The Seven Whistlers (3 page)

“What? What’s wrong?” Jenny asked.

Rose sighed, already calming down. “I don’t know. It sounds
really stupid, but on the way over — I walked, even though I was running
late — and there was something out in the woods. I couldn’t see it, but
it made the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard. Like the wind in the trees,
but almost . . . human sounding, too —”

“Probably a coyote,” Alan replied. “I’ve heard ’em out at
night, and it’s pretty creepy.”

“It wasn’t a coyote,” Rose said, her voice firm. “It wasn’t
anything like that. I know what a coyote sounds like, and just about anything
else that you might hear in these woods. Whatever it was, it gave me chills I
can’t even describe. I was too scared to move. I just stood there until it
stopped and then I ran as fast as I could.”

Mike let his fingers brush against the wool of Rose’s
sweater. He could still feel the cool of the evening air lingering in the thick
fabric.

Alan leaned toward her, over the table, his gaze intense. “It
could have been a ghost, Rose. Did you see anything weird?”

Most people would have thought Alan was joking, but they’d
all heard him talk about ghosts before. As a child, he claimed to have seen
them all the time. It had been ten years or more since the last time. Mike
thought Alan had just grown out of a childhood phase, the way some kids did
their imaginary friends. But it was obvious that, to Alan, they’d been very
real. And he missed them. Jenny had once said that she thought the ghosts were
why Alan loved antiques so much — the only way he could still connect to
the past — and Mike didn’t argue the point.

Rose blinked and stared at him. “I don’t . . . I’m sorry,
Alan, but I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Alan arched an eyebrow and sat back. “Fair enough. If you’ve
got a better explanation for what you heard.”

“I’m sure there’s a logical —” Mike began, but he was
interrupted by the arrival of Dave McKeegan, the Pennywhistle’s sole proprietor
and bartender. Dave had a shock of gray hair and a round belly from imbibing
too much of his own trade. At fifty-something, Dave usually had a twinkle in
his Irish eyes, but tonight it was gone.

He put a fatherly hand on Rose’s shoulder.

“Rose, honey, there’s someone on the phone for you.”

Rose gave him a quizzical look.

“I don’t —”

Dave shook his head.

“It’s important. Why don’t you take it in the back room.”

Rose stood, her knees nearly buckling under her weight. Jenny
was immediately at her side, taking her arm, and helping her toward the back of
the pub.

Mike watched as the two women disappeared behind the bar.

“What’s going on, Dave?” Mike asked. “What’s the phone
call?”

The Pennywhistle’s owner cast a regretful look toward the
back of the pub.

“One of the nurses up at the home. Said Rose told her she
was on her way here. Just wanted to let her know . . .”

“Oh, God,” Mike said under his breath,

Dave nodded.

“I expect she’s in for a bit of a shock.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Jenny leading Rose
back to the table. Rose’s face was ashen, and tears slid slowly down her
cheeks.

“He’s gone,” Rose said, picking up her backpack and slinging
it thoughtlessly over her arm. “Heart attack. I shouldn’t have let her make me
go. He was so scared, and she made it worse . . .”

Rose trailed off, her face full of bitterness. She didn’t
need to elaborate. They all knew who she was talking about. Rose’s grandmother
was known throughout the whole village as a terrible shrew.

With a sigh, Rose glanced around at her friends. When her
gaze fell upon Mike, her eyes went wide.

“Mike, your nose —”

He reached up a hand and touched his upper lip. A moment
before she’d spoken, Mike had felt the thick wetness there. Now he pulled his
fingers away and saw that they were stained red.

“What the hell?” he muttered, grabbing for one of the cloth
napkins that lay crumpled on the table.

His nose was bleeding. The copper scent of blood filled his
head.

Where had this come from?

“You okay?” Rose asked.

He nodded, holding the napkin against his nose, head back
slightly. That was just like Rose. Scared to death in the woods, in tears over
her grandfather’s death, and asking him if he was okay because he had a stupid
bloody nose.

“Just a nose bleed,” he said. “It’s nothing.

“Just take it. You’ll feel better. I promise.”

Rose looked questioningly at the small white and yellow pill
that sat squarely in Jenny’s hand before reaching out tentatively. It was
nearly weightless in her hand. It was odd to her to think something so small
was imbued with such power.

