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    The Dark Beyond the Bridge: A Foxglove Corners Mystery, #23
    The Dark Beyond the Bridge: A Foxglove Corners Mystery, #23
    The Dark Beyond the Bridge: A Foxglove Corners Mystery, #23
    Ebook392 pages4 hours

    The Dark Beyond the Bridge: A Foxglove Corners Mystery, #23

    By Dorothy Bodoin

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    About this ebook

    A secret ghost town discovered in rural Michigan still has the power to bring sickness and danger to Jennet and her friends.

    While transporting a rescue collie to Foxglove Corners, Jennet discovers Forever, a ghost town tucked away in a densely rural section of Michigan's lower peninsula.  While dealing with Forever's mysteries and dangers, Jennet must cope with a rival collie rescue group in Foxglove Corners whose mission is to undermine and replace the original league.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWings ePress, Inc.
    Release dateApr 1, 2023
    ISBN9781613093221
    The Dark Beyond the Bridge: A Foxglove Corners Mystery, #23

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      Book preview

      The Dark Beyond the Bridge - Dorothy Bodoin

      The Dark Beyond

      the Bridge

      Dorothy Bodoin

      A Wings ePress, Inc.

      Cozy Mystery

      Wings ePress, Inc.

      Edited by: Jeanne Smith

      Copy Edited by: Joan C. Powell

      Executive Editor: Jeanne Smith

      Cover Artist: Trisha FitzGerald

      All rights reserved

      NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

      No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

      Wings ePress Books

      Copyright © 2017 by Dorothy Bodoin

      ISBN  978-1-61309-671-0

      Published In the United States Of America

      Wings ePress Inc.

      3000 N. Rock Road

      Newton, KS  67114

      Dedication

      To Aaron Richards, whose generosity with his time and computer expertise has been invaluable in the production of my Foxglove Corners series.

      One

      The first warning of a ripple on our carefree afternoon was a disturbance in the air, a sudden wind that came out of nowhere and whipped the tall grasses along the roadside into wild motion.

      What on earth?

      Annica let the map of Michigan fall into her lap and slid forward on the seat. Where did that come from?

      Before I could reply, lightning crackled across the sky which had grown perceptibly darker in the last few minutes.

      It wasn’t supposed to storm, she said. Where are we, Jennet?

      The middle of nowhere.

      In other words, about two hours out of Foxglove Corners, heading north to pick up a rescue collie and transport her to Sue Appleton, the president of our rescue league. Female, sable and white, one year old. Her name was Echo.

      I had volunteered for this mission, and Annica, freed for the day from her waitressing job at Clovers and her class at Oakland University, had begged to join me.

      It’ll be like a holiday, she’d said. The last one of summer.

      I was grateful for her company. In truth, I wouldn’t have undertaken the day-long trip alone, even with the company of a dog on the way home.

      The rain began with a splattering on the windshield and a crash of thunder directly overhead. I held onto the steering wheel while the wind threatened to send the Focus careening into the woods. With lights on and windshield wipers swishing back and forth, I drove until heavy sheets of rain pummeled the window, creating an instant white-out. If that was the correct term. I only knew that all I could see was water.

      There should be a town... out there somewhere. Annica picked up the map and the flashlight I kept in the glove compartment. But I don’t see one. If only we could find a nice restaurant or even a gas station, we could wait out the storm out in comfort.

      Alarmed, I glanced at the gas gauge. With over a half tank of gas, we should be all right.

      Maybe we’ll be lucky, I said.

      We had been traveling through a never-ending wilderness. Tall fir trees encroached on the narrow road. When had we passed the last house, that imposing white Victorian on the hill top? It was a magnificent structure but a solitary one. All right, when had we passed the last town?

      We’d left the freeway miles back to avoid detours caused by the interminable roadwork. I was happy to be driving on a country road as here, in Nowhere, we wouldn’t be likely to collide with another vehicle.

      Still, this was no place to be driving in a storm.

      This reminds me of a Nancy Drew book, Annica said. Nancy and her chums are caught in a storm and they end up having tea in a mysterious inn.

