The Ghost of Cutler Creek

by Cynthia DeFelice

  “Of course,” answered Allie.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  But something interfered with their plans. In the morning, when Allie pulled into Mr. Henry’s driveway on her bike, the gate to the fenced-in pen was open. The yard was empty and so was the house. Hoover was gone.

  Thirteen

  Allie went over every inch of the house twice, then a third time, pleading with Hoover to come out of hiding and stop playing tricks.

  “I mean it, Hoover,” she called desperately. “This isn’t funny.”

  She searched her memory: had she forgotten to shut the gate? No. She remembered carefully closing it and fastening the latch. And Hoover, brilliant as she was, didn’t have the dexterity to unfasten it.

  So what had happened? Perhaps some neighborhood child had seen Hoover and taken her out to play. Perhaps…No! She couldn’t bear to think that any possible harm had come to Mr. Henry’s beloved dog, especially when he had trusted Allie to care for her.

  Finally she had to admit the truth: Hoover was gone. The reality of it rolled through her chest and down into the pit of her stomach, leaving a jittery sickness in its wake.

  Crying, Allie picked up the phone to call her parents. She was shaking so badly she had to redial three times before she got the number right.

  “Dad?” Thank goodness he hadn’t left for work. “Dad, you’ve got to come, quick! Hoover’s gone!”

  Saying the words out loud caused a fresh burst of sobbing, and it took several moments before Allie had composed herself enough to explain.

  “Stay there, Allie,” her dad commanded. “I’ll be right over.”

  While she waited, Allie continued to walk around the house in a state of disbelief, calling and cajoling. Soon the kitchen door burst open and her father, mother, and Michael all appeared. Her mother hugged her, while her father and Michael searched the house again, in vain.

  When it was clear that Allie was right and Hoover had indeed disappeared, Mr. Nichols picked up the phone and called the police, who said they would be there as quickly as possible.

  “Ann, you’d better get Michael out of here,” said Mr. Nichols. “Look at him. Even with his pills, he’s having a reaction from being in this house.”

  Michael sneezed then, as if any proof were needed beyond his red eyes and runny nose. But as Allie looked at her little brother, she saw in his eyes something more than allergic tears, and she knew what it was. Ever since she’d arrived at Mr. Henry’s house, she’d felt the presence of her ghost.

  “Come here, Mike,” she said, indicating for him to follow her outside into the yard. She knelt beside him. “You feel it, too, don’t you?” she asked.

  Michael nodded. “Something bad is happening,” he said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

  “Does it feel prickly here?” Allie asked, touching the back of her own neck.

  Michael nodded. Then he cocked his head, as if listening. “It’s crying again, Allie. Do you hear it?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, more spooked than she’d ever been before.

  “Can’t you make it stop?” Michael asked plaintively.

  “I’m working on it,” she said. “In the meantime, don’t listen if you can help it, and try not to worry.”

  Michael nodded, but he looked doubtful. Allie’s heart went out to him. She thought about the dream she’d had, the one that Michael had not shared because he’d been fishing while she was napping, the dream in which she had felt the ghost dog leading her along. She was glad that Michael had missed that. She intended to protect him from as much unpleasantness as possible.

  Michael was cocking his head again. “Now it’s gone,” he said.

  Allie listened. He was right. The sounds inside her head were gone, too. “Yes,” she said.

  “But I heard something different, kind of like…” He paused, thinking, then smiled. “Like when I play drummer and bang on the pot with a spoon.”

  “Yes,” said Allie. She had heard it, too, although she’d been so wrapped up in what she was saying to Michael that she hadn’t paid close attention. She was vaguely aware that the sound was familiar, although she couldn’t place it, and, besides, she had other, more pressing things on her mind.

  The full horror of Hoover’s disappearance came flooding through her once again. She was going to have to call Mr. Henry. He’d left an emergency phone number, saying that he was sure she wouldn’t need it. Oh, how she wished she didn’t!

