Karen Mercury (7 page)

“Exactly,” said Tabitha, obviously relieved. “Just one of those silly games. This is Jeremiah Franklin. He’s an assistant to many members of our family.”

Foster continued, “But you say it spelled out ‘Phineas’
before
you saw her? That
is
quite funny.”

Tabitha shrugged. “I suppose it’s one of those million-to-one things that actually happen once in awhile. Has she eaten since we gave her those scraps at the Cactus Club?”

Foster said, “Nope. And she didn’t eat those either, which concerns me. Maybe she’s accustomed to eating raw fish from the Laramie River.”

Tabitha said soothingly, “Yes, she doesn’t seem to eat much. I’m sure Josefina—that’s our cook—will have something appetizing for her. Right, Phineas? Fish? Would you like fish? Fish that’s cooked?”

She stooped as if to lead Phineas by the scruff, but Worth took over then. “I’ll take her, miss. Which way’s the kitchen?”

“I’ll show you,” said Jeremiah, swiftly striding off on his long legs.

Worth and Phineas followed. Worth could’ve sworn Foster even cast him a grateful look for leaving him alone with Tabitha. Foster moved closer to Tabitha, his green eyes clouded with dreams.

“Oh!” cried Jeremiah, his hands fluttering with excitement. “It’s so good to meet some hearty pioneers who have conquered the savage interior of this wild country! Well, I mean, most everyone in Laramie is a pioneer of some sort, of course, including me. I was lately of the Great Wilson Circus that was stuck here in town during the big blizzard of sixty-nine, so we were all pioneering showmen back then.”

“Yes,” Worth agreed. “You strike me as a sort of showman, that’s for certain.”

Jeremiah waved a limp hand. “Oh my, yes. I was known as Montreal Jed for my wonderful work in that town. That’s the show business, as we always said. Josefina, do you have any spare food this dog might want to eat?”

They were in the kitchen now, the grandest affair Worth had seen in a few years. The Spanish cook said blankly, “What dog?”

“Here,” said Jeremiah, taking a bowl from a shelf. “Just cut off a piece of that pork roast and chop it up. What dog wouldn’t eat that?”

“A Jewish one,” suggested Worth.

They took the bowl of pork through a back doorway and into a tidy, colorful garden. The fence was constructed of solid, manicured hedgerows, so there was no fear of Phineas escaping, and Jeremiah set the bowl onto some flagstones. She sat next to the bowl but didn’t even look at it.

“Where is Harland Park?” Worth queried. “I was looking forward to meeting him, as I’m a photographer and I heard he has the best equipment around.”

“Oh, Harley sends his regards. He was called out west on some urgent railroad matter, something about a bridge collapsing, and—”

Jeremiah went suddenly silent. Worth had to blink, too, because suddenly Phineas seemed to have vanished. He had only taken his eyes off her for a brief moment to address Jeremiah. How could she have run off without him noticing the movement, if only from the corner of his eye?

He looked back to Jeremiah, who had gone strangely white. He murmured some things under his breath.

“Are you all right?” Worth asked.

Jeremiah shook his head as though to rid it of cobwebs. “Fine. Just some residual effects from the medicine I took for St. Vitus’s Dance. Now, about Harley. I’m sure since you are a fellow professional—”

“
Jiminy cricket!
”

Worth automatically clutched Jeremiah’s arm, because this time he was certain he wasn’t hallucinating. Phineas had suddenly manifested again, sitting in the exact same position as before next to the pork bowl! She had definitely not been there a half a second beforehand, and now she looked eagerly up at them, panting!

Worth whispered, “Did you see what I just saw?”

Jeremiah whispered back, “If it’s what I just saw, then yes.”

“What did you just see?”

Jeremiah pointed a shaky finger at the hedgerow. “Phineas was there. Suddenly she was here. Without any in-between running or moving.”

They looked at each other, blinking. Worth whispered, “How could that possibly be?”