She swallowed the pill, chased with a long swig from the
glass of apple juice Jenny had poured for her earlier. Though she knew it could
not possibly work so quickly, she thought she could feel the pill start to
disseminate throughout her body.

As much as she didn’t like anyone looking after her, Rose
was glad Jenny had insisted on taking her home. Her apartment wasn’t very far,
but she didn’t feel like walking alone. Jenny’s rusted blue Mustang had been a
welcome sight to Rose parked in the lot behind The Pennywhistle.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you tonight?”
she asked, standing in the small kitchen of Rose’s apartment.

Rose didn’t relish the idea of being alone, but she wasn’t
going to impose.

“I’m staying at the cabin while my parents are away,
remember? I wouldn’t even go back up there tonight, but I haven’t been back to
let Lucy out or fill her bowl since this morning.”

Jenny shrugged. “I can sleep at the cabin. I’m rustic.”

Rose gave her a sad smile. “That place is hardly rustic. Outside,
sure.”

“What, you mean you’re not roughing it, up there?”

It was a joke between them. They called the place a cabin
because it was up a long, woodsy mountain road and from the outside, it had
that big old cabin look. But Rose’s parents did well for themselves, and
inside, the place was practically luxurious, and bigger than it looked.

“I’ll be all right,” she promised. “Besides, you need to go
home to Alan.”

Jenny took her hand. “You know I’m only a call away if you
need anything.”

Rose couldn’t help, but smile. Having Jenny for a best
friend was a lot like having a second mother.

“Go,” Rose said. “I’m fine. I took the pill. Now I’ve gotta
get up to the cabin before I pass out. I’m just gonna curl up in my parents’
bed with Lucy and go to sleep.”

Jenny sighed, picking up her purse from the counter. “All
right. Let’s go. I’ll walk out with you.”

Rose set her juice glass in the sink, shut off the kitchen
light, and they left together.

Outside, on the street, Jenny gave her a hug and then
climbed into the Mustang, which was parked right in front of Rose’s little red
Honda. She gave Rose a wave as she started the car and drove away. Rose stood
on the sidewalk, shivering a little, looking forward to wrapping herself in one
of her mother’s Pueblo Indian throws as soon as she got to the cabin. She
watched until the mustang’s taillights faded away into the darkness.

Only then did she unlock the Honda and slide behind the
wheel. The idea of the big, empty cabin up in the woods would not have been at
all appealing if it weren’t for the big, gangly, black Labrador she knew would
be waiting for her, tail wagging.

As predicted, Lucy practically tackled her when she opened
the door. Rose bent down on the threshold and put her arms around the silly,
sloppy dog. After a few seconds, she realized that she’d started crying again. Lucy
licked salty tears from her cheeks and barked happily.

“Goofball,” Rose said.

Lucy ran outside to pee.

“Come right back in,” Rose said. “I’ll get you some food.”

The dog didn’t go more than twenty feet from the front door
to do her business, watching Rose the entire time, eyes alight with the promise
of food.

Rose had been staying at her parents’ cabin — if one
could call it that with its huge plate glass windows and modern, stark lines
— for the last few days ostensibly to look after Lucy, who was really her
father’s dog. For Rose, it was sort of a vacation from her apartment. Downtown
Kingsbury was alive with music and art and the bustle of tourists, but
sometimes she liked the quiet of the woods.

It hadn’t been hard for her parents to entice her into house
sitting. They knew how much she loved the house, and Lucy. All they had to do
was call and ask, and Rose was there in a heartbeat.

Now, she wondered what would happen. Her father had nearly
three more weeks of scheduled speaking engagements in the U.K. and Ireland. But
Pappy — her mother’s father — was dead. They’d have to come home,
now. Tonight, she didn’t mind the thought of leaving the cabin behind. As small
as her apartment was, the big house on the mountain trail made her feel even
lonelier.

Lucy trotted back through the door, and Rose closed and
locked it, again absurdly grateful for the dog’s presence. Still, she felt more
isolated than she ever had before.