  She was interrupted in her dismal thoughts by a police car pulling into the driveway. A police officer Allie had seen directing traffic near school got out and introduced herself to Allie and her family as Officer Helen Burke.

  After Allie explained exactly when she had last seen Hoover and what she had discovered that morning, the officer asked, “Are you certain that you latched the gate securely behind you last night?”

  Allie said she was sure she had.

  “Did you notice anything missing or disturbed inside the house?” Officer Burke asked next.

  “No. The kitchen door was locked, the way I left it. The key is under that flower pot,” she added, pointing. “Hoover gets in and out through the dog door.”

  Officer Burke nodded and said she was going to take a look around. When she’d inspected the house and yard to her satisfaction, she said, “Well, I don’t see any reason to suspect foul play. No forcible entry, nothing missing other than the dog. It was probably kids, fooling around. All I can do is file a report at the station and alert the local shelter, in case someone turns her in. If someone does find her, it’s good that her name and phone number are on the collar.”

  Seeing Allie’s dismay, she added kindly, “Dogs go missing all the time. They almost always come back on their own once they’ve had their fun.”

  Allie hoped fervently that she was right.

  They thanked Officer Burke, and Michael and Mrs. Nichols left to go home. Allie’s father had driven over in his own car so that he could go straight to work from Mr. Henry’s house. He stayed while Allie got up the courage to call Mr. Henry. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer and no answering machine. Allie hung up. At first she was relieved, but then she wished Mr. Henry knew. Maybe he’d have a suggestion about where Hoover might go. And maybe Allie wouldn’t feel so alone in her responsibility.

  “Dad,” she asked, “is it okay if I don’t go home? If Hoover does come back, I should be here. I’ll stay outside so I can watch for her, and I’ll leave the window open so I can hear the phone in case somebody finds her and tries to call.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” said Mr. Nichols. “Call your mother to tell her. And call me at the office if you hear anything, okay, sweetie?”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t worry, Allie-Cat. She’ll turn up.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Allie answered, and her eyes filled with tears again.

  She called to tell her mother of her plans, and Mrs. Nichols said she’d bring over some lunch after she took Michael to the baby-sitter. Then Allie called Dub and told him what had happened.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Hang on. I’ll be there in a little while.”

  At first Allie paced the yard, looking in all directions and calling for Hoover. Soon, though, she merely sat on the kitchen step, feeling dejected and waiting for her mother and Dub to show up.

  Mrs. Nichols came first, bringing sandwiches, chips, cookies, and drinks. “There’s enough for Dub, too,” she told Allie. “I thought he might be coming over to keep you company.”

  Allie nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I’ll be at the store,” Mrs. Nichols said. “Call if you get any news, or if you just want to talk, okay?”

  “I will.”

  Mrs. Nichols leaned down to give Allie a hug and whispered, “She’ll turn up.”

  If enough people keep saying that, maybe it will come true, Allie told herself.

  To her relief, it wasn’t long before Dub pull
ed into the driveway on his bicycle. A bunch of papers fluttered from the clip attached to his rear fender. He pulled them free, and carried them over for Allie to see.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “I made them up on the computer. I’d have made them fancier, but I didn’t want to waste any time.”

  In huge letters at the top of each flyer was the word MISSING. Beneath that, in slightly smaller letters, Allie read, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS DOG? Underneath that was a photo. My name is Hoover. I am a female golden retriever. I may be wearing a red collar with my name on it. Please return me to my owner. Mr. Henry’s address and phone number followed, along with Allie’s home phone and both of her parents’ work numbers.

  “Wow, Dub,” Allie said in amazement. “They’re great. You thought of everything. But where did you get the picture?”

  “Off the Internet,” Dub answered.

  “It looks just like her,” Allie marveled.

  “I kept looking until I found a good likeness,” Dub said. “I figured it would help catch people’s attention. So you want to go put them up?”

  “I’d like to, but I think I should stay here in case she comes back.”

  “Oh, right. Okay, I’ll go. I’ve got tape and thumb tacks in my backpack.”

