Where Have All the Dog's Gone?: A Foxglove Corners Mystery, #12

By Dorothy Bodoin

An animal activist who calls herself Rima frees shelter dogs in and around Foxglove Corners to save them from being euthanized.

Running wild in the countryside, at the mercy of hostile wildlife and hunters, dogs freed from a shelter to save them from possible euthanasia face an equally distressing fate and pose a risk to the people who inadvertently come in contact with them.

Who poses the greater threat to Jennet Ferguson?  A fanatical animal rights activist or a rabid dog?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613090169

Book preview

One

It was the silence that struck the first wrong note, the utter absence of sound that gave the Foxglove Corners Animal Shelter an alien ambience. The shelter, housed in an old white Victorian on Park Street, was never quiet. This morning its yard was empty except for the shade and the shadows. No curious canine faces appeared at the windows of the house, noses pressed to the glass.

Most telling of all, the chain and lock were missing from the gate. It was merely closed.

Where were the dogs? And where were Lila and Letty Woodville, the elderly sisters who ran the animal shelter? Their car was gone, but they usually took turns going out so that someone was always home watching over the animals.

Stunned by the contrast of the happy noise drifting over from the children playing in the park across the street, I struggled to accept this anomaly.

Still, hoping to hear at least one answering yelp, I rapped on the door.

Nothing. Silence. I felt as if I had stepped into another dimension.

There had to be an explanation. I’ve learned there usually is, even if it originates in the Twilight Zone. Maybe Henry McCullough, the sisters’ neighbor and their close friend, would know where they were.

I cut across the shelter’s lawn to Henry’s house, built around the turn of the century in the same style as the sisters’ Victorian, with bay windows and a gingerbread-trimmed front porch.

Henry’s car, a gleaming white Chevy, sat in the driveway where it spent most of its time as Henry rarely drove these days.

Something was wrong here, too, though. The silence again. Henry’s old collie, Luke, likes to bark at anything that moves on the sidewalk. Surely he would sound the alarm when someone ventured onto his porch.

But it seemed that Luke was one more dog who wasn’t where he should be, and apparently Henry was gone, too.

I knocked on the door, not really expecting a response.

There was one more place to look, not for the people but for answers.

The library on the other side of the shelter was another old white Victorian situated on a double lot at one of the town’s four corners. The house had been the family home of the librarian, Miss Elizabeth Eidt, until she donated it to the town and accepted the position of chief and only librarian. From her desk, she managed to know all of the local news and gossip. Heartened at the prospect of enlightenment, I turned to face the street.

In the park, children clustered around the slides and swings, some pushing, some riding high. Up to the sky or down a slippery slope. Others ran in and out of the dark woods that bordered one side of the park brandishing water pistols. Their bright colored clothing and excited screams created an illusion of summer morning normalcy.

Clutching the bag of rawhide treats I’d brought for the shelter foundlings, I set out at a brisk pace for the library. The sooner I solved this little mystery, the better.

THE STRANGENESS CONTINUED.

Enveloped in cool air and tranquility, I stood in the doorway and stared at the stranger who sat in Miss Eidt’s place at the main desk. With her neat silver chignon and lacy lavender blouse, she was a woman of Miss Eidt’s generation, stately and a little fussy in appearance. She wore a long strand of pearls, as Miss Eidt often did, and knotted it continuously as she turned the pages of a magazine.

Where was Debby, Miss Eidt’s young assistant?

As I approached, the woman at the desk looked up and smiled. May I help you find something?

I felt lost, adrift in an uncertain sea. I’m looking for Miss Eidt.

She’s in her office, the woman said and raised her voice. Elizabeth? Somebody to see you.

Thank heavens. The world settled back in its proper orbit. Miss Eidt was in her favorite haunt. But there was still the mystery of the abandoned shelter.

Why Jennet! Miss Eidt stepped out of her office and adjusted a pink scarf that lay on her crisp white dress. She always looked overjoyed to see me and always faintly surprised, even though I stopped at the library at least once a week. You’re out early on a hot morning. She eyed the bag. Did you bring doughnuts?

They’re treats for the shelter dogs, I said. I came to call on Lila and Letty, but... What happened over there?

Nothing good. Miss Eidt glanced out at the long tables where readers were engrossed in their books and all was well. Come on in. I’ll tell you about it.

Bright morning sunshine flooded the cozy inner sanctum. Miss Eidt had been sitting at a small maple table addressing envelopes, a mug of steaming tea at her elbow. They looked like invitations. On the stove rested a copper teakettle, still humming.

