A Ghost of Gunfire: A Foxglove Corners Mystery, #18

By Dorothy Bodoin

While a sadistic individual is leaving collies tethered in the woods to die of starvation and dehydration, Jennet must come to grips with her tenuous hold on reality.

Months ago a classroom shooting left one of her students dead.  Why is she now hearing a sound of gunfire when there is no shooter present?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613092224

Book preview

One

An April sun sent its golden rays streaming through the windows of the classroom, illuminating student desks arranged in neat rows, the old teacher’s desk with the red tulip plant in its center, and bulletin boards dressed in their springtime finery.

All orderly and clean and as inviting as I could make it, all ready to welcome a lively World Literature class to this room that would never feel like mine.

I pushed open the door and dropped my purse and the mail on the desk. I had ten minutes before the first students began to trickle in. Time to summon enthusiasm for the hours ahead and make sure the day’s quizzes and worksheets were ready. Time to turn myself into a bright and energetic teacher even though the day was far too lovely to spend in school.

Say something like that to Principal Grant Grimsley, and he’d recoil in horror. He’d make a new note in my personnel file.

Well, I wouldn’t be so foolish.

We were finishing To Kill a Mockingbird in this class, reviewing in Journalism, and writing an impromptu essay in American Literature Survey. It promised to be an easy day. After all, it was Friday, and it was spring.

I unlocked the closet door, slipped out of my raincoat, reached for the hanger, and...

From the back of the room, a gunshot tore through the early morning stillness. It echoed and continued to echo. The air filled with an acrid smell.

My blood turned to ice, and my heart began racing as if it would burst out of my chest. The raincoat fell out of my hand. I whirled around, expecting to see a scene from hell: students in panicked flight, bodies on the floor, blood seeping onto the dark tile.

Just like the last time.

The room was empty. No one lurked amid the rows. There was no place to lurk. No gun. No shooter.

Then what had I heard?

In my mind, I heard it still. Gunfire in an empty classroom. And it was empty. I couldn’t doubt the evidence of my eyes.

Still, I hurried to the door, expecting to see some sign of alarm in the hall. It was practically deserted. Two boys stood at their locker, engrossed in animated conversation. A stray dog who had evaded the monitor made its way down the hall, sniffing at the floor. My good friend and fellow teacher, Leonora, came slowly around the corner, balancing a coffee mug in her hand.

Shouldn’t somebody besides me be shocked, alarmed, or, at least, curious?

No. Not if nothing had happened.

THAT’S A PRETTY DRESS, Mrs. Ferguson.

It was linen, yellow with crisp white trim. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing down at my chest, hoping I wouldn’t see blood seeping through the bodice.

Thank you, Sylvia, I murmured.

Oh, you dropped your coat. She picked it up and handed it to me. Automatically I hung it on the hanger and thanked her again.

The first bell rang. In five minutes, there’d be another bell to start class.

Pull yourself together, I told myself. You can’t afford to do anything else.

Where did you get the tulip plant? Sylvia asked.

It was delivered yesterday. I smiled, forcing my way back to normalcy. A gift from Anonymous. It’s a mystery.

Someone likes you, she said. A lot.

I guess so.

There’d been no message on the card. Not even ‘Happy Spring.’ Just my name: Jennet Ferguson.

That made a new mystery in my life. No, two. Flowers from an unknown sender and the sound of gunfire in an empty room where there was no shooter.

Imagination was a powerful entity. Especially mine.

But could imagination conjure a sound of gunfire and a smell of smoke?

Last year’s shooting at Marston High School in Oakpoint, Michigan, was far removed from this glorious spring day, both in time and space. The school’s first violent incident, it had torn apart my American Literature class and the entire school as well. At the end of a few minutes of terror, one of my students lay dead, another was critically wounded, and the gunman—scarcely a man...a boy—had been subdued.

How naïve to believe recovery would be so easy.