  “Dub, thanks so much. You are the best.” Allie felt dangerously near to crying again, and tried to get ahold of herself. “When you’re done, will you come back here?” she asked. Pointing to the grocery sack her mother had left, she added, “I’ve got lunch.”

  “I’ll definitely be back.”

  “Good.” Allie watched him get on his bike and start off. “Thanks again,” she called.

  “No sweat,” Dub called back.

  Allie watched him go, feeling frustrated at the idea of doing nothing, yet knowing that she should be around in case Hoover returned. She decided that one thing she could do was ask the neighbors on either side of Mr. Henry’s house and across the street if they had seen anything unusual going on.

  No one was home at the house on the right. At the house on the left, a woman wearing a fuzzy purple bathrobe and matching slippers answered the door. “Don’t tell me it’s time for selling those cookies again,” she said when she saw Allie. “I’ve still got some in the freezer.”

  It took Allie a second to realize the woman assumed she was selling Girl Scout cookies. She explained who she was and that Hoover was missing. “So I was wondering if you saw her this morning,” she finished.

  The woman shook her head. “But I heard her last night, barking her head off when I was trying to sleep. What a commotion!”

  “Do you remember what time that was?” Allie asked.

  The woman scrunched up her face in thought. “It must have been close to midnight, because I’d turned on the eleven-thirty movie.” She shook her head in disgust. “Why people watch that stuff, I’ll never know. It was pure rubbish. So I turned it off and got ready for bed. And that’s when the ruckus started.”

  “Did you look over to see what was going on?” Allie asked.

  “I mind my own business,” the woman said with a sniff. “Anyway, I didn’t have to look. I knew whose dog it was. So I called over there. I let the phone ring ten times, but there was no answer. Now you tell me Justin’s away, which explains why he didn’t come to the phone. But the barking stopped right after that. I figured he’d gone out and gotten the dog and taken her into the house. I went to sleep. There were no more disturbances after that. Until now,” she added, peering narrowly at Allie.

  “Oh!” Allie said. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m going now.”

  She turned and hurried down the path toward the sidewalk. The woman called after her, “Go see Muriel DiRaddo across the street. She’s the busybody around here, not me.”

  Allie heard the door close, and when she peeked back she saw the curtain move at the window. The woman was apparently going to watch to see if Allie followed her suggestion. Allie’s mouth twitched in a little smile as she crossed the street.

  The man who answered Allie’s knock wore the navy-blue uniform of the gas and electric company. The name Ozzie was sewn on the pocket. He smiled and said, “Can I help you, young lady?”

  Allie introduced herself and explained that she was trying to find out anything she could about Mr. Henry’s missing dog. The man turned and called loudly into the house, “Muriel!”

  To Allie, he said, “My wife’s the one to ask.” He added proudly, “Muriel sees and hears everything.”

  When Muriel appeared, Ozzie gave her a peck on the cheek and said he had to be getting to work. Muriel pecked him back and turned to Allie. “Did I hear you say you’re here about that dear boy’s dog?”

  Allie smiled. “Yes,” she answered hopefully. “Hoover. Have you seen her?”

  “Well,” said Muriel, raising her eyebrows significantly, “not exactly. Not today, anyway.”

  “Oh,” Allie murmured in disappointment.

  “But,” Muriel continued in a hushed voice, “I did hear her last night, and I said to Ozzie, ‘Ozzie, something isn’t right with that dog.’ I knew Justin was away, of course, and at first I thought that poor animal was lonely. Now, I know you’ve been taking care of her, and doing a fine job, too. Nevertheless, she must miss her owner, don’t you think?”

  Allie nodded, surprised to realize that this woman had been observing her coming and going.

  “But loneliness wasn’t the problem, I’m quite sure of that,” Muriel went on. “I’ve heard Hoover bark with joy and excitement, and sometimes she whines a little bit when Justin leaves for work. This barking was different. If I hadn’t looked out the window and seen her, I wouldn’t have believed it was Hoover. She sounded like a regular watchdog. Angry. Ferocious.”