When he remembered to look back at the pork bowl, Phineas had vanished again! The two men sprinted off the flagstones and down various paths, pivoting about like ball players trying to find the dog, but she was nowhere to be seen.

They practically ran into each other like headless morons when they returned to the bowl. They jumped and clutched each other when Tabitha appeared at the back garden door, her brows knitted with amusement.

“Excuse me, fellows,” she said uncertainly. “I just wanted to make sure Phineas ate before she came back inside.”

The men gasped and clutched each other even tighter. Worth was the first to say, “Came back inside? But we closed the back door. Tabitha! Did you open that door just now?”

“Why, yes,” she said weakly, looking at her hand around the doorknob. “How on earth did she get back into the parlor? I assumed you’d let her in.”

Now Jeremiah rattled Worth mercilessly.
“Ghost dog!”
he wailed ominously.

“Ghost dog.” Worth had no choice but to agree.

Wrenched into action, Jeremiah flew past Tabitha inside the house, Worth hot on his heels. Worth stopped only long enough to tell the woman, who after all he’d just met ten minutes ago, “Foster’s dog is a spirit!” Then he raced off through the kitchen and down the hall.

Worth didn’t know how he was going to broach this idea to Foster, that his dog was not of this world.
Phineas is a former dog who has ceased to exist.
Foster had said something about Harley telling him the dog had died and how pleasantly surprised he was to find her out in front of the restaurant.

Worth now knew. The dog
had
died.

But how was he going to convince Foster? The dog
felt
real. Her silken fur tickled the palms pleasantly, and she smelled like sun-warmed grass.

In the parlor, Jeremiah was already frantically shaking Foster by the biceps and wailing, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen, Mr. Richmond! A ghost dog is the least of them, believe you me! I’ve seen the spirit of a dead bear wrestler materialize and write things with his ghostly hands. I’ve seen spirits throw snowballs. I’ve seen—” Jeremiah choked up, too overcome with emotion to speak. But he gasped and spat out, “I’ve seen
tiny jesters dancing on my knees!
”

Foster was apparently too polite to unpeel the circus performer from his person, especially since Tabitha now stood behind Worth, craning her head to see into the parlor. Foster leaned over to look at Tabitha and chuckled nervously. “Ah, Miss Hudson? I have no idea what your assistant is talking about. Ghost dogs?”

Worth blurted out, “I saw it, too, Foster. She kept vanishing and reappearing in different places. And she just got inside the house without benefit of using the door.”

Tabitha strode over to Foster. “It sounds strange, but I tend to think there’s some merit in what they’re saying. That door
was
closed. How did she get back into this parlor? My sisters have told me stories, too. Laramie is some kind of focal point for a ‘steel magnetism’ that was brought when the railroad first came through.”

Jeremiah cringed away from the dog, who sat placidly by a couch with her tongue poking out. She blinked and actually looked as though she were smiling. “No wonder she doesn’t eat! Do ghosts eat? What need do they have of food? Have you ever seen her take a shit?”

Foster rolled his eyes and turned away to the fireplace, but Tabitha seemed to be actually considering the showman’s words. “Now that you mention it, no. I’ve never had to clean up after her, but I assumed she went to the necessary in someone else’s garden.”

Jeremiah squealed, “Because ghost dogs don’t piss!”

Tabitha continued, “And I’ve definitely noticed she seems to vanish into the thin blue sky. One moment she’ll be sitting next to me, the next second she’ll appear in another room. Or even completely gone from the house altogether and will appear on the front porch. One time—dear Lord, where did this gorgeous gown come from?” Tabitha was distracted by an emerald green gown draped across the back of the couch, and she moved to pick it up. “Foster? Who brought this gown in? This wasn’t here before.”

Foster shook his head with irritation. “Nobody came in. I’ve been here the whole time. Now listen, Mr. Jeremiah. You, too, Worth. While I’ve certainly seen my share of specters that would make your skin crawl, a dog simply can’t be a ghost. There are no dogs in the afterlife.”

