Summer Shadows

by Killarney Traynor

  She was engrossed in her book when she was interrupted.

  “Excuse me?”

  The tone betrayed impatience.

  Julia wrenched herself from Picturesque in Death and focused on the person standing by a particularly gruesome old floor lamp. She blinked a few times and lifted her sunglasses.

  The woman came into focus. She was a short lady, round, in her middle sixties, with gray hair, and a determinedly disgruntled expression. Julia was used to that look: it was the expression of choice for every experienced Yard Saler that came to inspect her offerings that morning.

  “You’re selling this?” the woman asked. She had one hand on the wooden lamp and the other on her hip.

  Julia pulled herself up into a sitting position and removed her sunglasses to give the woman her best friendly smile.

  “I am.”

  “There aren’t any stickers.” She frowned at the item, which was a combination lampstand-table with a drawer. “What are you asking for it?”

  “Best offer. We’re trying to clear out the house.”

  “It’s stained, you know.”

  “Stained?”

  “Right here.” She pointed. “And here. It’s paint spatter.”

  Julia sighed and nodded. “Well, it is rather old.”

  “Still, it’s not in mint condition, is it?”

  She fussed about the lamp for a moment and tugged the drawer open. She looked inside and frowned.

  “Does the drawer work all right?” Julia asked.

  “It sticks,” the woman explained. She pulled out a piece of paper. “This is yours, I think.”

  Julia took it and found it was a glamour photo of a startlingly beautiful young woman. With sparkling blue eyes, mounds of curly golden hair, and a stunning smile, the woman was looking off into the distance, dressed in clothing that was at least twenty years out of date. In the corner, scrawled in pen, were the words, Yours, S.

  Julia looked up, confused, and the woman said, “I’ll give you ten for it.”

  “For the picture?”

  “For the lamp.”

  “Oh! Oh, fine. Do you know who this is?”

  The woman was making a great show of looking through her purse for the money. “Yeah,” she said. “Stephanie Lang, the murdered woman. I used to clean house for her, the silly creature. You’ll load the lamp into my car?”

  Julia followed her and put the lamp into her car while the woman stood off to one side, studying the children. When Julia slammed the trunk shut, the woman jumped and turned, startled.

  “I was just wondering,” Julia said casually. “Everyone thinks that Brad Lang killed his wife. Do you?”

  “No.” The woman frowned. “What difference does it make?” She went around to the driver’s door.

  Julia followed her, answering, “I’m just curious, is all. Do you know something the others don’t?”

  The woman stopped with her hand on the door, staring at Julia. “I worked for the Langs,” she said. “Brad Lang was a jellyfish, a silly, spoiled brat who thought his wife walked on water. Whatever Stephanie wanted, Stephanie got.” She paused. “He was the type of man who would hide behind lawyers and take the easy way out. The truth was never as important as expediency. And yet, no matter how many deals the DA offered him, no matter how many times his lawyers tried to convince him to make a deal or plea extenuating circumstances, Brad Lang stuck to his guns and pleaded ‘not guilty’ all the way through. He sacrificed expediency for his version of the truth. That wasn’t like him. That’s why I think he didn’t do it.”

  With that, she got into the car and slammed the door shut. Julia stepped back to give her room, frowning and deep in thought. The woman leaned out the open window and jerked her head at the kids. “Are they yours?” she asked.

  “Two of them are,” Julia said.

  “Oh, yes. The other is Robby Wilde’s, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. Amelia.”

  “He lives right next door.”

  “Yes…”

  “Well,” the woman sniffed. “Isn’t that convenient?”

  She drove off and Julia stared after her, gaping.

  “Mrs. Donaldson.”

  Julia jumped.

  Mrs. Jurta was behind her, watching the car speed away. She shook her head regretfully. “Mrs. Donaldson always has an opinion, and never a problem sharing it with anyone who’ll listen. And she’s always surprised when she finds herself alone in a crowd.”

  Mrs. Jurta had none of her four legged friends with her today, and Julia wondered if places had been found for them yet. She hoped so, even though she knew it would upset Dana to learn that she probably wouldn’t see Horatio again.

  “Oh, hello,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Fine. I’ve come to check out your sale. Mind if I nose about?”

  “No, please do. It is best offer, so if you see anything you like, let me know.”

  Mrs. Jurta nodded and wandered off. Julia could tell that she was not really interested in furniture - she was probably here to push her dog agenda. Julia didn’t want to listen, but she couldn’t think of a polite way of getting around it.

  She went back to her chair and looked at the photo again. So this was the infamous Stephanie Lang. No wonder the town had been so star-struck. She certainly was very beautiful, in a fresh, young way. But what was the picture doing inside that lamp?

  For the second time, Mrs. Jurta made her jump.

  “I’m still looking for dog sitters,” Mrs. Jurta announced, rubbing the scarred surface of a tiny wooden desk. “It’s tough, you know. I got a list from the SPCA, but they’ve just gotten a shipment of abused dogs, and every volunteer has their hands full.”