With a minimum of chatter, the class found their seats. Jackie and Veronica passed out the class sets. I opened my gradebook and took attendance. All the familiar routines of the school day acted as healing balm. But my hand shook as I wrote the names of the absentees on the attendance slip, and I still felt cold.

We were going to read the riveting climax of To Kill a Mockingbird aloud in class this morning. Losing myself in Harper Lee’s story was the best way to banish the memory of what had happened. Whatever it was that had happened.

AT ELEVEN-THIRTY, LEONORA brought her lunch tray into my room and set it on the table we used to lay out the school newspaper.

Oh, what a beautiful day! She gazed at her hamburger and French fries without interest and pushed her long blonde hair back. It’s too nice to be in school.

That’s what I was thinking, I said. The weekend is supposed to be warm.

I unwrapped my ham sandwich and, not looking up, said, Before first hour, did you hear a loud noise?

Inside or out?

Inside. Here in H Hall.

What kind of noise? she asked.

Like a gunshot.

Good heavens, no. I never want to hear a gunshot again. Actually it’s quiet so far. My classes have been half full. Grimsley is going to have a fit.

It isn’t our fault, I said. It’s been a terrible winter. No one can blame us if we go a little crazy when the temperature climbs to seventy.

I realized what I’d said. Go a little crazy—and imagine the sound of a gun being fired.

So you didn’t hear anything? I asked.

Nothing unusual. Why do you ask?

Just curious, I said.

I should tell her about hearing the gunshot, but I didn’t. In truth, I couldn’t.

It was the first time anything like this had happened to me, and I didn’t understand it. It had been so long since the shooting. Months. The slain boy had been laid to rest; the wounded girl, Jessica, had recovered. Leonora and I, who for years had shared a spacious room separated by a divider, had been moved to another part of the building. Memories of the incident had settled uneasily into the past.

Why should I be hearing a gunshot? And why now? The shooting hadn’t even happened in this room.

Suddenly I longed for my peaceful, quiet life in Foxglove Corners. The daffodils were in bloom on Jonquil Lane. My green Victorian farmhouse was sparkling in the sunlight. My husband, Crane, was there, and our six collies.

That was my reality.

I resolved to banish the incident from my mind, took another bite of my sandwich, and asked Leonora about her weekend plans.

THE DAY PASSED. IN my afternoon classes, attendance was poor. The sun warmed the room to an uncomfortable degree, and the best of my students grew restless. The bizarre incident, rather non-incident, refused to be banished.

After school, I dropped Leonora off at her pink Victorian house and drove home in a light afternoon haze, wishing I’d been able to confide in her.

She would think I’d gone over the edge, and she was my long-time friend, always quick to defend me. Heaven knew what Principal Grimsley would think.

So, I’ll pretend it didn’t happen. So far no one else knew about the gunshot.

The daffodils were indeed blooming on Jonquil Lane, creating a yellow brick road that led to home. The house was waiting for me, just as I’d longed to find it. Pale green turrets rising to the clouds and, between twin gables, stained glass windows sparkling in the sunlight. Everything was brighter and fresher in the country.

Your life will be better in Foxglove Corners, the house seemed to say.

I’d always been fanciful about Foxglove Corners, always fanciful about anything, in fact.

But today’s episode wasn’t fancy. An invisible shooter whose bullet couldn’t be seen while its sound rang out in an empty room was the stuff of nightmares.

I parked the Taurus and savored the sight of the landscape around me, all new and green.

Crane wasn’t home yet. The dogs were, all of them barking a raucous welcome. Raven, the rare black and white collie who lived outside, came bounding out from the back and danced around the car, while the eager faces of Candy and Misty appeared in the kitchen window. The other collies, Halley, Sky and Gemmy, were more laid back.

Raven raced ahead of me, first in the house, and I was immediately engulfed in collie fur, nudging noses, and flying paws. The classroom in H Hall and the sound of gunfire retreated farther into the past.

Crane had left me a note, propped up on a cobalt milk bottle filled with spring wildflowers: Honey—home later today. Keep the home fires burning. Crane.

