I almost laughed at his cliché.
Adam looked at the notebook and flipped halfway through. “He actually wrote about the plan to have her killed, cut off her hair, and send it to you as a warning.”
“Who killed her?” I asked.
“We think it was Gilmer Saltzmann, but so far it’s just speculation. Greg had contact with Gilmer, a couple of visits just before Lisa May disappeared. It’s probably just a matter of time before they link him up with the murder.”
I nodded, accepting his theory. A cardinal landed on the cedar tree nearby. He twittered in oblivious joy, unaware of the shock rippling through me.
Greg, whom I’d despised from afar because of the abuse he inflicted on my precious Camille, had returned the emotion with zeal. He sat in that small cell, stewing in hot revenge. For years.
The thought sent chills down my spine.
How could I have been so impervious to the raw emotions consuming him? I had relegated him to a corner of a tidy box that held all things distasteful from Camille’s past. I’d dusted his memory from my hands and thought of him as a dim figure of the past, not as a real man who longed for vengeance. Yet, he thought of me every day, loathing me so much that he tried to drown Shelby for revenge.
I shook the thoughts from my head. It was too hard to accept. How could he have been obsessed with me? I never felt a vibration of his anger, a whisper of his hatred.
I focused on our rambling farmhouse and breathed. Relax. He’s gone.
The white paint was peeling. The back porch roof sagged. And we needed twenty-six new windows.
Shelby and Siegfried stood beside the fire pit as greedy orange flames licked up the side of the pile. Siegfried put his arm around her shoulders and stood in easy silence beside her. I watched as she snaked hers around his broad back and leaned her head against him. Relief washed over me once again. The danger was gone. Eliminated. Shot in the neck, beneath the ice, by Joe.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever understand the malice that worked in Greg’s sick mind. Today, it was too hard to assimilate. I stood, restarted the chain saw, and turned back to our shattered maple tree.
Chapter 78
I toweled myself dry and changed into a faded blue chamois shirt and clean jeans. My muscles protested, aching with every movement. I’d worked outside five hours with Siegfried and Shelby. Maddy and Camille had cooked, while Freddie, Joe, and Adam watched the children until all three little ones went down for naps. The smell of spaghetti and meatballs tantalized me. My stomach rumbled, as if I hadn’t eaten in days.
I slid into my scuffed boat shoes and started down the hall. Before I reached the stairs, a soft voice called my name.
“Opa!”
I backed up and looked into the twins’ room. Marion bounced in her crib, her brown eyes wide with anticipation. Soft dark curls covered her head and spilled onto her neck.
“You wanna get up, pumpkin? You slept a long time today.”
She held up her arms, and then looked down at her diaper. She’d crawled out of her pants and now wobbled on chubby legs.
“Yucky.”
I noticed a distinct aroma and agreed. “Oh, yeah. We’ve gotta get you cleaned up.”
I laid her on the changing table. After cleaning her with aloe-infused wipes, I applied some ointment and fastened a fresh diaper. Her jeans were on the floor by her crib. With some difficulty, I reached over for them while holding her on the table with one hand. She rolled and kicked enthusiastically, rocking the table.
“Whoa, there. No falling off the table, baby.”
I slid the squirming girl into her pants. When she was dressed, I lifted her and carried her downstairs.
The house was full of family. With Marion bouncing on my hip, I walked over to greet Oscar and Millie, who had just arrived.
Millie reached for her. “Oh, my little one. Let me have her.”
Her arthritic hands trembled, but I placed Marion on her lap, wedged securely against the wheelchair arm. Millie cooed and nuzzled the child. Oscar winked at me, and wheeled his beloved into the dining room.
“Had quite the adventure, eh?” he said, positioning Millie at her usual place at the table. Oscar’s tone was light, but his eyes teemed with worry.
Marion slid down from the wheel chair and trotted toward Adam, who was busily sitting Celeste in her high chair on the other end of the table.
“Yeah. But it’s over now. We can breathe again,” I said.
“I know. Thank the good Lord…and Joe Russell.”
“I’ve never seen anyone move that fast before. He was amazing.”
