by Tasha Black
“I don’t understand why they would need to be disguised,” Van said. “Or why they are pretending to be brother and sister. Or what the deal is with the dog figurine. Or how Barrymore fits into any of this.”
Dulcie chuckled.
“I guess there’s a lot I don’t understand.” He smiled back at her.
“We need to bring Henry in on this,” she said. “Tell him what we found.”
She took a big sip of her coffee drink and sighed with pleasure as the sugary warmth spread through her.
“He’s not gonna want to hear it,” Van said. “You know that. Beryl’s got him under her spell.”
“Wait,” Dulcie said. “You don’t think she actually…?”
“No,” Van laughed. “I smelled it on both of them. It’s real enough. Which makes it even harder.”
“Ugh,” Dulcie sighed, the joy of the coffee receding. “No sense putting it off then.”
“Nope,” Van agreed. “As soon as we get a couple of those bear claws they had at the counter, and maybe one more cup of coffee, we’ll head right over.”
That was the best idea Dulcie had ever heard. No wonder she was falling for this guy.
Chapter 31
A few hours later, the Barrymore mansion loomed over them, pink sunset silhouetting it in a way that was hauntingly familiar.
They made their way to the front door and rang the bell.
A moment later, Wenderly appeared.
“Good evening,” he said, looking relieved that it was them.
“We’re looking for Henry,” Dulcie said, skipping over the pleasantries. “We need to talk to him.”
“I’m sorry,” the man replied. “But he’s been out all day, setting the wheels in motion to begin distributing Rudolph’s money. It’s keeping him quite busy.”
“He was definitely getting quite busy this morning,” Van said from behind her with a chuckle.
“Pardon?” Wenderly asked.
“Nothing,” Dulcie replied, shooting Van a warning elbow to the ribs. “Do you have any idea when he will be back?”
“Come in,” Wenderly offered. “I’ll check his schedule.”
He led them in, and gestured to the sitting room as he disappeared down the hall, leaving them alone in the entryway.
Dulcie glanced up at the large portrait of Rudolph Barrymore that hung there, as if the old man might have some answers.
As it turned out, he did.
“Van,” she said, pointing at the painting. “Those eyes…”
‘Yeah?” he replied. “What about them?”
“Did you notice they are exactly the same pale blue as Henry’s?” she asked.
“Huh. I guess they are,” Van said. “But that makes sense. They are related.”
“Well, they’re also the exact same shade as Templeton’s when he took out his contacts,” she told him.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she replied. “I don’t know how I didn’t make the connection right away. On Templeton, they just seemed so… predatory.”
“You think he’s a Barrymore somehow?”
“It would explain why he’s hiding his eyes,” she said. “And why he would want to get rid of Rudolph before he had finalized a will that left everything to the town.”
“The only thing standing in the way now is Henry,” Van said. “They just need something of his to give the hound his scent.”
“The boot,” Dulcie exclaimed, rushing to the coat closet and flinging open the door. “That first night, Henry was missing a boot.”
“Strawberries,” Van said, inhaling deeply.
“What?”
“That night,” he explained. “I smelled Beryl’s scent in the closet when the boot was missing. Only I didn’t know it at the time.”
Dulcie produced a single, worn boot from among the shoes in the closet.
“And I saw one just like this at the cabin,” she said. “I just thought it was a random old boot. Beryl must have taken it to give the dog Henry’s scent. He’s in danger.”
“Only one problem,” Van said. “That’s not Henry’s boot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look,” he said, pointing to some dirt near the sole. “That’s mud from these woods.” He leaned closer and took a whiff. “And they don’t smell like him. That’s Rudolph. That’s the scent I was following the night I saw the dog. The night Selden was killed.”
Wenderly made his way back into the hall.
“I’m afraid he won’t be back for some time,” he said. “Henry had a dinner appointment. You’re more than welcome to wait. I can put on some tea.”
“Wenderly,” Van asked, motioning to the closet. “Whose jackets are these?”
“Henry’s”
“And all these shoes?”
“Also Henry’s,” Wenderly said. “He moved his belongings in there as soon as he arrived.”
“But these boots?” Dulcie asked.
“Those were Rudolph’s” Wenderly replied. “I’m afraid Henry neglected to pack a pair of his own.”
“She must have thought the boots belonged to Henry,” Dulcie said to Van. “Like the rest of this stuff.”
“The night I saw the dog,” Van said. “It was meant for Henry, but it had the wrong scent.”
“Wenderly,” Dulcie asked hurriedly. “Can you give us the name of the restaurant Henry went to? We need to go back to town and pick him up. He’s in real danger.”
“He’s not at a restaurant,” Wenderly replied, clearly confused. “Oddly, his schedule says he’s having dinner with the maid and her brother.”
“Van,” she said, fear edging into her voice.
But he was already headed for the door.
Chapter 32
Henry Barrymore had never felt comfortable in company.
He assumed that was why the Burroughs’ cabin seemed too warm, the walls too close with the shades pulled down tight, the clock too slow.
