by Tasha Black
“Just concerned friends,” Dulcie replied.
He nodded slowly.
“I was not in the woods last night,” he replied. “But I saw and heard enough from my cabin.”
“What did you see and hear?” Van demanded, trying, and failing, to emulate Dulcie’s patient tone.
“Let’s walk over that way and I’ll explain as we go,” Templeton said, turning to head in the direction of the clearing where Barrymore was found. “Fair warning though, you may not believe what I tell you.”
Van turned to Dulcie to see if she could handle it, but she had already marched after Templeton.
He shrugged and headed after her.
It was hard not to get fixated on how adorable she was in his jacket. The sleeves were too long and her fingers clutched the cuffs.
“Here we are,” Burroughs announced as they emerged from the woods into the clearing near the cabins.
Police tape fluttered from a couple of pieces of rebar that had been pounded into the ground. Woodland Creek residents must be respecters of implied boundaries. In the neighborhoods Van frequented before, the cops would have put up chain link, or not even bothered with the tape. An incident in North Philly came to mind, but he pushed it away.
He squatted as near the rebar circle as he dared, closing his eyes to let his sense of smell take the driver’s seat.
More recent smells camouflaged what he sought. The newest layers were comprised of the myriad scents of a dozen or more humans exuding morbid curiosity and sweat. Under that, the soles of the cheap shoes a cop might wear mingled with the light perfume of the sole female officer in Woodland Creek.
But when he pulled back the next layer, he found what he was looking for - the earthy smells of the indignities of death, which no amount of cleaning or remediation could completely remove. The ground would be marked here until Mother Nature allowed new layers of soil and grass to draw Barrymore’s last traces back into herself.
The most delicate layer was beneath it all. A high sharp scent of fear. And a hint of the main human scent he’d picked up at the Barrymore manor.
All of this revealed itself to Van in the time it took Dulcie to kneel beside him. Templeton remained a few steps behind.
Rudolph Barrymore had died here, and afraid. But they already knew that.
“What are you looking at?” she asked him.
“I’m not sure yet,” he said, scanning the muddy section of ground.
Sure enough, the massive paw prints of a dog dotted the scene. The first responders had trampled a lot of them, but enough remained intact for Van to get a clear picture. It looked like the thing had held itself in a confident stance, a few feet away from the man, not moving.
It didn’t make sense. The tracks were everywhere. The dog’s scent should have been the first thing he picked up.
He wanted to shift and give it a closer investigation, but he couldn’t exactly do that in present company. He was about to take another whiff when a sound caught his ear instead.
Something was headed their way from the woods behind them.
Chapter 9
Instantly, Van sprang to his feet, alert, aware of Dulcie and the wide open space that left her vulnerable to anything sneaking though the surrounding woods.
“Van?” she asked in confusion.
“Someone’s coming,” he replied.
He heard her rise behind him.
A minute later, Henry Barrymore came tromping out of the brush with Seth.
Van let go of his guard and nodded to them. The time in the woods with Dulcie had clearly left him addled. He’d forgotten these two were on their way.
“Hello,” Burroughs said, seeming to keep a slow pace, even though he’d said only one word.
“Hello,” Henry replied.
“Henry,” Dulcie said in a warm voice, “this is Templeton. He stays in one of the cabins. Templeton, this is Henry.”
Van figured her kind side forced her to make introductions. But he couldn’t help but note that she had carefully failed to reveal that Henry was a Barrymore. Clever girl.
“Pleased to meet you,” Henry said, offering Burroughs his hand.
“The pleasure is mine,” Burroughs said.
“And this is Seth,” Dulcie added.
“Hey there,” Seth said, sticking his hand out eagerly.
“Hello,” Burroughs replied.
What followed was a hugely awkward moment where everyone nodded at each other politely like a bunch of hens. This was not Van’s thing.
“You said you saw something, what did you see?” he asked Burroughs point-blank.
“Yes, of course, let’s go back to my cabin and I’ll tell you all in private,” Burroughs explained languidly as he walked toward the cabins. “As I’ve said, the story may seem far-fetched, but it’s the truth.”
The four of them followed Templeton in silence for a few minutes until they reached the string of cabins.
He led them to the last one in the long row. It was small and the wood shingles were dark and moist looking. But the front porch seemed like a cozy place to enjoy a warming drink on a cool fall night.
Burroughs removed his shoes on the porch and left them on the rug, and the rest did the same until the colorful rag rug was nearly covered in shoes. Van hated removing his motorcycle boots, and wondered if he could get away with keeping them on. But not one of the other guests made waves, so he slipped them off unhappily.
As the others went inside and exclaimed over how tidy the cottage was and said hello to an unfamiliar female voice, Van paused to scan the clearing again. He could just make out the yellow police tape form the clearing through an opening in the trees. This guy was weird, but he might be telling the truth.
Dulcie would know for sure. She had a knack for reading people.
When the relative crowd inside seemed to settle down, Van entered the cabin.
The first thing he noticed was the sharp scent of Dulcie’s distress. She was scared, maybe worse than scared. Yet the sounds and smells of the room were normal to Van.
