Read Online Karen Mercury by Manifested Destiny [How the West Was Done 4] - Free Book Online
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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.”
Woof . Phineas had found something a bit upstream. She barked at them to come look.
They raced over like madmen—at first.
They all came to a dead stop, though. The bone of a ribcage protruded from the grass, and only Foster, the scout, dared tiptoe closer to have a look.
Phineas sat next to the skeleton, with her usual relaxed, casual tongue flopping from her velvety mouth. Worth put a hand on Tabitha’s shoulder to urge her to stay put in case it was a human skeleton and not just some coyote Phineas had eaten for dinner.
Foster squatted with his back to them and touched the massive canine skull, tinted green, perhaps from algae. With a shock, Worth realized that Foster’s shoulders struggled to contain a sob. Worth leaned forward far enough to see that the skull Foster fondled was much too square and not nearly elongated enough to have been a wild canine.
Phineas was showing them her own skeleton.
Foster gathered the ghost dog to his chest and buried his face in her neck. Worth, too, got down on his knees next to his partner and ruffled the dog’s head, just as solid and furry as ever.
“Phineas?” Worth asked softly. “Are you showing us yourself?”
Phineas happily looked him in the eye and seemed to nod.
“Stay away, Tabitha!” Foster cried when Tabitha came closer. To Worth, he blubbered, red-eyed. “This was no accident! These dogs can swim—they have webbed feet like a duck. There is no way in hell she would’ve just wandered down to this riverbank and drowned , for Christ’s sake!”
Worth said softly, “You think someone…”
“I know someone killed her! Harley was right when he said she had died. Look, I’m going back to that bastard Sherman Bullard’s—he was supposed to be caring for her, and I was even sending him money for her upkeep. I’m going to lift his hair if he doesn’t tell me how this happened! Right, Phineas?”
But the ghost dog was gone. One moment Worth’s hand was
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.”
Woof . Phineas had found something a bit upstream. She barked at them to come look.
They raced over like madmen—at first.
They all came to a dead stop, though. The bone of a ribcage protruded from the grass, and only Foster, the scout, dared tiptoe closer to have a look.
Phineas sat next to the skeleton, with her usual relaxed, casual tongue flopping from her velvety mouth. Worth put a hand on Tabitha’s shoulder to urge her to stay put in case it was a human skeleton and not just some coyote Phineas had eaten for dinner.
Foster squatted with his back to them and touched the massive canine skull, tinted green, perhaps from algae. With a shock, Worth realized that Foster’s shoulders struggled to contain a sob. Worth leaned forward far enough to see that the skull Foster fondled was much too square and not nearly elongated enough to have been a wild canine.
Phineas was showing them her own skeleton.
Foster gathered the ghost dog to his chest and buried his face in her neck. Worth, too, got down on his knees next to his partner and ruffled the dog’s head, just as solid and furry as ever.
“Phineas?” Worth asked softly. “Are you showing us yourself?”
Phineas happily looked him in the eye and seemed to nod.
“Stay away, Tabitha!” Foster cried when Tabitha came closer. To Worth, he blubbered, red-eyed. “This was no accident! These dogs can swim—they have webbed feet like a duck. There is no way in hell she would’ve just wandered down to this riverbank and drowned , for Christ’s sake!”
Worth said softly, “You think someone…”
“I know someone killed her! Harley was right when he said she had died. Look, I’m going back to that bastard Sherman Bullard’s—he was supposed to be caring for her, and I was even sending him money for her upkeep. I’m going to lift his hair if he doesn’t tell me how this happened! Right, Phineas?”
But the ghost dog was gone. One moment Worth’s hand was
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