      "The Sign of the Twisted Candles? I said. I have it in my collection. Well, this is life, not a girls’ mystery. Jennet and Annica are caught in a thunderstorm, and Jennet decides to pull off by the side of the road."

      Once we were safely parked and enclosed in our own little world, Annica reached over to the backseat into a box packed with sandwiches and treats from Clovers, along with bottled water.

      Have an oatmeal cookie? she asked. Or an apple?

      A cookie, I said.

      She brought out a bottle of water for each of us.

      It felt good to let my shoulders and hands relax and to listen to the rain beating against the windws, good to bite into the crisp raisin-studded cookie.

      Tell me again, Annica said. Why is this collie so special?

      Sue’s younger sister, Serena, found her in a high-kill shelter. She took her out of there, but she can’t keep her. Serena already has a female, and the two dogs don’t get along. Echo is supposed to be gorgeous, and Sue thinks she can easily place her in Foxglove Corners.

      If she’s so gorgeous, why couldn’t Serena find her a home up north? Annica asked.

      That’s a mystery, I said.

      I had wondered why Serena hadn’t tried to find the dog a new owner in the area, perhaps someone who owned acreage. Surely a collie would be a boon to any farmer.

      Anyway, I’m going to be extra careful with Echo, I said. The last time I drove a collie across the state, I lost her at the end of the trip.

      Annica gasped. How did you do that?

      I had the idea to stop at Rosalyn Everett’s kennel, River Rose, just to look around. Leonora was with me that time. She left the car door opened and the dog escaped.

      She must have been really stressed out, poor baby. Annica moved listlessly in her seat. I wish I could see something. The rain isn’t letting up a bit.

      It will, I said.

      If we were delayed, however, we might not be able to drive home with the dog today. We’d have to find a motel, a dog friendly one. Maybe I should have stayed on the freeway.

      Don’t look for trouble, I told myself. No rain lasts forever.

      WHEN THE STORM DWINDLED down to a half-hearted patter and it was possible to see clearly again, I steered out to the road. The surface was slippery, but the wind had diminished. As I drove through the wild stretch, the countryside looked the same: woods washed clean with rain under a gradually lightening sky. But I sensed that something was different.

      We’re on the same road, aren’t we? I asked. I didn’t make a turn?

      Only when the road twisted, Annica said, adding after a moment, We aren’t lost?

      It sounded like a question.

      I don’t see how we can be. Would you check the map, Annica? Where can we get back to the freeway?

      She aimed the flashlight on the map. Not for a while. It would help if we knew where we are.

      The last town where we gassed up was called something Branch. Green Branch? Gray Branch?

      I don’t see it, she said. I need a magnifying glass.

      What I don’t see is the name of this road. It seems to go on forever.

      It’s like that up north.

      Comforting words, but at that moment I would have given anything to be on the freeway, speeding up north to our destination. Or to have a GPS. Oh, for a sight of Lake Huron’s waters!

      As the miles and the minutes flew by, I began to worry. No ‘I-75 North’ sign pointed the way to a freeway entrance. The scenery underwent a subtle change. The woods thinned, and blue-green water sparkled behind the trees.

      It wasn’t a glimpse of Lake Huron.

      By then an hour had gone by, and my anxiety increased with every added mile.

      Serena’s phone number is in the glove compartment, Annica, I said. We’d better let her know we’ll be later than we thought.

      Annica nodded and pulled her cell phone out of her purse. Uh-oh, she said. No signal. So much for our call.

      That meant I couldn’t talk to Crane either, not from this road. My husband would worry when I didn’t call him at the designated time as I’d promised. He would be certain I’d met with a mishap on the way north. Well, I could still place that call as soon as I had a signal.

      I wondered if we were on the same road we’d traveled before the storm. Although I didn’t remember making a turn, I could have done so when it first began raining, thinking I was following a curve.

      That sense of something different grew stronger.

      Annica dropped the phone back into her purse. Is anything else going to go wrong?

      In answer, thunder rolled over the sky. The storm had skipped ahead of us, waiting in our path to throw one more delay our way.

      Two

      Ihad to get back on the freeway before the storm trapped us on a country road again.