We both looked at the man who sat on the couch beside Johnny. He appeared average, beefy, graying, with a spreading midriff. Not at all like the superman who’d rocketed into the lake.
Millie grabbed my hand. “Is Shelby doing okay? She must’ve been so frightened.”
I looked into the kitchen where Shelby stood beside Camille. She sprinkled garlic powder over the sliced, buttered bread. The resemblance between mother and daughter was uncanny.
“I think so. She seems changed, and for the better. Only time will tell, of course.”
Oscar pulled up a chair next to Millie and perched on it while he arranged a napkin in her lap. She smiled sweetly to thank him.
“Well, son,” he said, looking at me with clear blue eyes, “we don’t want you traipsing about in any more ice storms or running across any half-frozen lakes any time soon.”
“I know. Believe me. The next time I’m on a lake, it’ll be in a boat.”
I’d had dreams for the past few nights. Well, more like nightmares of me suffocating beneath the ice. Of meeting up with Greg in the blackness. Of losing Shelby, who sank out of reach. Camille had comforted me several times when I woke in a cold sweat.
I accepted a hug from Oscar and a kiss from Millie.
“We worry about you, you know,” Millie whispered.
I nodded, touched her hand, and was immediately called to the kitchen by Maddy.
“Gus? Get over here, you renegade. Just because you got out of cooking today doesn’t mean you can loaf around. We need a man to carry this stockpot of spaghetti. Come on. Chop-chop!”
I smiled at my surrogate parents and turned to obey my mother-in-law. “Coming, Maddy.”
The bedlam that ensued was cathartic. I laughed when Johnny tried to twirl spaghetti around his fork. I surreptitiously shared a meatball with Max, who lay at my feet under the table. I watched Shelby and Camille sitting side by side across the table. My girls. I chuckled when Celeste gave Adam the same hard time she’d given me in the morning, closing her mouth as tight as a drum and pointing to the kitchen.
“Dutch appew!” she insisted. She’d really got the term down now. There was no question about what she wanted.
I didn’t know if we’d ever convince her to try anything other than baby applesauce.
Siegfried looked like a big lumberjack. He sat beside Camille, towering over her even while seated. He wore a checkered red wool shirt and had also freshly showered. His blond hair was still damp. I exchanged a smile with him as he popped another meatball in his mouth.
“Mmm. Delicious.”
Maddy chuckled from her place beside Joe. “Don’t get used to it, big guy. Gus takes over tomorrow. Sorry, but you’ll have to go back to the same old slop.”
I nearly choked and snorted a laugh.
Maddy had pursed her lips and widened her eyes, anticipating my reaction.
Camille’s jaw dropped. She turned to her mother and chastised her. “Mom. For Heaven’s sakes, be nice.”
I laughed so loud I could barely breathe. Siegfried’s mouth twitched, and then he joined in, guffawing with gusto. Tears streamed down my cheeks and weeks of tension and fear trickled away with them.
Shelby took a big bite of a “full fat” meatball and chewed it heartily. It appeared that her near-brush with death had eliminated her obsessive calorie counting. She enjoyed her food once again and didn’t relegate certain dishes to t
he “black list.”
Swallowing, she turned to her grandmother. “The meatballs are great, Gram. But Dad’s one heck of a cook, too. For a man, that is.” Shelby winked at me.
This time Maddy cracked up. “Hey. This one’s got promise,” she chuckled, patting Shelby’s shoulder.
“No, really. He’s the best dad around. And he makes a really good soup, too.” She put on a puppy-dog face, laying it on thick.
I raised an eyebrow and glanced at Camille for answers. She got it before I opened my mouth.
“She wants a car,” she said.
“Oh-ho? Buttering up your old man, huh?” I said.
Shelby put both hands in the air as if to stop the tide. “No. Really. I do like your soup.” Her voice cracked and tears threatened. “I mean it, Dad. I love you.”
She’d mouthed the last few words. On the spot, my heart melted. I shot her a smile, reached for more garlic bread, and wondered what kind of car I’d buy for her birthday.