I dropped my purse and schoolwork on the oak table in the kitchen, the nearest catch-all, and reflected on this most unusual Friday.

After first hour, the rest of the school day had been uneventful and easy, as anticipated, with occasional flashbacks to the gunshot incident during infrequent lulls in classwork. On the ride from Oakpoint to Foxglove Corners, Leonora had talked incessantly about shopping for a new dress at Maplewood Mall and her tentative Saturday night date with Deputy Sheriff Jake Brown.

Something in blue, I think, she’d said. Blue is Jake’s favorite color.

She wore a lot of blue and had an impressive collection of sapphire jewelry. The color set off her honey blonde hair. With a jolt, I came back to the present.

Dinner tonight would be easy, too. Steaks, baked potatoes, and salad. Nothing easier, with half of yesterday’s lemon meringue pie for dessert. I had time to walk three of the dogs.

Which three?

Candy, my saucy tricolor, had her leash in her mouth, a new trick she’d taught herself. Snow-white Misty, scarcely out of puppyhood, was tossing her toy goat at me. Sky, my shy blue merle, gazed at me longingly.

Candy and Misty, then, and Sky. I snapped on Sky’s lead. Crane would take the other three out after dinner. They were used to the routine. I, like them, thrived on routine.

THE LAST HOUSE ON THE lane was the yellow Victorian where my friend and aunt by marriage, Camille, lived with her husband and dogs. About a mile after that, the daffodils gave way to wildflowers and woods, but the lane continued, ending in another country road, more woods, and farmland.

This wild tract ahead might have been a development once if the builder hadn’t gone bankrupt and moved out of the state. I still referred to these acres as the new development, even though its fate had been sealed long ago.

The developer had left a strange legacy in his wake: half-finished houses built in French chateau style. Slowly but surely they were being reclaimed by nature. It was already an eerie place, hospitable to wildlife and, I suspected, an occasional vagrant. It was also a source of endless fascination for the curious collies.

It seemed even more eerie than usual today. Almost sinister.

During one of Foxglove Corners’ windstorms, a tree had fallen, taking with it the north wall of the chateau farthest from the road. Another storm, and the entire structure would collapse.

Something should be done about the new construction. It was unsightly and dangerous—and at present the only destination in the world for Candy.

Heel, I said sharply, tugging on the leash as she veered toward the lane’s edge. Candy, heel!

Misty chose this moment to step into a narrow hole hidden by fallen leaves. Screeching her terror, she tried to claw her way back to level ground. I reached down to guide her. Candy knew all about choosing moments. She wrenched her leash out of my hand and dashed into the brush, trailing six feet of leather.

Two

As soon as all four feet were on level ground, Misty pulled on her leash, determined to follow Candy. I pulled back, equally determined. One out-of-control collie was enough. Misty, stay!

Candy had already disappeared into the tangle of vegetation grown wild, and the ruins of unfinished houses. I heard her barking, heard a scuffle of wood smashing and loud cursing from a human throat.

Oh no!

There was nothing to do but set out through that forbidding wilderness. This wasn’t the first time Candy had caused trouble on a walk or on one of her wild jaunts. Once she had so infuriated a neighbor he’d threatened to shoot her.

I berated myself for allowing an instant’s distraction to lead to this dilemma. Go to the aid of one dog, lose another. But it was too late for recriminations.

Fortunately I was wearing flat shoes. Still the going was rough. Thorny vines grabbed my ankles, and close-growing saplings slapped at my face. I dragged the dogs with me, ignoring Sky’s yips of protest. The closer I came to the melee, the angrier the barks grew. Their tone had changed. Candy sounded like a wolf tearing at her prey.

My usually gentle collie in attack mode?

I found her in a clearing leaping at a man who waved a large branch in her face. He raised his arm, aiming for her head.

Candy! Leave it!

She spared me a moment’s glance. Lips raised, teeth bared, she looked nothing like the sweet collie who patrolled my kitchen for unguarded food and snoozed by the fireside. See what I found, she might have said. I’m not going to leave it.