The small living room had a fireplace, and an arched opening to the dining room, with its round table. Behind that, a door led out to what looked like it must be a screened porch. Bedrooms must have been off to the side.
Most of the guests sat throughout the open living space. The source of the female voice he’d heard from outside was a plain, but attractive brunette with a spray of freckles across her cheeks. She sat near Henry, smoothing her skirt nervously.
Dulcie stood alone, like a lighthouse on the sea. She didn’t lean against a wall or anything, just stood in the middle of the room, stiff and still, eyes locked on an antique desk in the corner.
Van moved to her at once, and put his hand gently on her shoulder.
She whipped around, eyes wide.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
“What is it?” he asked her, sniffing again for danger, and finding none.
“I have to get out of here,” she hissed back desperately through clenched teeth.
“What’s wrong, Dulcie?” Seth asked loudly.
“I’m just, I’m not feeling well,” she mumbled. “I need some fresh air.”
“What a wonderful idea,” the small woman said, jumping up to lead Dulcie further into the house. “Let’s all go out on the back porch. It’s the largest room we have, and the weather’s not too chilly yet.”
Van caught a familiar whiff of strawberries as she hustled past.
Henry hopped up, a little too eagerly, to follow her out.
When they reached the back door, the woman pushed it open, revealing a screened porch overlooking the woods.
Van grazed his head on something on the way out. A frame with butterflies pinned in it. Yuck. That explained the net Templeton had been carrying.
He glanced back. The whole house seemed to be festooned with them. What kind of weirdo would get a kick out of displaying dead insects in their house?
The woman led Dulcie to a wicker love seat, fac
ing away from him. Seth moved to join her, but Van hopped over the back of the small sofa and landed gracefully in the seat next to her.
Seth sighed and moved to find another seat.
As soon as Van settled in next to her, Dulcie seemed to relax, slightly.
“I’m Beryl,” the woman said, smiling down at him. “Templeton’s sister.”
Beryl Burroughs. He didn’t see the resemblance.
“Van,” he replied politely.
Beryl seated herself on a small sofa, as did Seth. Henry sat on the floor facing Beryl. He looked up at her not unlike a puppy dog. Van heard the man’s heartbeat speed up, he could tell from the change in Beryl’s scent that the feeling was mutual.
How adorable.
Templeton glanced at Henry, then shot her a cold look. Van had run into enough overprotective brothers in his time to recognize it, but Henry remained oblivious.
At last, Templeton pulled over a footstool and sat on it to tell his tale.
“I’m sure you all want to know what I saw, and I assure you that I am telling the truth.”
He seemed awfully concerned with whether or not this group of random strangers found his story credible.
“Now, my sister works for the Barrymores, so I’ll want you all to agree to secrecy so as not to get her into trouble,” he said, looking around the group.
That explained the strawberry scent he’d caught back at the estate. Beryl must have been there recently.
Henry cleared his throat. They all nodded.
“All right then, I’ll begin at the beginning. I’d had a long day with the cabins. There had been two families staying who were a bit… excessive with their alcohol consumption. At any rate, I arrived home late, and my sister had kindly left me a plate to heat up.
“I warmed it, took it outside, and sat on the front porch to eat. Then I relaxed a bit, surveying my kingdom, as it were.
“Well, one moment I was taking in the stars, and the next I was waking up.
“It was dark out, but something glowed white in the distance. At first I thought it had to be the moon. But when I shook off the effects of my drowsiness, I realized it was coming from the edge of the woods.
“I was curious, of course, but I wasn’t afraid. Not until I heard the voice. No, please, it begged. But the glow approached the figure.
“I got down on my hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the porch to see without being noticed.
“The glow I saw was a dog,. A gigantic, white dog. It was ghostly, otherworldly really. And a man cowered before it, terrified.
“One moment it stared the man down, imperiously. The next, the man collapsed.
“The ghost dog let its head fall back and it howled the most eerie howl I’ve ever heard. Then it disappeared into the woods.
“I was too stunned to move, but the sound had awoken other campers and in a minute or two they had discovered Mr. Barrymore.
“I never felt right, not sharing what I saw. But after all, how can you tell a police officer you witnessed a ghostly hound scare a man to death?”
When he finished, the porch remained silent but for the chirping of the early evening crickets.
Chapter 10
Dulcie left with Van, anxious to put some distance between them and the cabin. If she never had to set foot in there again, it would suit her just fine.
In the globe light of the front porch, Henry and Seth still chatted with a blushing Beryl Burroughs.
Dulcie had noticed the pink sparkles of attraction between Beryl and Henry while Templeton told his story in that slow, hypnotic voice.
And what a story. It was eerie how it echoed the Barrymore legend.
Dulcie glanced surreptitiously at Van. Why wasn’t he bringing up the elephant in the room?
Van shifted into an enormous white dog.
Exactly like the one that had allegedly just murdered someone.
Van didn’t even appear to be worried about it. He walked a step ahead of her, pulling back branches. He must have great night vision.
The glow of desire she’d seen on him when he kissed her in the woods was still there, thrumming just below the surface. In spite of all they had learned, she knew that if he tried to kiss her again she would be unlikely to turn away.
