The Lost Collies of Silverhedge: A Foxglove Corners Mystery, #26

By Dorothy Bodoin

Collie breeder Madselin Rivard was dead, leaving her prized, valuable collies uncared for in their kennel.  Jennet and her friends rescue five of them, but eight remain unaccounted for.

While searching for the missing eight dogs, Jennet must solve the mystery of the ghostly collie, Macduff, whose search for the family that abandoned him has led him to Jennet's door.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613093535

Book preview

One

Amerry ringing of bells followed me down the halls of Marston High School, its volume increasing as it grew nearer. It conjured images of sleigh rides on a snowy night and balsam fir trees and heaven-sent glitter.

I turned at the intersection of G and H Halls, and the bells turned with me.

Hey, Mrs. Ferguson, you’re going to be late to class.

Jocelyn, one of my juniors, gave me a saucy grin as she caught up to me. Every tiny silver bell on her green sweater jingled. Ah, the source of the ringing.

That garment was a fantasy creation. The winter scene of my imagining, it was decorated with about a hundred silver jingle bells. To complete her holiday ensemble, Jocelyn had attached several bells to her headband. She couldn’t move without jangling.

So will you, I said.

But you’re the teacher. You’re not supposed to be tardy.

True, and I liked to be in my room before my class arrived, especially when that class was fourth period American Literature Survey. I pictured chaos, the day’s lesson erased with ‘Witch’s Room’ written in its place, and possibly a burgeoning fight.

The door was open.

I should have remembered to lock it this morning when I hung my coat in the closet and joined the rest of the faculty at the annual Christmas breakfast in the cafeteria.

Too late now.

About half the class had taken their seats or were wandering around the room. Some stood at the window watching the snow fall. They were quiet, and that set a huge red flag in motion.

They were never quiet. Something was going to happen.

On guard!

I took my gradebook and a shopping bag from the Nutcracker Sweet out of the closet. I had a Christmas present for all my students: malted milk balls in individual red and green wrappers. To conform to the school’s rule banning food or drink in the classroom, I planned to hand them out five minutes before the end of the hour.

The bell rang, and the rest of the class sauntered into the room. Quietly.

Because this was the last day before Christmas vacation—or winter recess as the administration preferred to call it—I had chosen a Christmas-themed short story by an American author rather than the next dry selection from our textbook. Printed copies lay ready on my desk, one for each student.

Okay, class, I said.

Weird. Unreal. I didn’t have to tell them to quiet down multiple times.

There’s a Christmas theme in today’s story, I said. When we’re through with the reading, I’d like you to tell me what you think the theme is in one complete sentence.

Excellent, I thought, Way to take the fun out of reading a holiday story.

Mrs. Ferguson!

Briana raised her hand. I noticed the green streak painted in her long blonde hair—and the smirk on Will Holloway’s face.

Yes, Briana?

Jocelyn turned in her desk, and the bells jingled.

We... That is, the class, would like to make a—er—a presentation.

A presentation? What kind?

While I waited for enlightenment, she drew a package from behind her desk, a Christmas present wrapped in shiny gold paper and tied with red velvet ribbon. She walked to where I stood and handed it to me.

You don’t have to wait until Christmas to open it, she said.

Open it now, Will said.

Several voices began a chant: Open it now.

I...

I was at a loss for words. Kids in elementary grades often gave their teachers gifts at Christmastime. While the practice wasn’t unheard of in high school, it was rare.

We wanted to make it up to you for all the trouble we gave you, she said. Aren’t you going to open it?

I’m so—touched. Thank you all.

I sat at my desk and untied the pretty ribbon. Inside a gold box nestled a bottle of perfume with an intriguing name, Anticipation.

How wonderful! I said. I love new perfume. I can’t wait to try this.

It’s supposed to smell like roses, jasmine, vanilla, and other stuff, Jocelyn said.

I glanced at the stack of papers on my desk, the Christmas story I’d planned to read today. Principal Grimsley would have approved wholeheartedly of it. For that precise reason, I changed my mind.