You! The man shouted. Call off that black devil before I kill it.

Sky shivered and tried to melt into my body while Misty yelped frantically, eager to join the fray. Tightening my grip on Misty’s leash, I tried again. Candy! Leave it! Come.

The echo of my voice bounced back to taunt me. In its wake, a rustling in the brush behind the man caught my attention. A low shape, a burst of pale gold, appeared for an instant and vanished.

A fawn? Why would any creature be drawn to this ferocious display?

Don’t get distracted!

Candy! I moved closer to her, my eyes on a bent sapling in a feeble effort to distract her, and stepped hard on the leash. Reaching down, I grabbed it and quickly wrapped it around my wrist.

Still growling, Candy submitted to the inevitable, leaving me to deal with the fallout.

What did you do to her? I demanded.

The man stared at me, his look of wrath turning to one of incredulity. I returned his stare.

He was tall and dark and might have been handsome if his features hadn’t been contorted with rage, if his hazel eyes hadn’t been blazing under scowling brows. He wore Levi’s with a long tear that exposed a muscular thigh. His tan jacket had a rip in it, too, a long one running from his elbow to his wrist.

Courtesy of Candy or the vicious vegetation?

I didn’t see any blood, which was good. If Candy had torn the man’s clothing, she hadn’t broken the skin. Hadn’t broken anything except perhaps his pride. And that was definitely broken, lying in fragments on the forest floor.

Should I offer to pay for his losses?

In his wrath he sputtered. He attacked me. Came out of nowhere and sprang at me. He bit my arm. I thought it was a wolf.

There are no wolves in Foxglove Corners, I said. None in this part of the state.

That’s irrelevant, madam. There’s a law against harboring a vicious dog. I see you have two more of them.

Sky, by now completely traumatized, shivering violently, and a puppy angling for play?

You must have provoked her in some way, I said, too upset to apologize which might have defused the situation. I laid my hand on Candy’s head. She was still growling, but not quite so loud.

What might have happened? I let a possible scene unfold in my mind. The man had threatened Candy with his branch. She was defending herself and me and her sister collies, the fragile one and the baby.

Immediately I saw the flaw in my scenario. For no apparent reason, Candy had broken free of her restraint and raced through the woods to the man. Even at a distance, she had sensed something off.

I kept my hand on her head. No matter what the circumstances, we were family. We stuck together.

The police will be interested in knowing what just happened here, the man said. I’m filing a report as soon as I get back to town. Don’t think I won’t. No dog gets one free bite anymore.

It was too late for sorries. Too late to do anything but walk away and hope the stranger wouldn’t follow through with his threat. With my luck, though, and the way the day had started out, this was wishful thinking. Luckily I had a friend on the force, Lieutenant Mac Dalby. He liked Candy; plus he was a family friend.

Do what you have to do, I said.

I turned and led my trio away from the surly stranger. I realized I was trembling. Candy, on the other hand, had left the incident behind her. She led the way over vines and ferns and pale wildflowers hidden away from the sun, across the crumbling walls of the new construction. Back on the lane, by mutual agreement, we headed home.

Candy had left her mark on the enemy and dinnertime was the next item on her agenda. The battle was over.

I wasn’t so complacent. If only it were over.

CRANE WASN’T AS LATE as I’d anticipated. As deputy sheriff in Foxglove Corners, his hours were irregular. As soon as I heard his Jeep in the driveway, I put the steaks on to broil. He would be hungry. I knew I was.

Candy was the first to greet him, pushing her collie sisters out of the way to get the first welcome pat.

Good girls. Crane distributed his pats evenly through the pack before making his way to me at the stove for my welcome kiss. I let him hold me for a few minutes, then said, One of them isn’t so good. We have to do something about Candy.

Hearing her name, Candy tilted her head and stared at me. I knew she’d long since forgotten her transgression. I, on the other hand, had thought of nothing else.

Had the stranger gone straight to the Foxglove Corners Police Department with his complaint? Was Candy’s future in jeopardy even as she circled Crane hoping for more petting?

