"Anthony H Stewart - Ghost Dog" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stewart Anthony H)

Rance shifted in his chair.

"Where do you think she might have gone? Ft. Worth? Abilene?"

Dad shook his head.

"No idea. Ann's gossip mill told her that the Taylors had a big fight a week ago. People driving by on the highway heard it. I hear a chair was thrown through a window."

The next day I ran outside right after breakfast and soon I saw my ghost dog, trotting along Taylor's fence line. I followed, and it dropped something from its mouth and ran off. It was a human fingerbone, small and thin like a woman's. I shuddered, and the little girl in me wanted to cry. Somehow I managed to shake off the sick feeling and went into the house. I found a small rag in the kitchen, went back and picked it up very carefully. Later that night I showed it to Dad.

"A dog dropped it, Dad. She was coming from the direction of the Taylor place. You think something's happened to Mrs. Taylor?"

Dad had a sour look on his face. He put a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm going to take this to the sheriff tomorrow. Maybe I can get a warrant."

The next morning Dad left for Hadley, the county seat, but not before telling me to stay home. He might as well have told the wind not to blow. When Mom got the call from Dad that he was on his way with a warrant, I snuck out before Mom saw me and explored down by the creek where I had seen the dog digging.

After a couple of hours I found a spot where the dog had been sleeping. I blanched. Part of a human arm was poking out of the ground. I took several deep breaths to keep from being sick, but then I heard sounds of an argument coming from the house. I crept closer until I could look through one of the windows. Harry Taylor sat on the couch, his head in his hands. A shotgun leaned up against a nearby wall. I didn't see Chubby, but I heard someone with a bullhorn tell Taylor to give himself up. It was Dad, along with the sheriff's posse. In the distance beyond them I saw my ghost dog.

I decided to get out of there, but as I ran into Dad's arms a shotgun blast shook the house. They found Mrs. Taylor's body near the creek where some of the water had washed it away. Dad told me later that there were big purple bruises on what was left of her body.

"Looks like Harry Taylor beat his wife to death," Dad said when I asked about it. "Then he buried her to hide the crime. Damn bastard. Then he took the coward's way out and shot himself."

"Did Chubby say anything?"

"He wouldn't talk to us."

At the funeral, Chubby placed a single rose on his mother's grave. Chubby left town soon after that. Months later, after I had a chance to think about things, I asked Dad what the doctors said about Mrs. Taylor.

"I'll have to admit," he said. "It was strange. Despite the bruises, the doctor said she died from poison. I guess it was suicide. Her husband beat her, Zack didn't want her, and she saw no other way out."

"If it was suicide, Dad, why did he bury her in the back yard?"

Dad nodded. His face looked drawn and sad.

"I figure Harry Taylor was afraid he'd be accused of murder. We'll probably never know for sure."

After the funeral, I hung around the graveyard for a while. The more I thought about it the more I knew Harry Taylor didn't commit suicide. Chubby shot him. Chubby was afraid of his father, and his mother was constantly being beaten. He saw his chance, and took it. Even though Chubby had been my enemy, I felt pangs of sympathy for him. He had reasons for being mean.

When I left the graveyard, I saw my ghost dog lying on the ground, panting softly. As I sat down beside it, stroking its soft fur and feeding it some cookies I had in the pocket of my dress, I knew it was no longer a ghost.

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Copyright © 2000 North American Rights A.H. Stewart