I have a present for you, too, I said. For the rest of the period, you can feast on malted milk balls and just visit and look out the window.

Let Grimsley stay away from my room. In the spirit of the season, I abandoned my plan for the hour and passed out malted milk balls instead of stories.

THE CAFETERIA LADIES, exhausted from preparing Christmas breakfast for the staff, weren’t serving lunch in the cafeteria. The three afternoon classes had been rescheduled for the half day, thereby moving my fourth hour to the first period’s place.

Maybe that was why they were so subdued today; they were still sleepy. Or maybe it was because of the surprise present. In my one remaining class, I let my students play a blackboard game. Then during my conference hour, I did nothing more strenuous than gaze out the window at the falling snow as I’d let Fourth Hour do.

It turned the acreage outside the classroom, which was school-owned property, into a sparkling winter wonderland. There were rumors that a herd of deer had moved into the area, making their homes in the thin woods. I hoped the rumors were true.

When the last bell rang, I left my gradebook and schoolwork securely locked in the closet, took my present, and met my longtime friend and fellow teacher, Leonora Brown, in her room next to mine.

She’d set a white knit hat with a tassel on her blonde hair and was buttoning her long red coat. You have present, Jennet! Did Santa pay a visit to our hall and miss me?

I explained.

She was incredulous. From your class from hell? You’re serious?

I’d better find another name for them.

That’s so sweet.

Yes, I’m glad I brought candy.

Leonora locked her door and we hurried out to the parking lot. It was practically empty, most of the teachers having already left.

Two inches of heavy snow lay on top of my Ford Focus. I started the engine and the windshield wipers. Working together, Leonora and I cleared the car, and soon we were on the freeway heading north.

Just think, Leonora said. Ten whole days of sleeping in. No schoolwork, no stress, and it’s going to be a white Christmas.

Leonora, newly married, was especially looking forward to more time with her husband, Deputy Sheriff Jake Brown. As I was with my husband, Crane.

Jake and I are going to have an old-fashioned Christmas, Leonora said. We’re cutting our tree down tonight, and tomorrow I’m baking fruit cakes.

I have high hopes for this vacation, I said. I really, really need the rest.

The snow continued to fall all the way to the Foxglove Corners exit. Inside the car, it was quiet as Leonora dozed and the windshield wipers swished back and forth, sending the snow flying back to the sky.

For me, it’ll be time of peace, I thought. Peace and quiet.

Two

The snow lay in glistening folds on the green Victorian farmhouse, while the last errant flakes lingered in the air. A faint ray of sunlight touched the stained glass bracketed by twin gables, and fresh evergreen garland, interspersed with red ribbon, wound its way up the porch posts. When the sun went down, icicle lights would drip from the eaves.

My home was the quintessential Christmas card, further graced with two collie faces in the bay window. Candy, my mischievous tricolor, and Misty whose coat was as white as the snow, always formed the advance lookout. They were barking. Judging by the clamor, all seven collies were barking.

I brought the car to a stop on the snowed-over driveway, and taking my purse and present, made a dash for the side door.

My canine welcome committee converged on me: Halley, my first collie, in the lead, with Candy and Misty close behind her. The timid blue merle, Sky, Gemmy and Star, both sables, and black Raven wagged their tails from the fringe of the crowd.

All right, all right, I said, patting the closest heads. I’m home.

For ten glorious days.

While I taught English in Oakpoint, an hour’s commute from home, my husband, Deputy Sheriff Crane Ferguson, patrolled by the roads and by-roads of Foxglove Corners, which left our collie family alone during the weekdays. Fortunately Camille, my neighbor and aunt by marriage, who lived in the yellow Victorian house across Jonquil Lane, tended to the dogs while we were gone.

My ritual never varied. Dog biscuits all around, hot tea for me, and dinner.

I set my early Christmas gift on the oak table, out of the reach of curious noses, and reached for the Lassie tin on the counter. The wild ones thus appeased, I waited for the water to boil and thought about dinner.