For all that she knew he was a scoundrel and wanted to protect her heart, there was just something about him. Something about their chemistry…
“Henry,” he said, interrupting her reverie.
Dulcie almost asked what he meant, then gave it a second.
Sure enough, there were gentle footsteps behind her, then another set thrashing along behind them.
“Sorry, I just had to say hello,” Henry said, his handsome face less harried and dreamier than before. “I didn’t realize that Beryl worked for my uncle.”
“It’s getting dark,” Seth panted, his eyes wider than usual behind his glasses.
Van nodded and the four of them pounded forward without speaking, until they reached the edge of the trees.
The Barrymore house stood like a mountain, shading the yard from the moonlight.
A light shone in the eaves of the top-most floor.
“That’s odd,” Henry said. “Who would be in the trunk room?”
Dulcie felt the vibrations of Van’s sudden tension practically humming.
In an instant, he had one arm wrapped around Dulcie and the other grasped Henry’s shoulder.
“No one’s supposed to be up there?” he asked.
Henry shook his head slowly, clearly feeling that Van was overreacting.
“I want the three of you to get in this guy’s car,” Van said, pointing at Seth, who stared back at him owlishly.
“Van, I’m sure there’s some explanation…” Henry began.
“Yes, there is,” Van said flatly. “And it could be nothing, or it could be the kind of explanation that doesn’t want to leave witnesses.”
“Why don’t we all go in together?” Henry asked. “We’re better off in numbers.”
Van made a low growling sound in his throat. Dulcie knew he could take care of himself. But looking after three other people was a different story.
“Splitting up sounds good to me,” Seth volunteered quickly. “C’mon, Dulcie. I’ll give you lift back to town.”
“No,” Dulcie interjected. “I’m on the job, I’m staying. Seth, go on home. If we need you, I’ll text you.”
Seth took off immediately. Dulcie figured that for all his big talk, he must not be so wild about real mysteries after all. She didn’t blame him. On any other day, she would have high-tailed it right out of there with him. She had always been easily frightened. But something about being with Van made her feel safe.
Henry stuck around too.
Van seemed to be at a crossroads. At last he nodded.
“Stay behind me, stay quiet,” he told them, grabbing Dulcie’s hand.
The three of them followed the tree line at the edge of the property.
“What’s the least conspicuous way in?” Van asked Henry, as they drew near the house.
“The kitchen, I think,” Henry indicated a door tucked between the curtains of ivy climbing the east face of the house.
“Good,” Van said.
They moved slowly toward it.
When they reached the door, Henry grabbed for the handle.
Dulcie held her breath, wondering if it would be locked. Or if it would creak.
Instead it swung open silently. Almost too silently for a thick old chestnut door.
Van gave her hand a squeeze and they entered the kitchen.
Moonlight reflected off the pool outside and filtered in the windows, making the copper pots and pans glitter in their pot racks.
“Which staircase?” Dulcie breathed.
“Back,” Henry whispered.
Van paused, and Dulcie steered him toward the corner of the kitchen, where, sure enough, a small turned staircase led upward.
This was the servants’ stair, so that in the
olden days, the many servants who ran the house wouldn’t make a nuisance of themselves on the grand front stair the family used.
Dulcie figured the servants when the house was erected had not been built like Van. He was so big he had to hunch his shoulders to get to the vertical part of the flight.
Though she ought to have been scared out of her wits, a small piece of Dulcie remained calm enough to admire the way Van’s butt filled out his jeans.
They passed the landing for the second floor hall and kept going.
When they reached the third floor, it was clear that this wing had been for servants. Unlike the pristine halls below, the plaster bulged here, and the pine floors were cracked and dusty.
Dulcie spotted a light coming from beneath a door.
Van signaled for her and Henry to stay. But when Henry moved forward anyway, Dulcie followed along in his wake. She certainly wasn’t about to get stuck at the top of those creepy stairs all by herself, where something in the darkness could snatch her down, down, down to the belly of the basement.
It was like a scene out of one of Henry Barrymore’s books. Maybe too much like one.
She shivered and watched Van with a combination of excitement and terror, as he painstakingly turned the knob and pushed the door open. For the second time that night, Dulcie was struck by the ease with which the doors opened and closed for a house this age. It was either very sturdily built, or impeccably maintained. Probably both.
The room itself was basically empty. A stack of very old trunks lined one wall, a collapsed Army cot leaning beside them.
A small light shone in the window, illuminating a dark figure, facing away, clearly unaware of their presence.
“Wenderly?” Henry asked at once, cool blue relief washing over him. “What on Earth are you doing up here?”
Wenderly spun around, the battery-operated candle he held tumbling from his grip.
He fumbled to save it, and in his unguarded state, Dulcie immediately picked up his sickly yellow fog of shame and guilt.
“I… I thought I heard something, Henry,” Wenderly managed. “You gave me quite a fright.”
“What did you hear?” Van asked instantly.
“Just… just a sound, a thump,” Wenderly said, his eyes scanning the room nervously.