- The End -
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to friends who provided eagle-eye editing assistance and beta reading services: Joan Miller, Mary Alice Grimes, Joan H. Young, Jeanne Fielding, Nancy Luckhurst, Joan Hall Hovey, Nancy Robinson, Colleen Kendzierski, Sheila Deeth, Heather Joseph, Karen Vaughn, Donna Paddon, Sonia R. Martinez, Jan Smith, Gabriela Scholter, Lorraine Lanier, Dale Lazar, Ken Ramirez, Sharon Pribble, and Linda Slade.
Huge thanks to Sonya Bateman, my long time critique partner, for her constant and unwavering support. Sonya has encouraged and mentored me since my very first book, and I’ll always be so grateful for her guidance. Please check out her books at:
http://sonyabateman.wordpress.com
http://housephoenix.wordpress.com/.
Thank you all!
About the Author
Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. A multi award-winning author of three addictive mystery series, writing guides, and more, Aaron enjoys the Genesee Valley countryside in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his website at http://www.lazarbooks.com and watch for his upcoming release, DEVIL’S CREEK (2015).
Books by multi-award winning author Aaron Lazar:
LEGARDE MYSTERIES
DOUBLE FORTÉ (print, eBook, audio book)
UPSTAGED (print, eBook, audio book)
TREMOLO: CRY OF THE LOON (print, eBook, audio book)
MAZURKA (print, eBook, audio book)
FIRESONG (print, eBook, audio book)
TREMOLO: CRY OF THE LOON (print, eBook, audio book)
DON’T LET THE WIND CATCH YOU (print, eBook, audio book)
THE LIAR’S GALLERY (print, eBook, audio book)
UNDER THE ICE (2015)
LADY BLUES (2014) (print, eBook, and audio book)
THE LEGARDE MYSTERIES OMNIBUS (eBook)
MOORE MYSTERIES
HEALEY'S CAVE (print, eBook, audio book)
TERROR COMES KNOCKING (print, eBook, audio book)
FOR KEEPS (print, eBook, audio book)
TALL PINES MYSTERIES
FOR THE BIRDS (print, eBook, audio book)
ESSENTIALLY YOURS (print, eBook, audio book)
SANCTUARY (print, eBook, audio book)
BETRAYAL (print, eBook, audio book)
STANDALONES
THE SEACREST (print, eBook, audio book)
DEVIL’S LAKE (print, eBook, audio book)
DEVIL’S CREEK (2015)
WRITING ADVICE
WRITE LIKE THE WIND, volumes 1, 2, 3 (eBooks and audio books)
Aaron Lazar’s Book Awards
The Seacrest
2014 Best Beach Book Festival WINNER, Romance category
2013 ForeWord Book Awards, Romance, FINALIST
Double Forté
2012 ForeWord BOTYA, Mystery, FINALIST
Tremolo: cry of the loon –
2013 Eric Hoffer Book Awards: Grand Prize Short List
2013 Eric Hoffer Book Awards: Honorable Mention, Eric Hoffer Legacy Fiction
2011 Global eBook Award Finalist in Historical Fiction Contemporary
2011 Preditors & Editors Readers Choice Award – 2nd place Mystery
2008 Yolanda Renée's Top Ten Books
2008 MYSHELF Top Ten Reads
For the Birds
2011 ForeWord Book Awards, FINALIST in Mystery
2012 Carolyn Howard-Johnson's Top 10 Reads
Essentially Yours
2013 EPIC Book Awards, FINALIST in Suspense
2013 Eric Hoffer Da Vinci Eye Award Finalist
Healey’s Cave
2012 EPIC Book Awards WINNER Best Paranormal
2011 Eric Hoffer Book Award, WINNER Best Book in Commercial Fiction
2011 Finalist for Allbooks Review Editor's Choice
2011 Winner of Carolyn Howard Johnson's 9th Annual Noble (not Noble!) Prize for Literature
2011 Finalists for Global EBook Awards
Terror Comes Knocking
2013 Global Ebook Awards, Paranormal – Bronze
For Keeps
2013 Semi Finalist in Kindle Book Review Book Awards, Mystery Category
Websites
www.lazarbooks.com
www.murderby4.blogspot.com
www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com
www.aplazar.gather.com
http://aaronlazar.younglivingworld.com
www.pureoils.blogspot.com
Contact
You may contact the author via email, at [email protected].