Without asking, she reached in the cupboard for another mug and a package of cookies and spilled them out on a paper plate. It’s gotten so hot so fast I’m going to switch to iced tea one of these days. Have some cinnamon cookies?

About the animal shelter, Miss Eidt...

Ah, yes. She sighed. The dogs are gone. Yesterday someone cut through the chain and set them free. Unfortunately they were all out in the yard at the time. It’s been so warm...

She trailed off, opening a canister of Queen Mary, shaking out a stream of loose tea leaves into the cup.

But who could have done that?

Rima. She left a note on the gate.

I’d heard that name somewhere. Not in connection with dogs, though. Where? In a science-fiction story? Miss Eidt spoke as if she knew her.

It’s intrusive, isn’t it? she said. The silence. You can almost hear it. I’m used to the sound of dogs barking off and on during the day. Now there’s nothing.

Dognappers, I thought. Every now and then they stole into town, intent on snatching unattended dogs which they’d then sell to laboratories. We were always ready for them.

Miss Eidt poured boiling water over the leaves, and I gave them a stir with a silver teaspoon. It was sterling, a romantic Baroque pattern from her own service. She kept all the comforts of home in her library.

Who is Rima? I asked.

"A character in the novel, Green Mansions. A sort of jungle girl. Or you mean the thief or vandal or whatever you want to call her. That’s how she signed the note. It was written in green ink," she added.

Dognappers didn’t usually leave notes.

What did it say? I asked.

Something about civil rights. I can’t remember the exact words.

Could you start at the beginning?

She sat down and took a sip of tea. That would be yesterday afternoon when Letty burst into the library all upset. She wanted to know if I’d noticed a disturbance next door. The gate was open, and all the dogs were gone. All eighteen of them. The lock and chain were in the grass. I hadn’t, she added. One of us should have heard something.

That’s unreal, I said.

The thought of Wafer leaped into my mind. Wafer was the collie I’d rescued from the wild last winter and placed in the Woodville sisters’ care. The last time I’d talked to Lila, she’d told me that Wafer was about to be adopted.

Was she safe in her forever home when the dogs had been set free?

I don’t understand it myself, Miss Eidt said. The shelter is a good place. Who wants a pack of dogs running wild through town? Except they’re not in town anymore.

Where do you suppose Letty and Lila went? I asked.

Out looking for the dogs probably, but how they’ll ever corral them is anybody’s guess.

That would be a Herculean task. Last month I’d set out to find one runaway collie puppy. Multiply one search by eighteen. Even if the dogs stayed together, which wasn’t very likely, they might never be found. By now they could be anywhere in the county. Or some other county.

But I was going to offer to help Lila and Letty search for the dogs. There was no doubt in my mind.

Letty says one of the dogs will probably bite. He’s new. And some of the dogs need their medication. What’s going to happen to them now?

I shook my head. We just have to find them quickly.

Miss Eidt moved the plate of cinnamon cookies closer to me. I took one.

Where’s Debby? I asked.

She’s going to summer school. She’ll be here on Saturday afternoons. That’s Annabel, my new assistant, out in front. She used to own a bookstore downstate.

She’s new in town then.

Brand new. She bought a farmhouse out in the country. Miss Eidt stirred her tea idly. Are you doing anything exciting this summer?

I’d only been on vacation since Wednesday, but yes, I had lofty plans. Freed from creating lesson plans and correcting papers for my English classes at Marston High School, I was going to write a book.

The thought of my modest beginning and a blank computer screen taunted me. It’s easier to talk about writing while you’re wandering around town than to sit at your desk and write. Especially when sunshine and warm temperatures beckon. Still, summer hadn’t officially arrived yet. I deserved a few days of fun.

I’m writing a book, I said.

Miss Eidt’s eyes brightened. How wonderful! What’s the title?

The Phantom Skater of Sunset Lake.

That’s lovely. Is it one of those Gothic novels you like to read?

Not exactly. It’s about my own supernatural experiences and those of others.

You should find plenty of material in Foxglove Corners, she said. As you know, we’re a ghostly little community.

I smiled. During my two years in Foxglove Corner, I’d arrived at the same conclusion.

All of the stories will be local and recent, I said. Well, dating from the last century.

Let me know if I can help. My file is filled with clippings of supernatural occurrences.

I will.

The tea had cooled nicely. I finished it in two gulps. I’d better be going. I have a few errands in Lakeville.

Maybe you can include what happened at the shelter in your book, she said.