It was a never-ending challenge to prepare hearty and varied meals for Crane, although he ate everything I cooked and assured me it was good.

What should I make this evening? Undoubtedly Leonora and Camille were creating fabulous dinners in their kitchens while I floundered.

I opened the refrigerator door, and Candy scampered to my side, always ready to catch whatever fell.

Okay, steaks with baked potatoes and salad, one of Crane’s favorite dinners. It also happened to be easy to assemble, and we had half a lemon meringue pie left over from yesterday.

Done.

My cell phone rang. I reached into my coat pocket, saw Sue Appleton’s number, and almost let the call go unanswered. I didn’t, of course

Sue was the president of the Lakeville Collie Rescue League. She lived nearby on Squill Lane where she raised horses and gave riding lessons to aspiring young equestrians. This was bound to be an emergency or a collie-related request, and I hadn’t even taken off my coat.

Hello, Sue, I said.

Jennet! Good, you’re home. I took a chance.

I just walked in the door—practically.

The teakettle whistled, growing shriller as I ignored it.

Sky, affrighted, headed for her safe place under the dining room table, and Candy began to bark. I shushed her. What’s up, Sue?

I desperately need a favor, and it occurred to me that you were on Christmas break.

I sighed. As of today. What’s the favor?

Well, it’s really for my friend, Ronda Leigh. You may remember her. She was at our last meeting.

That was in November, but I recalled a newcomer to Rescue, a quiet young woman with long auburn hair. She had introduced herself but then sat back, listening attentively, contributing nothing, which was to be expected from a newcomer.

Vaguely, I said. What’s the favor?

Have you ever heard of the Silverhedge Collie Kennels?

I hadn’t, but then I was more interested in rescue than breeders.

The owner, Madselin Rivard, passed away unexpectedly yesterday. Ronda and Madselin co-own a collie, Starla, a show prospect. Ronda is anxious to drive up to Silverhedge and bring her to Foxglove Corners. She doesn’t want to drive alone.

That, I suspected, was a bare bones summary of the situation. What was Sue leaving out of her account?

Why can’t you go with her? I asked.

I’d love to, Jennet, but my riding students have a Christmas program scheduled for tomorrow...

Tomorrow!

Yes, tomorrow. Ronda wants to pick up Starla as soon as possible. She asked me to go with her, but I can’t leave my kids in the lurch. The invitations have gone out. One of the mothers is videotaping us...

It seemed that I was always being asked to transport a rescue collie from one place to another, sometimes from a destination hours away from Foxglove Corners. I didn’t particularly like driving, especially in winter weather, but then I was a member of the Rescue League. Helping collies in distress to a better life meant a great deal to me. Still...

Where are the kennels located? I asked.

Up north a little way.

How far?

Not far. About an hour’s drive in good weather.

I wonder, I said. Why am I always the one you call on?

You’re the only one I can count on.

Trust Sue to be honest.

I have to clear it with my husband, and I’d like to meet Ronda first and know a little more about the situation before I give you my answer, I said.

That’s understandable. Could you come by tomorrow morning?

I guess so. I would be up early to cook Crane’s breakfast anyway. After I walk the dogs.

Walk them over to the horse farm. Ronda will be here then and we can talk.

I agreed to do so and dropped my phone back into my purse.

If anyone else called tonight, they could leave a message.

CRANE’S HOMECOMING inspired renewed canine clamor and a mad dash to the kitchen door. He stamped his way through the pack, snow flying in every direction, and kissed me. His kiss was ardent, but his lips were cold. They tasted of pine woods and snow.

Candy forgot her manners and jumped up on him. She had spotted the steaks in the broiler and was beside herself with excitement. Her master or steaks? Which should she watch first?

Candy! Down! The humorous gleam in Crane’s eyes belied the stern deputy sheriff’s tone. Candy could read him well.