Connect with the Author
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/aplazar2
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/aplazar
Goodreads:
http://www.goodreads.com/AaronPaulLazar
Amazon Author Page:
http://www.amazon.com/Aaron-Paul-Lazar
LinkedIn:
http://www.linkedin.com/pub/aaron-lazar/4/b50/a2a/
Google+:
https://plus.google.com/106903480874581085678/posts
Excerpt from Lady Blues: forget-me-not LeGarde book #10
Chapter One
I strolled along Main Street with Siegfried, my best friend and brother-in-law, unable to shake the song repeating in my head. I’d played it for my Opera 101 class yesterday at school, and since then, kept hearing Marcelo Alvarez singing “Che gelida manina,” from La Boheme. Because Camille and I had seen him perform in this role last fall in New York City, it made me long for Lincoln Center, or at least a really good hot pastrami sandwich from a decent deli.
Why I thought of food at that particular moment was a mystery, because we’d just finished a big breakfast of scrambled eggs, home fries, and bacon at Clara’s Diner. I shrugged and let the warm spring air caress my face and bare arms. The sun felt good after the lingering cold of March. I reveled in the feeling of freedom, happy to have no appointments or chores looming in the near future, and looking forward to a leisurely stop in the village bookstore.
A warm breeze teased across the Genesee Valley, filling me with a curious sense of exhilaration. Just past the bagel shop, from the top of the ridge where our historic village of Conaroga, New York perched, I stopped for a minute to enjoy the view. Rolling hills swelled in the distance, coated green with winter wheat.
I wanted to stay put and soak it all in, but Siegfried was rapidly disappearing into the crowded street. With his blond ponytail swaying behind him, his long legs ate up the ground.
I hurried after him. “Hey, buddy. What’s going on?” I wasn’t sure why our trip to the bookstore warranted such an effort.
He frowned, walking faster. “Ja.”
What kind of an answer was that? Had he even heard me? “Sig? You okay?”
I loped for a few paces and caught up with him. Rushing along the sidewalk in front of Victorian homes with deep porches and brightly-colored gables, we finally reached the commercial part of the village, jogging side by side past quai
nt shop windows offering flowers, travel dreams, gourmet pizza, and works of art.
A bus belched smoke and rumbled past us, its gears grinding. The advertisement on its broad side read, “Got Milk?” Beneath the text, a smiling actress wore a milk mustache.
I glanced down at my black tee shirt. The slogan, “Got Opera?” had produced a few confused grins from customers at the diner, where Siegfried and I enjoyed our breakfast.
“Hey, what’s the hurry, big fella?”
Siegfried didn’t answer.
I wasn’t sure why he seemed so distracted, but I responded when he motioned for me to quicken my pace because over the years, I’d learned to trust his sixth sense and recognized something in his expression that spelled danger.
We crossed the street, almost at a run now. Siegfried frowned at something on the other side of the road. I followed his line of sight and realized he wasn’t headed for the bookstore, but for Thom Kim’s tailor shop.
Siegfried had been doing a lot of business there lately. A man of his height required the help of a tailor from time to time, but he’d found dozens of excuses for alterations in the past few months. A loose button here, a burst seam there. He’d been visiting the shop almost twice a week, and I wondered why.
“Why are we hurrying?” I asked again.
He burst into a sprint, shouting now. “Look!” He lunged ahead of me, his sea blue eyes trained on the top floor of the building.
I smelled it before I saw it, then looked up.
Smoke.
It poured from the upper floor where Thom Kim lived with his sister, Lily. Although the street teemed with people, no one seemed to have noticed the smoke. We careened along the sidewalk, pushing through shoppers and students.
Cursing because I left my cell phone in the car, I grabbed the nearest student texting on his phone. He stared at me through black dreadlocks as if I were attacking him. Which I guess I was, in a way.
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