I don’t think so. It’s a strange incident, but it was no ghost who cut the chain and let the dogs out.

And the foolish, ungrateful creatures had fled to parts unknown, leaving their comfortable temporary home for a future wrought with peril.

No, Miss Eidt agreed. That was Rima, whoever she is.

Rima, I thought. Green Mansions. Green ink. Could that possibly be anyone’s real name?

IN THE HOPE THAT LILA and Letty had come home while I was at the library, I knocked on the shelter door again, even though I didn’t see their car. I needed to know more details. I could leave them a note or call when I got home. I’d better call. Another note would no doubt alarm them.

But I was loath to go on my way. Ever since the shelter had been established as a memorial to my friend, the slain animal activist Caroline Meilland, I’d been a frequent visitor to the house on Park Street, bringing treats and strays to this safe haven. I felt very much at home there, felt that the animal shelter was an extension of my own house.

Even in its current quiet state, the shelter was alive with memories for me. Long conversations with Lila, Letty and Henry over coffee and cake in the kitchen. Frightened dogs cowering in crates whom Lila would transform into healthy happy animals with her special magic. Castaway pets and new owners brought together for a second chance at happiness.

Caroline’s portrait hung in the vestibule. In life she had been a vibrant, charismatic woman with long chestnut hair and a zealot’s fire in her eyes. The artist had captured her essence, and at times it seemed as if Caroline’s spirit presided over the Woodville sisters’ endeavor.

She had inspired countless people with her passion for protecting all the animals that shared the earth with us.

She had certainly inspired me.

We’re under siege again, Caroline, I said quietly. You have to help us.

This blow to the shelter was bad enough, but sometimes a terrible, isolated act was only the beginning of something evil. I hoped this wasn’t one of those times, but it was best to be prepared. Just in case.

Two

On the way home, down country roads that shimmered in the morning sunlight, I watched for dogs running loose and pondered the mystery of the missing shelter foundlings.

Miss Eidt had given me the facts as she knew them, but something didn’t add up.

What was wrong?

Finally I realized what bothered me. The dogs in the Woodville sisters’ shelter weren’t prisoners. They had a home, albeit a temporary one. Lila and Letty gave them everything a dog could desire, including love. Caroline Meilland’s friend, Major March, provided ample funds for veterinary care and the best dog food available. It didn’t make sense to me that at the first opportunity, the first time the gate was opened, they’d run.

I thought of Wafer who had lived in the woods until I brought her to the animal shelter. With daily grooming, good meals and attention, she had blossomed into a gorgeous, happy collie who loved people. I couldn’t imagine her returning to a life of loneliness without humans, subsisting on berries and wildlife dinners.

Suppose Rima was a modern day Pied Piper who had lured the dogs away? Maybe she was a dognapper after all, one with a fancy name borrowed from a literary work?

That didn’t sound right either.

The dogs had left without any barking or commotion whatsoever, without even being observed. Whatever had transpired at the animal shelter seemed to have a touch of magic about it. Civil rights didn’t make sense either. Miss Eidt could be mistaken about that one fact. Animal rights, perhaps? But how could that apply to the pampered strays at the Woodville shelter?

I had to read Rima’s note. Until then, speculation was pointless.

As I rounded a curve, a tawny-colored shape leaped out into my path. Instinctively I swerved and found myself nudging the brush that grew along the side of the by-road.

One of the dogs?

I caught a fleeting glance of the shape as it melted into the greenwood. The animal was a deer. Definitely not a canine.

But the dogs were out there. Somewhere.

THE WARM SPRING DAYS had coaxed the flowers of Foxglove Corners into bloom early. None were more spectacular than the tall perennials that grew around the yellow Victorian. My neighbor and friend, now my aunt by marriage, Camille, was tending to them as I turned off Jonquil Lane onto my own drive.

She waved to me. I parked and reached for the bag from Blackbourne’s Grocers and the newspaper. The dog treats could stay in the car. I’d be returning to the animal shelter soon.

Heat slammed into me as I left the air-cooled interior of the Taurus. It must be in the low eighties already and humid, too hot for anyone to be yanking weeds from the parched earth, but Camille was devoted to her perennial gardens.

With its mint green color, my Victorian farmhouse—rather our house, my husband Crane’s and mine—looked cool and inviting, with the allure of a foamy mint-flavored soft drink. I hurried up the walkway to the side door.

Inside the dogs were barking their welcome. They knew the sound of the car and figured that by now I should be coming through the doorway.

