Read Online The Grub-And-Stakers House a Haunt by Charlotte MacLeod, Alisa Craig - Free Book Online

have been wondering why some of the diggers were excavating trenches in which a person could bury a cow standing up if the purpose was merely to plant vegetables-but Pollicot James didn’t say anything. He merely held the divining rod out in front of him at waist level, eyes straight ahead, chin up, mouth firm but not disagreeably tight, until he was sure Therese had quit snapping her shutter.
    Then, with deliberate, almost stately tread, he began to pace.
    He paced directly across, starting from the nearward string that Zilla and Minerva had strung to define the garden area. When he reached the opposite string, he performed a smart quarter-wheel right, stepped one pace ahead of where he’d last stridden, executed another quarter-wheel right so that he was facing his original point of departure, and began pacing back across the field without once losing his stride.
    Dittany knew she ought to be at the beauty shop luring Hazel out from under the dryer for a quick consultation, or breaking in on Minerva and her genealogy-minded incubus, or trying to pry Arethusa loose from the eighteenth century long enough to send Mr. Glunck a yea or a nay, or even going home to cuddle the twins and speak words of cheer and comfort to her elk-bedeviled spouse.
    But there was an odd fascination about Pollicot James’s measured tread. She’d known it was possible to tread a measure, but this was the first chance she’d ever had to watch somebody treading measuredly who wasn’t in a marching band or a Decoration Day parade.
    Pollicot James was a tall man. His long legs appeared, as far as Dittany could judge, to be treading at the rate of precisely one meter per stride. Zilla and Minerva hadn’t gauged their measurements all that accurately, he didn’t always come out just right at the end of a row. However, he took these minor annoyances appropriately in stride and kept on going: eyes front, hands at belt level, rod pointing straight ahead. The suspense was building almost to the point of agony, even the most zealous diggers had paused to watch this human automaton march over and back and over again. And still the tip of his rod hadn’t so much as quivered.
    But wait! Now! Sudden as a hiccup, the tip plunged, and stayed. With one accord, the shovel brigade dashed to where the dowser was standing, each determined to be first to uncover the spring. The rush could have become a melee, but Pollicot merely held his pose just long enough for Therese to snap her shutter twice, then stuck his divining rod into the top of his boot and politely asked his nearest onlooker, who was Zilla, for the loan of her spade.
    With an expertise that belied the slight foppishness of his attire, Pollicot set the point of Zilla’s spade in the earth directly at the spot toward which his rod had pointed, poised a rubber-booted foot on the top of the spade, and pushed. He turned the sod that the spade had loosened, a faint smile began to play about his lips, he thrust again, and again. At the fourth thrust, water began to trickle slowly into the hole that the spade had left.
    Now was the time for a wild “Huzzah!” Had Arethusa been present, they’d probably have got one. As it was, Pollicot had to settle for a “Wow!”, a “Hey!” and a “What do you know about that?” along with an assortment of grunts and murmurs, Canadians, by and large, being zealous guardians of their reputation for playing it cool.
    Therese did go so far as to snap his picture again.
    “Well, eh, isn’t this nice?” was Zilla’s contribution to the furore. “Thanks a lot, Mr. James, we’re greatly obliged to you.”
    “On behalf of the disadvantaged citizens of Lobelia County and environs,” Dittany added smartly before some lamebrain could start gabbling about buried treasure.
    “You’d better zip on over to Arethusa ‘s and get washed up for tea, Mr. James. I’ll ride with you if you don’t mind. I have to talk with her for about thirty seconds on a matter of museum