It’s lonely out here in the woods, even with goofy Lucy
for company
, she mused as she began the walk through the four-bedroom
house, securing all the windows and doors and extinguishing any forgotten
lights. She stripped off her clothes and took a long shower, then pulled on a tank
top and boxers, the pill Jenny had given her working its magic, lulling her
grief and anxiety enough that she felt she could actually sleep.

In her parents’ master bedroom suite, she found that Lucy
had made herself at home. The dog’s shiny black coat glowed in the lamplight
where she was sprawled on the linen duvet that covered the king-size bed. It
was such a silly picture that it made Rose giggle.

Lucy lifted her head and gazed lazily at her.

“Goofball,” Rose said, crawling onto the bed with Lucy. The
big dog rolled over, letting her huge body press against Rose.

“Stop it!” Rose giggled, pushing the big dog back over onto
the other side of the bed. “You’re hogging the bed, dummy.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her long pink tongue stretching out
from the side of her mouth, trying to lick Rose’s arm.

“No! Not the dreaded dog slobber,” Rose groaned, but it was
too late. Lucy was already slopping buckets of dog drool onto Rose’s arm. Instead
of pushing Lucy away this time, Rose began to pet the big dog, rubbing and
scratching at the sweet spots behind Lucy’s ears.

Cold night air slid through the open window, encircling Rose
as she slept. Lucy whimpered in her sleep, her legs kicking back and forth as
she ran after some imaginary creature in her dreams.

It came without warning, a shrill high-pitched cry that woke
the dog and set her to barking.

Rose stirred. “What is it, Lucy?”

Her eyes were still caked in sleep and her body was not
fully under her control as she sat up and put a reassuring arm on the dog’s
flank. Another cry tore through the night air, the same reedy whistling sound
Rose had heard in the woods just after nightfall.

“Oh God,” she whispered, turning to stare at the open
window.

For an instant she froze, but then she slid out of bed and
shut the window, slamming it hard in its casing. Lucy jumped down from the
mattress and came to stand by Rose, a low growl simmering in her throat. Rose
instinctively reached down, clutching the fur at the back of Lucy’s neck for
comfort.

“It’s okay, girl.”

But the dog was not soothed. She erupted into a barking
frenzy as another whistling shriek tore through the night. Lucy slipped out of
Rose’s grasp and darted out of the bedroom, barking wildly.

“Lucy, get back here!”

Rose followed the dog down the hall and into the living
room, where Lucy stood barking at the French doors that led to the deck and the
back yard, and the woods beyond. As Rose reached for her, the dog bounded away
again, bulleting from living room to kitchen.

The dog flap in the kitchen door had been installed years
ago, when her parents had a terrier. It only swung outward, so forest animals
couldn’t use it to get inside. Lucy had never even tried to use it before,
given her size, but as Rose chased her into the kitchen, she saw the Lab
forcing herself through the too-small rectangle, rear legs scrabbling for
purchase on the tile floor.

“Lucy, Jesus, what the hell are you doing?” she screamed,
afraid that the dog would hurt herself.

But then the Lab popped out through the doggie door and the
flap closed behind her, leaving Rose gaping stupidly at the place she’d been a
moment before.

“Damn it!” Rose snapped. She didn’t want to go outside. But
Lucy wasn’t giving her a choice. With trembling hands, she unlocked the kitchen
door and stepped outside.

The wind whipped at her slender form, the tank top and boxer
shorts she’d worn to bed little protection against the cold. She shivered as
her bare feet found purchase on the dew-soaked redwood decking, the chill of
the air pervading not just her skin, but her bones, as well.

“Lucy!” she shouted, her voice carried back at her by the
wind. She scanned the woods behind her parent’s house, but could see no sign of
the dog.

Then she heard angry barking coming from the night time
shadows on her left. She turned to find Lucy standing at the edge of the
backyard, her teeth bared, low growls and yips erupting from her lowered
muzzle.

“Lucy!”

Rose ran across the deck and down the stairs, but Lucy
ignored her, still barking at something further out in the woods. In a dozen strides
she was at the dog’s side, and she knelt down and took hold of the scruff of
Lucy’s neck.

“Come on, you stupid, crazy dog!” Rose said, trying to drag
her back into the house. But Lucy wouldn’t budge. She continued to bark and
strain against Rose’s hold.