      Bringing the car to a stop on the shoulder, I reached for the map. I was so close to the woods’ edge that pine branches brushed against the passenger side. Their spicy fragrance stole in through the window, mixing with the smell of wet earth. It was too strong to be pleasant and made me feel a trifle unwell.

      Annica pulled a sketch pad and pen from her purse. We were blown off our course. Let’s figure out a new one.

      We must be about here. I pointed to a space on the map, and together we plotted what appeared to be a straightforward route to the freeway.

      Left at the next turning... wherever that was. About a mile west, then north. West again...

      Thunder rumbled, a fearsome monster stirring in its sky lair. Crane had cautioned me never to drive in an electrical storm. I, of course, would never do that, except in an emergency.

      Let’s hurry, Annica said. We don’t want to get stuck in this backwater.

      Not if we can help it.

      It seemed, though, that we were never going to emerge from the woods. We passed acres and acres of trees, some of which had lost their branches in the wind. I steered warily around them and various other obstacles in the road. Finally we came to a crossroad, and I turned left.

      So far, so good, Annica said. Now we go west for about a mile. Then turn again.

      What had seemed like a short distance on the map felt like several miles. The twisting road distorted my sense of direction. Was I going west or north? Gradually the tightness in my arms travelled down to my chest.

      Wrong, wrong, wrong. What was wrong?

      Suppose we were driving around in circles? What if we ended up back at the Victorian on the hill and lost more time? And still were nowhere near the freeway?

      The rain began as it had before, a light splattering on the windows. I turned the lights and the windshield wipers on and hoped I was heading in the right direction.

      I had to be. Maps don’t lie.

      Annica powered up the windows and stared out into the rain. Presently she leaned forward. Hey, Jennet. Look. Ahead.

      I saw it, through a rainwater blur in the distance, a rustic covered bridge spanning a wide stream and beyond it...

      A town! Annica cried. Thank God. We can stretch our legs and ask directions. Maybe have a cup of coffee.

      I couldn’t imagine a more welcome sight. It was small like many towns in Michigan. Blink and you pass them by. Try to remember their names, and you find that you can’t. In fact, viewing the buildings and houses from this vantage point, I was reminded of a child’s play town carefully arranged on an upward sloping green cloth.

      Squinting through the rain, I saw it all in one quick glance. A main street lined with stores, about two dozen houses, most of them white, built in rows that bracketed the street and branched out to a lake in the distance, and, best of all, what appeared to be a restaurant.

      There would be someone to ask if we were heading in the right direction to enter the freeway. Annica could have her coffee. I’d order a glass of iced tea, and we could go on our way, rested and refreshed, to complete the rest of the trip.

      The rain increased. It pounded the bridge as I drove over it. On the other side, the diner beckoned. It was an odd color for a restaurant, pale lavender with purple trim, subdued colors that managed to shine through the rain. But what did appearance matter? It was shelter. Any port in a storm.

      As we parked, I noticed that it had a strange name: the Forever Diner.

      I had an umbrella in the trunk, but Annica said, Let’s make a dash for it.

      Four steps, perhaps five, brought us to the door. I pushed it open and Annica dashed in ahead of me, only to come to an abrupt stop in the entrance. I nearly ran into her. The jingle of her silver shell earrings sounded unnaturally loud.

      What...? She turned to me. It’s closed. There’s nobody here.

      It can’t be. The door was open.

      I don’t see anyone, she said.

      Neither did I. It looked as if the diner had just opened for the day. And the wait staff had retreated to the kitchen?

      Small tables covered with faded gingham-checkered cloths in all colors waited for customers who hadn’t yet arrived. The grill was bare, as was the counter without a single loaf of bread or kitchen utensil in sight. I couldn’t see any dishes or glasses or cups. No serving trays. The clock on the wall had stopped at three o’clock. Most telling, there was no enticing smell of coffee brewing or good food cooking. And the floor was dusty.

      Ugh, Annica said. It isn’t clean. We wouldn’t want to eat here anyway. I don’t even want to sit on these chairs. Shall we try to find another place?

      We could, but how many restaurants will a town this size have?

      Let’s drive down Main Street and see.