What if, our long-standing friendship with Mac notwithstanding, Candy was determined to be vicious and ordered to be destroyed? That was unlikely, I knew, but what if the stranger decided to take the law in his own hands and kill her? The unknowns of the situation tormented me.

I’d intended to wait until after dinner to tell Crane about the disastrous encounter in the woods. Well, I hadn’t. Silently I took his jacket and hung it in the closet while he locked his gun in its special cabinet.

Tell me what happened, he said.

I told him. He listened and didn’t say a word, but his expression grew progressively grim, and his frosty gray eyes were hard as stone. This isn’t good, Jennet.

Not good at all.

Did you ever see this man before?

Not that I recall.

I’ll check with Mac after dinner, he said. From now on, I’m walking Candy, he added.

You can’t handle her, his tone said. It was that dictatorial tone I seldom heard these days.

I wanted to challenge his edict, but he was right, to a point. Today I hadn’t been able to handle Candy until the damage had been done.

Or we’ll walk her together, he added.

That’s all right for the future, I said. But what’ll we do about this man? Suppose he already went to the police.

Did you find out his name? he asked.

We didn’t exchange names. He was tall and dark, maybe in his late thirties. Rather handsome but bad tempered. Well, I guess he was scared.

He may let the matter drop, Crane said. I’ll make some inquiries. See if I can find out who he is. By the way, what was he doing in the woods?

How could I have failed to ask myself that question? The acres surrounding the new construction were private property owned by the absentee builder. To my knowledge that hadn’t changed when he’d abandoned the development.

He had no right to be there, I said.

Then again, neither had I.

He didn’t have a gun that I could see, I said. And thank heavens or he’d be defending himself with a bullet instead of a branch.

In many ways we were lucky. I kept remembering the tears in the man’s Levi’s and jacket. If Candy was responsible for that damage, what had set her off? Even worse, what if I hadn’t arrived on the scene when I did? Would I be dealing with more than outrage and torn clothing?

Crane went upstairs for a shower while I set the table in the dining room. Trailed by Misty, Candy followed me, bright eyes alert, tail wagging slowly. She was a shameless food thief, but a dangerous animal? No. I’d lived with her long enough to know that.

Something had happened in the woods before I arrived on the scene. Perhaps while we were still on the lane. Candy knew. Sadly, she had no way of telling me.

AFTER DINNER, WHEN we were relaxing in the living room with our collies, it occurred to me that I hadn’t told Crane about all of my day. The sound of gunfire in my empty classroom that morning hadn’t slipped my mind. It had been overshadowed by my fear for Candy.

She lay close to Crane, watching him, her front paws crossed. What a picture they made, my beautiful black collie and my handsome fair-haired husband as comely and impressive in civilian clothes as in his uniform.

Crane would investigate, and unless the surly stranger had driven out of Foxglove Corners, he would protect his family. How he would accomplish this feat, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I trusted him.

But he couldn’t follow me to school or keep an imaginary gunshot at bay.

Why tell him about the morning upset?

Crane often said he admired me—my ingenuity, my courage, my dedication to collie rescue and my ability to meet any challenge.

Did I want him to think he’d married a woman who could slide over the edge into hallucination so easily?

It might never happen again.

I looked up from the new Gothic novel I was pretending to read. Crane had picked up the Banner and was turning pages rapidly as if searching for a particular story. Candy had gone to sleep, and the other dogs were quiet. The flames in the fireplace, perhaps the last of the season, had died.

I’d already given Crane enough to deal with for one day.

So I made my decision. I wouldn’t tell him about the gunshot in my classroom.

Three

When most of Friday passed and no irate man reported an attack by a vicious dog, I breathed more easily. We had dodged another bullet. Candy and I.

Still, perhaps that man—I wished I knew his name—was biding his time. What if the next time Candy appeared in the lane, he gunned her down?

It was a horrible thought, and it wouldn’t let me go. I was glad Crane had decided to walk Candy