china and crystal, could have starred in an issue of House Beautiful. Oh, this is so lovely!

I tried another smile, or rather a half-smile. This time my lips didn’t tremble.

Now aren’t you glad we did this? Camille asked.

Yes, I said. It’s wonderful to be here with all of you.

I hadn’t wanted a bridal shower.

Call it a pre-wedding luncheon then, Camille had said when she’d broached the subject in February. A little party—with presents.

But Crane and I have everything we need, I protested. Remember, we’ve each maintained separate households for years.

Oh, but a bride can never have enough lingerie, she added with a sly twinkle in her blue eyes. We’ll make it a lingerie shower. Something small and simple." She was determined to have her shower, just as she was determined to bake and decorate our wedding cake in her own kitchen.

Well, I said, I don’t want to play silly games.

Then we won’t. We’ll just be a small group of friends gathered together to wish you well.

And no bawdy humor.

That twinkle came to her eyes again. Of course not, Jennet. You know me.

Okay, I said. I’d love that kind of party.

It’s settled then. Simplicity will be the watchword.

Camille’s table looked anything but simple with African violets as favors at each place setting, tall white tapers casting a mellow glow on her Royal Doulton dishes, and a layer cake frosted with tulips in Easter colors.

Why didn’t you bring Halley? Camille asked. She should be part of every one of your wedding festivities.

Twister had stationed himself at the picture window, nose pressed close to the glass. He was watching for more company, having no way of knowing that all the invited ones were here. Perhaps he was waiting for Halley who usually accompanied me on visits to Camille.

I had an answer prepared. I suspect she’s sleeping. We had a long ride.

Keep that smile in place, I ordered myself. Pretend. Tell white lies. Do whatever you have to do, but don’t ruin the party.

How was Crane’s log cabin? Lucy asked.

Beautiful. In move-in condition. They finished it ahead of schedule.

It’s a neat place for a honeymoon, Leonora said. You’ll have plenty of privacy out in the woods. She took my arm. Let’s get this party started. We’re all starved.

Leonora has been raiding the cupcake platter, said Jill.

I have not. That’s you, Jill. Leonora surveyed my face. I hope your bruise will fade before the wedding.

That thought had occurred to me earlier, inspiring an extra dusting of Ivory powder.

Me too, I said. I have a whole month to heal.

Lucy moved toward the table and examined her African violet. Its flowers were deep blue with ruffled white fringes. Like mine. Come. Let’s eat, she said, and the rest of us joined her.

When it