But darling Beryl was across from him. And he couldn’t bring himself to leave when she was studying him with those pensive eyes.
She was so intelligent, so beautiful. Why was she living with her brother and working as a housekeeper? She should be a teacher or an attorney, or maybe straightening her own house up, with a baby on her hip. He tried to picture what their children might look like.
“More wine, Henry?” Templeton asked in his measured voice.
Chagrined, Henry turned away from Beryl.
“I couldn’t, I’m already tipsy. Thank you for being such an excellent host,” he said, intending to add that he was getting tired.
But he watched as Templeton filled the glass again.
“Nonsense,” Templeton said, “you’ve got to have a little something to toast me with when I beat you at chess. You do play chess, don’t you, Henry?”
It turned out Templeton was a very defensive player. Henry was nearly asleep on his feet by the time the game ended in a stalemate and he headed to the door.
Beryl gave his hand a squeeze as he left, and looked at him like she was about to cry. He gave her a seasick smile and hoped he could avoid vomiting until after he got into the woods.
When Templeton opened the door, Henry was shocked to see it was pitch black outside. The clock on the cabin wall must have been off by an hour.
“Thank you again,” he said, trying not to slur his words.
The door shut quickly behind him, as though they had been trying to get him to leave for all this time, instead of convincing him to stay.
Henry took a few steps, drinking in lungfuls of the cold fresh air. He was surprised that it didn’t wake him up, or even take the edge off his drunkenness.
He heard a low squalling sound and almost jumped out of his shoes. But it was only a cicada in a forsythia bush near the next cabin.
Now that he was spooked, though, everything seemed creepier. The dark woods ahead of him seemed sinister, the breeze made the hair on his arms stand up, the hoot of an owl on a moonlit n
ight sounded foreboding instead of lonely.
A rustle in the grass made him freeze in his tracks. Was that patch of darkness big enough to conceal a man? A dog?
Every shadow held a creeping danger. Watching. Waiting.
He was a Barrymore, the only one left. He shouldn’t be out this late alone after what had happened.
What was he thinking?
How was he thinking? His mind seemed so sticky, like his brain had been replaced with cotton candy.
Henry looked back to the Burroughs’ cabin to reassure himself, but all the lights were now off.
His heart constricted in nameless fear.
He turned to the woods, intending to run to his uncle’s house. But in his current state, a brisk, slightly meandering walk was the best he could manage.
It didn’t take him long to lose his bearings and wander off the dark trail. He stumbled through the trees, branches and brambles clawing at his clothes and tearing at his skin.
He followed a patch of moonlight and ended up in a clearing.
The clearing.
The one where his uncle had been killed.
Someone had removed most of the police tape, but a length of it still hung around one tree trunk like a yellow ribbon, flapping in the cold breeze.
Henry paced to the center of the open area and looked around, trying to decipher the way home. But every direction held only identical, dark, foreboding woods.
Something caught his eye. A pinprick of yellow light, like a firefly in the distance, moving closer.
Not just one. Two.
His heart stuttered as he realized what he was seeing.
Eyes.
Haunting yellow eyes. Racing toward the clearing.
Headed right for him.
Closer.
Motes of darkness crept into his vision, pulsing time with the pounding of his racing heart.
He tried to take a step, but his traitorous legs abandoned him, and he fell to one knee in the loamy soil of the clearing.
His head felt like a beehive filled with wet cement.
The sound of the closing beast echoed in his ears.
A low, throaty growl issued ahead of him, followed by a howl from behind. The thing seemed to be everywhere.
Henry looked up, his vision a narrow tunnel in the blackness, in time to see a flash of white as the massive dog broke into the clearing. Flecks of spittle flew as its tongue lolled over its brilliant ivory teeth.
This was the end of him. The end of the Barrymores. The final payment of the curse.
The beast closed the distance in two strides, then bunched up its hindquarters to spring.
Henry watched as its muscles expanded, sending the great white hound into the air. He held his breath as the beast sailed… over him?
He tried to follow its trajectory, but the last bit of his resolve drained away, and he fell, face first into the cool dirt.
His last thoughts as the blackness overtook him were of a terrible struggle.
And two ghost-white hounds.
Chapter 33
Dulcie hesitated in the last few trees before the clearing.
Van was so brave. As soon as he’d seen the ghostly hound approaching the staggering Henry Barrymore, he’d shifted instantly into his dog and bolted straight for the heart of the danger.
Now he was in the middle of a horrible fight, and Henry lay vulnerable on the ground.
She was desperate to help, but she was no good to him as a butterfly.
She took a breath and headed into the fray herself, looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon. Maybe a piece of the rebar that had held the police tape - she could probably do some damage with that.
Before she had a chance to find a weapon, another figure stepped into the clearing.
Templeton Burroughs stood, silhouetted in the moonlight, the bone figurine in his outstretched palm.
That must have been how he was controlling the dog.
Dulcie’s heart raced. He had nearly caught her once today.
What would he do if she got scared and shifted?
