Chihuahua of the Baskervilles by Esri Allbritten

later and ran over to join Angus on the porch. “Take a look at this.” He reached inside his coat and took out a photograph.
    Angus took the photo and angled it toward the porch light.
    Bob, panting slightly, bent down and adjusted his slip-on shoes, the backs of which were folded under his heels.
    “Where’s this face?” Angus asked.
    “Let’s go inside where it’s dry and the light’s better,” Bob said, straightening. He led the way inside and glanced around the empty foyer. “Where’s the rest of your crew? They should see this, too.”
    “I’d rather not interrupt their preparations.” Angus went into the parlor and felt for the switch of a floor lamp with a stained-glass shade. “That’s better.” He held the picture under the bright light.
    Bob pointed. “That’s Petey. He was a nice little dog. Charlotte had him on the kitchen table to dress him.” In the photo, Charlotte appeared to be fastening the closure of a hooded red sweater under Petey’s belly. “Now look in the kitchen window behind them.”
    Angus did. It was a flash photo, and light shone off the window in a smudgy glare. “Is it this?” He pointed. “You said it was a face, but that looks like someone’s hand.”
    “It does a little. No, it’s a woman’s face. See, here’s her nose and there’s the chin, and she’s wearing a sort of bonnet. Victorian, I think.”
    Angus squinted. “Now I see it.” His mind kept trying to make it a hand, but he persevered. “Who do you think it is?”
    “Charlotte’s aunt,” Bob whispered. “The one who gave her this house. Perhaps she’s been trying to tell Charlotte something all this time, but they didn’t have a strong enough connection. Now that Petey is dead, she’s trying to send a message through him.”
    Angus looked at the little man with admiration. “Have you ever thought of writing, Mr. Hume? Just one minor detail—the Victorian era ended around 1900. The house may be that old, but Charlotte’s aunt was probably an adult in…” He did some quick math. “Oh, somewhere around 1920. They did wear hats of various sorts then.”
    “But not bonnets?”
    “Not so much, no.”
    Bob studied the picture. “It could be a spectral shower cap.”
    Angus revised his view of Bob as a regular contributor to Tripping . “Regardless, it’s an intriguing photo. Was it you who took the photograph?”
    “Yes.”
    “We’ll give you a photo credit. And I know it was some time ago, but do you remember feeling anything odd when you took it?”
    Bob looked at him blankly.
    “A sense of unease? Possibly a drop in temperature?”
    “Oh, right . Um, I heard a voice, whispering. At the time, I thought it was the radio.”
    “Excellent.” Angus gestured with the photo. “I’ll keep this for now, if it’s all right with you. We’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.” He headed toward the stairs, then realized Bob was following him and turned back. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me while we set up. Trade secrets, you know.”
    “Oh, sure.” Bob nodded. “Can the photo credit mention Petey’s Pride dog food as well as my name?”
    “That’s a bit long for a credit. We’ll try to get it in the article, shall we?”
    Bob’s face lit up. “Great! Thanks!”
    Angus started up the stairs, then realized he hadn’t heard Bob use the front door. He turned.
    Bob was gazing toward the kitchen.
    “Perhaps you should see if you can find any more photos of Petey,” Angus said, gesturing toward the door.
    “Okay.” Bob left.
    Angus went upstairs to the shared parlor and closed the door behind him.
    Suki looked up from attaching one of her cameras to a tripod. “What took you so long?”
    Angus held up the picture. “Yet because of his importunity, he will rise and give him a photo credit.”
    “Huh?” Michael said.
    “I’m quoting a biblical parable, about nagging.”
    “And is God for nagging or against it?” Michael asked.
    “For, as is Bob Hume,