  “Oh, I am sorry to hear that,” Julia grabbed her book and shoved the picture into it before Mrs. Jurta could see it. For some reason, she didn’t feel like sharing the find. “Do you see anything you like?” she asked brightly.

  Mrs. Jurta blinked at her, and then shook her head. “I was just looking at the scratches on this table.” She indicated them with her hand. “Whoever owned this must not have de-clawed their cat.”

  “It does look awful.”

  “It needs refinishing. My brother does that kind of work all the time. I’m just surprised by how many scratches there are. The cat must have gone to town on it.”

  Julia sighed. She was getting tired of questions without answers, especially those revolving around her house. She wished fervently that someone would take the table away so that she would have one less thing to think about.

  “I won’t be surprised if no one takes this,” she said. “No one likes buying a repair job.”

  “I’ll take it,” Mrs. Jurta said.

  “No, that’s okay, really.”

  “I’ll give it to my brother,” she insisted. “He’s retired and has nothing else to do. How much?”

  “Best offer. Make a bid.”

  “Oh, um, hmmm… Twenty bucks?”

  “Make it ten and you’ve got a deal.”

  “You’re not much of a bargainer,” Mrs. Jurta commented. She fished around in her jean’s pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled cash.

  “No,” Julia said. “I’m afraid not. But I feel like I’m cheating you by asking for any money at all. Thanks. Are you all set for your trip down to Florida?”

  “If I could find a sitter for just four more of the dogs, I’d be all set. You wouldn’t…”

  Julia sighed again and decided to face the matter head on.

  “Mrs. Jurta, I’d help you out if I could, but I’ve never had a dog before and I’m just too overwhelmed with children and house repairs to add one more task to the list. I’m sorry. I really am.”

  The other woman nodded. “I understand.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “No, no, it�
�s my problem. It’s just that… Well, your little girl took to Horatio so fast and Amelia, of course, likes the little one. I just thought that – well, no matter.”

  She rubbed the top of the bedside table. Julia felt horribly guilty, and it was only through the strongest of self-control that she kept herself from giving in. “I’m sure something will come up,” she offered.

  Mrs. Jurta said, “I do have some calls out, but, well, everyone’s busy, you know? And they are such well-behaved dogs. For puppies, I mean.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “They don’t eat very much. And it’d only be a week, probably, before I or one of the other vets could take them back. That’s not long at all.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “If not, I guess it’ll be the kennel for them.”

  “The kennel?”

  “There’s one in Concord. It’s not a bad place, not at all. But it’s so impersonal.”

  Julia had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  “If they were ordinary dogs, I would say so. But these little guys have been through so much in their lives already. They’ve been abused, abandoned, and they are finally at a point where they can start to relax and recover. Now this.”

  Julia felt a lump growing in her throat.

  “I just feel terrible,” Mrs. Jurta said. “I’m torn between my duty to the puppies and my duty towards Dexter.”

  Julia relented. “Mrs. Jurta, look, I can’t take them in, but I will give you this much. If you can’t find a place for Horatio and – and Amelia’s dog, then let me know, okay?”

  A smile split the gloom on Mrs. Jurta’s face. “You mean that?” she chirped.

  Julia nodded.

  “Oh!” Mrs. Jurta reached out and grabbed both of her hands. For a moment, Julia thought the woman was going to kiss them. But the older woman merely squeezed them as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

  “Oh, Julia, thank you! The boys will be so happy and your little girl will be delighted.”

  “Don’t say anything just yet,” Julia said, alarmed. “We’ll wait until tomorrow night, in case you find something else.”

  “Absolutely! Oh, thank you! It is such a weight off of my mind, you have no idea.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Julia said. She suspected that she might as well resign herself to the idea that two puppies were coming to stay until Mrs. Jurta’s return. “That’s what neighbors are for.”

  Mrs. Jurta showed her own neighborly spirit by taking a boxful of nick-knacks and a table lamp to go with the bedside table.

  31

  Saturday morning was one of the best mornings Ron had in a long time. He got up in the early twilight, then he and Robert joined the other guys signing in for the derby. There was lots of joking and laughing, and Ron soon felt like one of the guys.

  After signing in, he helped Robert unload his boat into the lake and relished the gentle rocking as they cast off. Robert knew the best places to fish and they reeled in several catches before they found any that were worth keeping. When they finally called it a day and headed back, Ron was glowing from the fresh air, sunshine, and good feeling.

  This, he thought, is how summer ought to be spent.

  John Irwin Sr. had taken a break from the hardware store to volunteer at the derby. He was in charge of measuring the fish and took great delight in telling Ron that his catch was definitely one of the biggest.

  “Is this your first time?” he asked, handing it back.

  “No, sir,” Ron said, pleased with his success. “But it’s been a while.”

  “Well done!”

  John couldn’t say that Ron was the winner, of course, until all the contestants reported back in, but that didn’t matter to Ron - all that did matter was that he had caught a fish, and it was way bigger than Robert’s.

  “Mine will taste better, though,” Robert teased as they walked towards the barbeque area.

  “Probably,” Ron said, “but only because you already know how to cook it.”