      Bracing for an onslaught of rain, we hurried back outside. I sat behind the wheel, shivering in my damp blouse, but didn’t start the engine. As I stared at the street in front of me, a thought hit me with the force of a heavy rock.

      It appeared to be true. But could I believe it?

      Do you notice anything strange about this town? I asked Annica.

      She shrugged. It’s small. One of those one-horse towns.

      Something else?

      I give up. What?

      I said, Where are the other cars?

      They have to be here, Annica said.

      Where? Do you see any?

      She hesitated. Drive down the street a little way. The people who live here have to have vehicles. How else would they get around?

      How else indeed, living in the middle of nowhere?

      Where are the people? I thought.

      Main Street was deserted. No cars were parked in front of the stores, no people holding umbrellas rushed to destinations where they could escape the rain.

      We were alone, Annica and I, the only humans in miles, or so it seemed.

      I drove slowly past a pharmacy, a small grocery, a barber shop, a dime store... Yes, dime, not dollar, store. There were no other restaurants. As for the houses beyond the street, from what I could see, they looked deserted with weeds grown to astounding heights in the front yards, empty driveways, and shuttered windows.

      I see a car, Annica said.

      An older model Volkswagen whose robin’s egg blue paint was speckled with rust, whose tires were flat. A single car in an entire town, and no one could drive it.

      It’s a ghost town, I said, bringing the Focus to a stop in front of a handsome gabled house with a wide veranda. A lawn chair had fallen over, and a swing hung from the ceiling by one chain. A ‘For Sale’ sign had fallen over on the front steps. I’d love to get out and explore.

      Let’s do it, Annica said.

      Except... I remembered why we were here, miles from home. We had a rescue collie to pick up, and, before we could do that, a freeway entrance to find.

      But not today. It’s a temptation, though.

      Making a U-turn, I drove back to Main Street, noting the stores on the other side, none of which was a restaurant.

      It’s just as well, Annica said. This place is creepy. I wonder why everybody bailed out.

      I couldn’t imagine. It was like a scene from a science-fiction novel. The entire population of a small town loading their possessions onto trucks and cars, driving away from houses that looked as if they were frozen in time. Everyone in town running away. From what? And how long ago had this happened? Over a span of time or all at once?

      The houses appeared to be in good condition in spite of peeling paint, broken fences, and an occasional missing window. In a true ghost town, the structures would be weathered and falling apart.

      I had an almost irresistible urge to browse in the dime store. Would it be stripped bare of merchandise or would the counters still hold paper and costume jewelry, inexpensive make-up and toys? Would it perhaps have a lunch counter?

      Unlikely. The dime store would be a ghost like the Forever Diner. Obviously no one lived in the houses and no one frequented the businesses. But a strange aura seemed to hang over the town, like the dark clouds that still filled the sky. The town was alive and waiting.

      Not warning us to get away, because it wanted company.

      We need to get back on the right road, Annica said. Maybe we can come again another day and do some exploring. I wonder what the town’s name was.

      I knew the answer immediately and without reflection.

      Forever, I said.

      Three

      In spite of a rocky beginning, the rest of the trip proceeded smoothly and without incident. Annica took over the driving while I ate a ham sandwich, and we entered the freeway where we’d guessed it would be. The rain had ceased, as had the roadwork, and I was able to place my call to Crane.

      It’s getting late, he said. If you run into a storm on the way back, don’t keep driving. Find a good motel.

      We’ll have a dog with us.

      Look for one that accepts pets.

      Nothing easier. I decided that, barring a flash flood, I would drive through to Foxglove Corners. I missed my home and my own collies, not to mention my handsome deputy sheriff husband.

      I’ll see you soon, honey, Crane said. Drive carefully.

      I didn’t anticipate further trouble. We still had three hours of daylight left, which should give us ample time to pick up Echo and be on our way home.

      Sue’s sister, Serena, lived in a small lakeside town. This one bustled with color and life. Unlike Forever, Shoretown had a theater, a dress shop, an antique shop, and a restaurant specializing in fresh-caught fish.

      The tree-bordered streets were neat, and the flowerboxes in the houses overflowed with bright blooms. Best of all, there were people and cars.