She tried to read his intentions, but he was a blank slate.
A horrible yelp turned her attention back to the dogs.
She turned to find Van on the ground and bleeding, a rusty finger of metal jutting from his shoulder, a faint pink aura of fear surrounding him. He’d managed to find a piece of the rebar Dulcie had been hoping to use. He must have rolled onto it in the frenetic scramble.
The ghost dog stood over him, legs planted, mouth open wide, like it was ready to howl. Instead, it breathed in, drawing in the pink essence around Van.
Feeding on his fear.
Van yowled in pain. It was going to kill him. Then she’d be alone.
The ghost dog stopped unexpectedly, sniffing the air, then turned toward her. It moved away from Van and took a step in her direction, its eyes burning with hunger.
Why was it so interested in her all of a sudden?
Fear.
The thought of losing Van had terrified her. It was coming for her because she made a better meal. Compared to the bravery in Van, she must look like a steak dinner.
She needed to stop being afraid.
But she was always afraid.
Dulcie forced herself to think of un-scary things: internet cat memes, stuffed animals, milkshakes, the smell of bread baking, the sound of Van’s whispers in her ear…
Van.
He was the key.
He had helped her be at peace with her shifter side.
She had still been afraid to let him get too close. Afraid he’d hurt her. Afraid he’d break her heart, or that he would simply lose interest.
No more.
“I love you, Van,” she whispered. “I’m not afraid anymore.”
The dog had lost its keen interest in her. He stopped his snuffling and froze, looking around the clearing.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Templeton shrieked, thrusting the figurine of the dog in her direction. “I’m your master. I command you.”
The dog cocked its head to one side and stared at him quizzically.
Dulcie got the impression that Templeton was not in as much control as he thought he was.
She had an idea. One that might just get her out of this alive.
“Templeton Burroughs,” she said loudly. “Murderer and thief.”
He glanced from her to the dog, and back again.
“You’re a fastidious person,” she said in a mocking tone. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep your prison cell neat and tidy?”
Templeton winced.
He reached into one of the deep pockets of his safari coat and pulled something out.
The antique gun from the mantlepiece.
He aimed at Dulcie’s head, a cruel smile spreading on his face.
She looked around. She had nowhere to run.
He pulled the trigger.
The gun thundered.
Dulcie closed her eyes and exploded into a thousand butterflies.
The bullet sailed through the place where she had been, tearing a hole through her shirt before it dropped to the ground, empty.
She shifted back immediately and gave Templeton a pirate smile, the moonlight on her naked skin filling her with exhilaration.
“I don’t think that’s going to work on me,” she said, walking toward him slowly. “I’ll be telling everyone who will listen what you are. You’ll never see the inside of that mansion. As a matter of fact, I’m probably the last thing without bars around it that you’re going to see for the rest of your life.”
The first trace of fear began to creep into his eyes.
“Unless the wizard you stole that little trinket from finds you first,” she added. “Then you’ll probably be begging for jail.”
It was a shot in the dark, but it struck home.
She could see the pink haze of fear clinging to his shoulders begin to expand.
And she wasn’t the only one.
The ghos
tly hound turned to Templeton, sniffing the air hopefully and licking its chops.
Dulcie could pinpoint the exactly moment when Templeton realized what was happening. The pink cloud of fear around him exploded, enveloping him.
“N-no,” he murmured.
But the hound was already in an ecstasy of hunger.
Templeton turned to run.
When the ghostly white form sailed through the air after him, Dulcie knew he wouldn’t make it far.
Chapter 34
Dulcie bopped her head in time with the music as she drove toward the business district.
Van had been uncharacteristically silent the whole ride, jaw tense, eyes firmly on the road.
Dulcie knew this was a big moment for him. So many dreams were coming true for everyone this week.
Dulcie herself had even seen Gil come as close as he ever would to apologizing, by telling Dulcie she only needed to market his stupid condo for free once.
They’d just come from a visit with Henry, to get one final signature. He had decided to stay on at the old Barrymore estate, at least while his lawyers worked on Beryl’s appeal.
Dulcie still wasn’t nearly as convinced as Henry that his new flame shouldn’t remain behind bars. But she had to admit, when they reached the cabin that night, and found Beryl tied up in the bedroom, it was pretty clear that Templeton had been the one pulling the strings.
Before the police arrived, Beryl told them the whole story.
It turned out Templeton was a Barrymore after all. The orphaned grandson of that cousin Henry had mentioned disappearing in South America on that first night. When he found out he was in line for some serious money, he came to Woodland Creek to see for himself, hooking up with Beryl along the way.
She wasn’t his sister, but his fianceé. Which explained the looks he’d given Beryl when Henry began flirting with her.
When the pair got to Woodland Creek, Templeton saw that Rudolph Barrymore was “wasting” all of Templeton’s inheritance on the town, and he formulated a plan.
Beryl, posing as Templeton’s sister to make herself appear more available, went to work for the old man, with the intention of charming him with her feminine wiles and convincing him to stop throwing away Templeton’s money.