  It was nearly noon and the barbeque section was hopping. They stowed their catches in coolers in the car, then went to get some food. Robert knew everyone and introduced them to Ron, bragging about Ron’s catch as much as if he’d caught it himself. Ron got a hamburger, chips, and a soda, and found an empty table to sit at.

  He was picturing himself as a cop when Dylan slid next to him.

  “Hey, Budd,” he grinned. “Catch anything?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ron said and gave him the weight and dimensions. The older boy’s face fell.

  “Aw, man,” he grumbled. “That takes mine out.”

  Ron grinned triumphantly, but Dylan didn’t notice - he was too busy blaming the three other fishermen who’d crowded his own fishing spot on the lake.

  Then he pulled his digital camera out of his pocket and turned it on. “Okay, so I set up some hunting cameras on the house the other day and, before you ask, no, I don’t know if that’s legal or not. It shouldn’t be that big a deal because they only take photos when there’s movement. Anyway, I checked them yesterday and got some images already. I think you’re going to freak out when you see them.”

  Ron was intrigued. “Really? Did you catch a glimpse of someone?”

  “It’s even creepier than that. Dude, I’m thinking that we’re on to something here, a real ghost.”

  “Isn’t that what you always thought?”

  “Well – not exactly. I mean, I thought there was supernatural activity and stuff, but a real ghost? Do you know how rare those are?”

  “No.”

  “Pretty rare,” Dylan admitted. He thrust the camera into Ron’s face. “Look at this.”

  Ron studied it. It was the side of the house where he and Dylan had been earlier. There was nothing other than a cat sitting on the porch, its eyes glittering.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Just watch.”

  The picture flipped but the scene was basically the same, except the cat was jumping off the fence, fleeing the scene. Although there was nothing particularly frightening about that, it made a shiver run down Ron’s spine.

  Dylan hit the button and the scene shifted. It was blank.

  Ron blinked, but the picture stayed the same. It was completely black.

  “What?” he asked.

  Dylan was grinning. “Look at it!”

  “There’s nothing but a black screen!” Ron protested, then did a double take and looked again. “There’s nothing but a black screen? Wait – what caused the black screen?”

  The older boy leaned back, looking smug. “What indeed?”

  “Did it lose battery?”

  “No, it didn’t. See the edge, there? You can see some light.”

  Ron looked and saw that he was right. There was crumbly-looking light on the edge of the picture.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “I found a plastic bag covering the camera. There aren’t any pictures after this.”

  “A plastic bag? Well, that could have been anything, then. The wind could have carried it over.”

  “There wasn’t any wind last night,” Dylan said.

  Ron leaned forward and clasped his hands together, imitating his dad whenever he was trying to make a point.

  “Dylan, this isn’t any proof that there’s a ghost. It looked like it for a minute there, but the bag is pretty – um – not conclusive. I mean, an animal or something could have…”

  “What? Pulled it up a tree and draped it over the camera? Katy was with me when I found it. No animal or wind put that bag there.”

  “Dylan, it’s probably nothing.”

  He wasn’t listening. “Someone doesn’t appreciate our looking around at all. We need to step up our surveillance.”

  “How?”

&n
bsp; “Stake out.”

  “Stake out? Overnight?”

  “What’s the matter? Are you scared of the dark?”

  Ron glared at him. “No one’s afraid of the dark, just of what’s in the dark.”

  Dylan sighed, exasperated. “All right, all right. Look...” He pulled out a notebook and began to flip through the pages, doing his best to look like one of the ghost show hosts. “I’ve been doing a lot of studying and I think the only way we can get to the bottom of this is if we are on the scene when something happens. That means going in at night when everyone else is asleep. We’ll just slip in and out without touching anything. What do you think?”

  Ron shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said regretfully. “Aunt Julia…”

  “She doesn’t have to know. We’ll be back before she wakes up.”

  Ron considered it. Dylan was right – the only way to catch a real ghost was to go at night, but Ron had never snuck out of the house before and the idea made him nervous. Nevertheless, here was chance for adventure, to see a ghost for real, to do something risky and brave. His heart pounded at the thought, and he nodded.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Sweet. How about tonight?”

  “Tonight? Um…”

  Ron looked over at the grills. Robert was a few steps away, laughing with the other guys, paper plate in hand, hamburger untouched. At any moment, he’d be joining Ron and Dylan to eat. They had only a little time to finish this conversation.

  Ron turned to Dylan. “Look, I can’t do it tonight, but probably tomorrow night. I’ll text you.”

  “Why not tonight?” Dylan asked.

  “Officer Wilde’s going back on the beat tomorrow,” Ron said. “He and Aunt Julia are probably going to be up half the night talking. They can talk a blue streak when they want to, you know.”

  Dylan nodded knowingly. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I know what you mean. I heard that they’ve been hanging out together. Grandma thinks that they’re an item.”

  Ron blinked. “A what?”

  Dylan shrugged. “You know, a couple. Boyfriend and girlfriend like. Grandma and her buddies have bets on when it’s official.”

  “They’re not a couple,” Ron scoffed.