      By then, our brief stopover in Forever had acquired an air of unreality. Had we really stumbled onto a ghost town in the middle of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula? It seemed like a dream or a scene from a Beverly Gray adventure come to life.

      I wouldn’t mention the ghost town to Serena.

      She lived in an elegant Victorian house similar to those in and around Foxglove Corners. Climbing red roses brightened its soft beige façade. She sat on her porch waiting for us. Beside her lay a collie who watched our approach quietly with alert eyes. Apparently we weren’t to have a rambunctious tail-wagging collie welcome.

      I parked in front of the house, and we got out of the car. The air was hot and humid, which was unusual, considering how far north we were. It was certainly a marked contrast from the air-cooled Focus.

      "If that’s our collie, she is gorgeous," Annica murmured.

      Serena rose and descended the six steps to meet us. She resembled Sue slightly, a younger version of her in jeans and a white blouse. She had long dark hair held back by a large barrette that looked as if it were made of white lace.

      I’m glad to see you made it safely, she said. Did you get lost?

      Annica glanced at me. ‘Don’t tell her about the town,’ her look said. ‘It’s our secret.’

      We ran into a thunderstorm, I said, and, of course, endless roadwork. It’s the same all over Michigan.

      Echo rose slowly and stretched. I extended my hand for her to sniff. She pressed her soft nose to my palm.

      She’s breathtaking, I said, and that was an understatement.

      In fact, Echo could have served as an illustration for the collie breed standard. She was a white-factored sable with perfectly dipped ears and a winsome expression that made you want to scoop her up in your arms and hug her.

      Well, not quite. She was a good weight for a female, about sixty pounds, I’d estimate, with a full coat that glistened in the late afternoon sunlight.

      What a pretty girl! Annica said. She reminds me of my pup, Angel.

      I wanted to say, I’ll take her! even as an image of Crane, gray eyes frosty, rose up to remind me that we already had seven collies.

      Why would anyone surrender such a paragon to an animal shelter? Unless she had a hidden fault, like an aggressive temperament.

      Echo tilted her head. Her tail wagged slowly, and her eyes sparkled. She lifted her paw to shake.

      Aggression. That wasn’t it.

      Or a lack of traditional collie spirit?

      A purple Kong toy lay in the doorway. She whirled around and grabbed it, offering it first to Annica, then to me.

      A flaw, if it existed, was well-hidden.

      Why was she surrendered? I asked, taking hold of the Kong and tossing it a short distance across the porch.

      I wondered that myself, Serena said. Believe me, I couldn’t pull her out of that shelter fast enough. They’re so crowded; they only give a dog four days to be adopted. Echo came with an impressive pedigree. She has seven champions behind her. One is her sire.

      It had to have been a case of the owner dying with no one to take care of her, I said.

      But in that case, a dog like this, an obvious show prospect, would have been worth a great deal of money to a collie fancier. Why wouldn’t her owner sell her? Or return her to her breeder who must have had high hopes for her in the show ring? Echo could have been bred and produced little mirror images of herself.

      Serena frowned. I don’t think her owner passed. A young girl surrendered her for someone else, a relative, I think. I wish I could keep her, but it isn’t possible. I’ve already had to break up several fights between her and my Waffles. Would you girls like something to drink? she added. I have iced tea and all kinds of soft drinks.

      The offer was tempting, and I was thirsty; but we had water in the car.

      We should be on our way, I said. It’s a long drive home.

      In that case, Echo is ready to go. I fed her dinner, and I’m giving you some of the brand I’ve been feeding her. She’s a good eater.

      Serena picked up a small box containing a half package of kibble and a well-chewed Nylabone bone, along with a manila file which probably contained her papers. Echo had a stuffed toy, an octopus whose legs were different colors. Serena tossed the Kong toy inside, as Echo followed the path of her possession with worried eyes.

      Serena picked up a long leather leash. You’re going with the nice ladies, Echo. Be a good girl.

      I expected some resistance, perhaps a natural reluctance to leave with strangers, but Echo came with us willingly enough, and we settled her in the back seat with a fleece blanket. Annica took the octopus out of the box and tucked it between Echo’s front paws.

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