Crane’s frosty gray eyes have flecks of ice in them and lines that crinkle at the sides. He is the handsomest man in Foxglove Corners, tall and blond with silver strands in his hair. Add his uniform with its shiny badge in the mix, and you have a man who might have stepped off the set of a western movie. That was my opinion, and no one had ever disagreed with me.

Did you have a good day? I asked.

It was a busy one. A little snow and people drive like it’s still summer.

You had a lot of accidents, then?

Dozens.

I hope the roads will be clear tomorrow, I said.

What’s special about tomorrow?

Mmm. I’ll tell you later.

After dinner when he was relaxed, by which time I would have decided whether or not I was going to honor Sue’s request.

Speaking of snow, I’ll shovel us out while you make dinner, Crane said.

He went back outside, taking all the dogs with him, even Raven, whose leg was almost completely healed. Previously she had preferred to live in the Victorian style dog house Crane had built to match our own. Since she’d been run down by a careless ne’er-do-well, she had lived happily in our house and showed little interest in the outside.

While the steaks were broiling, I glanced through the window where I had a clear view of the collies frolicking in the snow and Crane clearing the walkway.

Across the lane, multi-colored Christmas lights came on, outlining the graceful lines of the yellow Victorian. Here was another scene to inspire a Christmas card. Collie and snow and the man I loved most in the world. And ten days to savor each merry moment.

I wondered if anyone had a right to be so happy.

Three

The morning sky was lavender with yellow streaks as I pulled behind a white SUV into the neatly plowed driveway of Sue’s horse farm. Sue’s collies—Icy, Bluebell, and Echo—dashed through the snow to meet me.

I exited the car, greeting the exuberant trio. Sue opened the door, and they scampered inside ahead of me, tracking snow on the hardwood floor.

Come in, Jennet, Sue said. I have a pot of fresh coffee.

The auburn-haired woman from the last meeting stood behind her. She was slender with a dusting of freckles on her face and had applied little if any makeup. She must have just arrived as she still wore her purple barn coat.

You remember Ronda Leigh, Sue said. I’ve been telling her about your exploits.

Good morning, Ronda. I willed myself not to blush. Sue exaggerates.

Maybe I do, but not about you. Let’s sit, and Ronda will fill you in.

The focal point of Sue’s spacious family room was the wood burning stove. I sat as close to it as possible. Flames danced high in its inner chamber, sending glorious warmth into the air. I unbuttoned my parka and draped it over my shoulder. I was still a trifle chilled from the frosty morning.

Ronda, Sue said, would you tell Jennet about Starla and what you hope to accomplish today?

Ronda nodded. A little background, first. My friend, Madselin Rivard, and I co-own a tricolor puppy sired by one of Silverhedge’s top champions. Yesterday I learned that Madselin had died. I never expected to hear such news. She was the picture of health and vitality.

I thought I had misheard the name. Madeline?

No, Madselin. Everybody asks about that. Her mother was a fan of the late English novelist, Norah Lofts. One of Ms. Loft’s characters has that name.

Tell Jennet what’s really bothering you besides getting Starla back, Sue said.

They’re saying Madselin committed suicide. It’s outrageous. I’ll never believe it.

"Who are they?" I asked.

A woman who helps out at the kennel and the first responders. There was an empty bottle of pain pills on her nightstand and a spilled glass of water.

That did sound incriminating.

Do you know why she was taking pain pills?

Apparently for headaches, but Madselin never mentioned them to me. She was excited about showing Starla.

Sue excused herself and returned with the coffeepot, telling us that the empty mugs on the coffee table were clean. As she poured, I reviewed the information Ronda had given me. A woman with a bright future and no apparent health problems except for headaches decided to take her own life. It didn’t make sense.

Did Crane agree to let you go? Sue asked.

Honestly. Why did people think Crane monitored my activities? I had told him what I knew of Sue’s request, and he’d said that a drive to a nearby kennel sounded harmless enough.

He has no objections. Besides, my time is my own.

