The Doctor and the Dead Man's Chest Read Free Page A

had an odor, I’m sure this would be it.’
    â€œThere must be a garbage pit nearby,” he told Horatio. Careful not to breathe too deeply, Fenimore led the way toward the house. Horatio followed, holding his nose.

The Doctor Takes a House Tour
    CHAPTER 3
    â€œ W ell, look what the cat dragged in!” Framed in the upper half of her Dutch doorway, Lydia Ashley looked like one of her Puritan ancestors.
    â€œI’m sorry, Lydia. I should have called first. But I was in the neighborhood, and …”
    â€œNonsense. You came at the perfect time.” She glanced at Horatio.
    Noting thankfully that the boy had let go of his nose, Fenimore introduced him.
    Lydia swung open the lower half of the door and said, “I’m giving a house tour today.”
    â€œOf your own house?” Fenimore knew Lydia was an accomplished guide for the Colonial Society of Pennsylvania and often gave tours of historic houses.
    â€œYes,” she said, leading them inside. “It’s a trial run, Andrew. I’m giving a tour of my house to members of the Colonial Society next month, and I wanted to practice my spiel on some friends and neighbors first. They should be here any minute.” She glanced nervously at her watch.
    â€œYou might want to get rid of that stench outside before they
arrive,” Fenimore said. “Something must have died in one of your fields.”
    To Fenimore’s surprise Lydia turned a chalky white and leaned against the doorjamb.
    â€œAre you all right?” he asked, aware of his patient’s chronic heart condition.
    â€œWant me to take a look?” Horatio asked. Fenimore nodded. The boy darted out the door and headed in the direction of the stink.
    Lydia looked after him as he disappeared around the corner of the barn.
    â€œI thought the buzzards made short work of dead animals in this neighborhood,” Fenimore said.
    Lydia seemed not to hear, her eyes fixed on the corner of the barn where Horatio had disappeared. Fenimore’s eyes were drawn to the same spot. As they stood silently watching, Horatio reappeared, still running.
    â€œWhat’s up?” asked Fenimore as he drew near.
    â€œI wanta show you something.” Panting, the boy spoke only to Fenimore.
    Fenimore looked at Lydia. Although still pale, she wore a determined expression. “I want to see, too.”
    Horatio shook his head at Fenimore, but Lydia had already taken off. There was nothing to do but follow. Several yards ahead of them, she rounded the corner of the barn. Her short, high-pitched scream stopped them. They rushed forward.
    Lydia stood still, facing the back wall of the barn, her hand over her mouth. Fenimore followed her gaze. Embedded in the brick wall was a row of iron hooks, devices for draining and drying animal carcasses in colonial times. All were empty, except one. Hanging from this hook was a large carcass of beef, similar to those glimpsed behind the meat counters in supermarkets. But this one wore a black coat, and something dripped from it into the stone trough below.

    The black coat was flies, the drips were blood, and the stench made Fenimore want to gag.
    Lydia’s eyes were fixed on an object attached to the lower end of the carcass, where the cow’s head had been. Fenimore moved closer. Paper. A photograph. A black and white portrait of Lydia Ashley.
    Horatio tore it off and gave it to Fenimore.

    CHAPTER 4
    â€œ S omeone’s idea of a practical joke?” stammered Lydia, backing away from the carcass.
    â€œSome joke,” said Fenimore, grimly.
    There was the sound of a car in the drive.
    â€œOh, here they are!” Lydia looked toward the house.
    â€œAre you all right?” asked Fenimore.
    â€œI’m fine, Andrew. I’m sorry I screamed … . Tell Jenks to remove that … that … monstrosity.”
    â€œJenks?”
    â€œMy handyman. You’ll probably find him in the barn.” She hurried toward