  Allie listened, fascinated, as Muriel began to imitate the sounds Hoover had been making.

  “So, naturally, I kept watching to see what was making her so upset.”

  Naturally, thought Allie wryly. Then she admitted to herself that she would probably have done the same thing.

  “I stayed at the window for quite a while, but all I could see was that poor dog lunging at the fence. I went to another window to see if I could get a glimpse of what was bothering her, but I couldn’t. Ozzie said it was most likely a skunk or a raccoon. I’ve smelled skunks in the neighborhood more than once, and I can tell you, I was hoping the dog hadn’t gotten into one. Anyway, by then it was pretty late, and Ozzie likes a good night’s sleep. So I pulled the curtain and went to bed. And not five minutes later, the barking stopped. Just like that.” Muriel demonstrated by snapping her fingers. Then she looked at Allie inquisitively. “But now you say the dog’s missing?”

  “Yes,” Allie said, and all her worry and anxiety came back in a rush. She tried to control it, to think, and to ask the right questions. “You said she was lunging at the fence. She was in the yard, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the gate was closed?” Allie asked.

  Muriel nodded emphatically. “Just the way you left it. I could see that quite clearly.”

  Allie was relieved to have Muriel confirm that she had, indeed, closed the gate behind her. But her relief was quickly overtaken by dismay. Hoover hadn’t found the door ajar and gone for an innocent romp around town. Someone had opened the gate.

  Allie returned to Mr. Henry’s house and checked the answering machine to make sure no one had called to report finding Hoover while she’d been gone. The light wasn’t flashing, but she hadn’t expected it to be. She no longer believed she’d receive that call, nor did she expect the missing dog to return home on her own.

  Her chest felt as if it were filled with fluttering moths, and she tried to calm herself. But there was no denying the direction her thoughts were taking. Hoover had to have been barking at a person, someone who remained carefully out of sight until Muriel left her post at the window. And then, when the coast was clear, that person had opened the gate and…

  “…the barking stopped. Just l
ike that.”

  Allie forced herself to imagine what that might mean. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  Fourteen

  When Dub returned, flushed from riding his bike all over town to post the flyers, Allie told him what she had learned.

  He said, “You think someone took her?”

  “Or—worse.” Allie was barely able to get the words out. She kept imagining that she heard Hoover’s frantic barking, followed by silence. What could that sudden quiet mean, except that—She couldn’t bear to finish the thought.

  Dub examined her face and seemed to hear what she was trying so hard to keep at bay. He said sternly, “Wait a second, Al. Just hold on. You may be right that someone took her. But there’s no reason to think anything worse happened. It doesn’t make sense. Why would a person sneak around at midnight and hide and all only to”—he paused and swallowed—“kill her? Or even hurt her. Think about it, Al. Really.”

  Allie looked at him, wanting to believe he was right.

  He went on. “We might have a case of dog-napping here, but not murder. I mean, Hoover’s a purebred golden retriever. She’s a pretty valuable dog. I just don’t see somebody going to all that trouble and then killing her, okay? Besides,” he added excitedly, “I just realized something. If Hoover was dead, you’d know it. I bet her ghost would contact you right away!”

  Allie nodded slowly. “I never thought of that,” she said. “You could be right.”

  Dub looked relieved. “Okay, then,” he said. “We’re going to assume she’s alive.”

  “But who would take her?” Allie wailed. “And why?”

  They talked this over as they ate the lunch Allie’s mother had left them. Allie only picked at her food, and she noticed that Dub didn’t have his usual appetite, either. They tried to imagine what enemies Mr. Henry might have, and couldn’t come up with any.

  “And everyone who knows Hoover loves her,” Allie said. Then, narrowing her eyes, she added, “Except L.J.’s creepy father.”

  “L.J. seemed awfully interested in her, too, remember?” Dub said. “At least he asked a lot of questions about her.”