Jeremiah asked logically, “Then where do they go when they die? And in what form do they become reborn? As prairie dogs?”

“As hedgehogs?” Worth pointed out.

Foster glared. “Furthermore, we can
feel
this dog! Aren’t ghosts insubstantial, flimsy, and…well,
ghostly?
”

“Like pudding,” said Tabitha distractedly, holding the beautiful gown up to her form.

Foster paused briefly, probably admiring the way the green of the gown reflected in the sapphire of Tabitha’s eyes. “I can’t accept that. This dog is substantial, fluffy, and—”

Woof!

Everyone in the room froze like waxworks figures. Worth was the first to make a break for the window and peer past the curtains.

Phineas stood in the middle of the street, woofing at them!

She looked straight at Worth, and because she was so large, her
woof
resounded up and down the street. “It’s Phineas!” cried Worth, and the others rushed to the window, too.

They were just in time to see a horse and carriage moving carelessly down the avenue pass entirely
through
the dog without mussing one lock of fur on her giant head. She continued calmly sitting, cheerfully woofing again.

“I don’t know about you,” said Jeremiah from behind Worth’s shoulder, “but I’m not about to go out front and touch that ghost dog.”

This time, Tabitha was the first out the door. Worth saw the train of her lavender gown flash around the corner of the parlor door, and she was gone. Foster gripped Worth’s shoulder, and they leapt into action, both trying to fit through the parlor door at the same time. They squirmed and grunted like two strapping he-men trying to save a damsel, and finally Worth popped free.

By the time he gained the front porch, Tabitha had already mounted her fine mare. Worth was impressed with how swiftly she had mounted and that she was riding astride like a man.

“Come on!” she called to the men. “Phineas is trying to show us something!”

Indeed, the dog had already taken off at a slow gallop west down Garfield Street. Foster was just as swift to mount his bay, Worth fumbling with his own mount. Jeremiah flailed about on the front porch, calling out, “No, thanks! Horses don’t like me!” although nobody had invited him.

Four blocks down, the horses clattered over the Union Pacific rail lines and straight through a shantytown of railroad men tending fires, bending the elbow, and playing fiddles. The workers looked curiously at them as they thundered past.

Foster shouted, “I hope Phineas isn’t leading us to the Snowy Mountains!”

When Phineas reached the Laramie River, gleaming richly in the twilight, she paused. Worth wondered if she was thinking about swimming across, which at this time of year looked to be easy, but instead she put her nose into the grass and snuffled up and down the bank for awhile.

The trio dismounted and followed lamely behind the giant black dog. For lack of anything better to say in such an odd situation, Worth said, “Do you know what Jeremiah was talking about—spirits throwing snowballs?”

“The spirit of a bear wrestler?” Foster added.

Tabitha looked down at the grass with shame. “Yes. Apparently when my sister Alameda first arrived in town, there were strange events they took to calling the Cinnabar Murders. Her husband Remington Rudy—Rudy Dunraven, I mean—was at first suspected of being the culprit.”

Foster nodded. “I heard about that. Happened before I came to Laramie.”

Tabitha looked Foster in the eye and nodded. “Right. The part you lawyers probably didn’t hear much about was that they had the assistance of a spirit, a deceased bear wrestler. That might sound absurd, but why would my sister and her husbands lie?”

It wasn’t so much the dead bear wrestler that made the hairs stand up on the back of Worth’s neck. It was the part about “husbands,” plural. Foster looked quizzical, too, quirking an eyebrow sideways at Worth.

Finally Foster said, “So this bear wrestling spirit threw snowballs? I can believe it. I once had a dream—only it wasn’t a dream, if you know what I mean—when I was ten years old. My cousin who lived two hundred miles away appeared in my room, making a circle in the air with his fist. That was our agreement, to make that sign if one of us were to die. A few days later, I received a letter from my aunt, saying he had died that night.”

“Yes!” cried Tabitha. “See? So it was his
spirit
that came to you, right?”

“Evidently so.”