I took a sip of coffee and eyed the slices of coffeecake on the table. They looked good, but oddly, I wasn’t particularly hungry. I could see why Ronda rejected the verdict of suicide, if she had all the facts. If she had given me all the facts she knew. But if Madselin hadn’t killed herself, who had ended her life? And why? It couldn’t have been a simple mistake. No one would take a bottle of pills rather than one or two.

It dawned on me that we might be talking about murder.

Madselin and I were going to the Gathering at Sunnybank next year, Ronda added. We were taking Starla and Rilla, her litter sister with us.

I’m a little confused, I said. Why do you need somebody—me—to go with you today?

Sue and Ronda exchanged a glance.

Because there’s a slight possibility there may be trouble, Ronda said. Very slight. I’d appreciate the moral support.

At last we reached the heart of the matter. What kind of trouble?

I can’t find Starla’s papers and proof that I co-owned her with Madselin. But I swear it’s true. Now that Madselin is gone, Starla is all mine, except of course I’ll have to pay half of Starla’s worth to the estate. I had a break-in this summer, she added. The burglar might have taken them. Some money was missing from my desk.

I thought it unlikely that Starla’s papers were part of a robber’s haul. Presumably they were in a labeled file, hardly tempting for a thief.

I see. I didn’t know what else to say.

If I try to remove Starla from the kennel, somebody might object, Ronda said.

Someone? Who?

Ronda shrugged. Madselin’s assistant, I guess. She’s probably taking care of the collies.

I drank more coffee and thought a little more about the story I’d just heard. Is there anything else I should know?

That’s all.

The ensuing pause lasted a little too long for comfort.

Ronda is being overly cautious, Sue said. The co-ownership wasn’t a secret. Lots of people in the collie world knew about it.

Will you still go with me, Jennet? Ronda asked.

The day’s project wasn’t going to be as straightforward as I’d thought, but I’d given Sue my word. Also, I was intrigued by the situation and, incidentally, never passed up an opportunity to visit a collie kennel.

Yes, I said. And let’s be positive. We’ll drive up to Silverhedge, pick up your Starla, and bring her back with us.

Sue smiled. A piece of cake.

Not exactly, I said. But there’s no point in anticipating trouble.

Is it all right if we leave around noon? Ronda asked.

I considered. One hour there, fifteen or twenty minutes to retrieve Starla, one hour home. It was cold, but the roads were clear. I’d be back in time to make dinner. I’d ask Camille to look in on the dogs while I was gone.

I’ll have to make some arrangements at home first, I said as I drained my mug.

I’ll drive, Ronda said. My car is new and I want to put some miles on it.

Sue picked up my empty mug. Ronda’s mug was full. She had showed no interest in even tasting her coffee.

And I have to get ready for my program, Sue said. Not that I’m rushing you.

She was, though.

The dogs, sensing change, got up. Icy stretched.

This all worked out very well, Sue said. I knew it would.

CAMILLE’S HOUSE ALWAYS smelled like a bakery. I stood in the vestibule of the yellow Victorian dispensing greetings and affection to Camille’s Belgian shepherd, Twister, and Holly, the pretty tricolor collie who had once belonged to me. An enticing scent of cinnamon and ginger wafted out from the kitchen.

A bright green band held Camille’s silvery-blonde hair in place, and her apron was liberally dusted with flour.

What are you baking today? I asked.

Christmas cookies. There’ll be a box for you and Crane.

I can’t wait.

You won’t have to. It’ll be ready tomorrow.

"I’ll keep my coat on. I can only stay a minute.

I dropped into a chair, unwound my long scarf, and told her about my plan for the day. My doubts must have crept into my voice.

Would you have time to let the dogs out in a few hours? I asked. Maybe a little more if the weather changes?

I’ll make time. What you’re saying is you’re a sort of buffer.

Ronda wants moral support, I said.

You know best, Jennet, but it sounds like there might be more to this venture than Ronda is telling you.

I suspect there is.

Just be careful. We don’t want anything to spoil Christmas.

I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Neither do I, I said. I’ll be back with bells on, and we’ll have one more collie in Foxglove Corners.