There were four of them, full-grown exuberant collies: my tricolors Halley and Candy; Sky, the gentle blue merle and Gemmy with fur the color of autumn leaves. So far, with Crane’s encouragement, I had been able to resist adding a fifth collie to our canine family.

I opened the door, holding the grocery bag high above collie heads. Candy, perpetually hungry and mischievous, was already licking her chops. She smelled the lunch meat which needed to be refrigerated. I started to put the groceries away, nimbly dodging her prancing paws.

Dinner would be simple tonight: barbecued chicken and a salad. Ice cream for dessert and sun tea brewing since early this morning on the front porch. There’d be very little for me to do until Crane came home and plenty of time to write.

Candy jumped up on me, trying to grab the package of lunch meat out of my hand, but I outmaneuvered her and stashed it in the refrigerator. One of my other summer projects was to find a good obedience school for Candy and Gemmy, her willing apprentice in misbehavior.

After leaving a message for Lila on the shelter answering machine, I succumbed to a collective canine plea for a walk. It would be a short one, for I knew all four dogs would soon tire of the heat and drag me toward the closest available shade or lie down in the middle of the lane for a quick rest.

I leashed Candy and Gemmy and opened the door for Halley and Sky, the good ones who didn’t need to be on a lead. Across the lane, Camille was still working in her flower beds. I wanted to tell her about the missing shelter dogs. Some of them might find their way to Jonquil Lane, in which case Camille was the ideal person to intercept them.

It was a long way to roam, but dogs have four feet and speed, as well as a craving for adventure.

If I were a dog suddenly experiencing the joy of freedom, where would I go?

Into the cool, dark woods that bordered the park and from there to anywhere. Foxglove Corners had more than its share of ponds, lakes and wooded tracts. Those woods were filled with edible berries and wildlife.

And predators. How many of the dogs, used to being coddled by Lila and Letty, would be able to defend themselves if confronted by a hungry coyote or snake?

Something else I needed was a list and description of the dogs residing at the shelter when Rima had come along. The only one I would recognize was Wafer, and I didn’t think I’d have to worry about her.

But the others... As I led Candy and Gemmy into the lane, I could have wept for those others. The hardiest, the craftiest, would survive for a while, if they weren’t run over in the road. The dogs on medication were the ones who tugged at my heartstrings. And a dog who bit people would soon find himself in trouble.

We had to find them.

CAMILLE PUSHED HER straw hat back on her head. Silvered honey hair fell forward on her face. She took off her garden gloves and patted the strands back into place.

Halley and Sky seized their opportunity to greet Twister and Holly, Camille’s dogs, who lay on the wraparound porch, panting and watching her labors. Meanwhile Candy stuck her nose in the pile of weeds that Camille had tossed into a box and promptly found a long branch. She lay down to chew it, watched by her envious sisters.

Camille’s gardens were vast and luxurious. Having come home from the South late in the growing season, she was eager to make up for lost time.

Her new husband, Gilbert, was a renowned professor and author who knew practically everything about the battles of the War between the States. Last fall a small private university had opened its doors in nearby Maple Creek, hoping to attract the most intelligent and serious of students. In other words, the cream of the crop. Happily the professor and the university had found each other.

Gilbert had joined the faculty for the summer session, teaching accelerated courses in American History. He loved his second career, and I dared to hope that he and Camille would stay in Michigan throughout the winter instead of migrating to their other home in Tennessee.

If that happened, I could keep my favorite confidante.

Your flowers are incredible, I said, seizing my own opportunity to sit on the third porch step.

They always were. When I’d first seen the tall perennials that surrounded the old Victorian, I remembered thinking they were trying to hide the house, to keep its secrets. Lush colors, delicate petals and glossy leaves—whatever Camille placed in the ground reseeded itself and grew higher than any ordinary plants. Like Jack’s beanstalk, I always thought.

She smiled and didn’t contradict me. But they need rain. We all do. My, it’s hot.

She’d been clearing dandelions from around the stalks of the giant foxgloves and loosening the soil with a cultivator.

I just came from the animal shelter, I said and proceeded to tell her about the dogs.

She joined me on the step, and Holly squeezed in between us, which was right, as she had once been my puppy. Behind us, on the porch, Gemmy and Twister were nosily lapping water from a pail.

That doesn’t sound like an ordinary theft to me, Camille said. Nor even a case of vandalism. Who do you suppose this Rima is?

A troublemaker.

Somebody with an agenda.

"She’s not going to get