Tremolo

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “Gus? You have company.”

  I stayed silent, tucking myself back into safe blackness. I slid in the darkness, inside the songs of the loons, atop the safety of the gentle waves lapping beneath the floorboards of my room.

  Another voice joined the chorus. It sounded familiar, small, and frightened. A wisp of curiosity spiraled through my brain. I wondered who was speaking.

  “Gus? It’s me, Elsbeth. Why won’t you wake up, Gus?”

  It was Elsbeth, her voice trembling and fearful. I sighed inwardly, realizing that the inevitable had come to pass. It was time.

  Summoning every ounce of strength, I dragged myself up through the mire and cracked opened my eyes. The bright light of the sun stung and my eyelids fluttered to a half-open position.

  “Gluck mal! He’s waking up.” Siegfried rushed to my side, joining Elsbeth and my mother, who gathered around my bed. I heard my mother instruct someone to get the doctor, and pulled myself into the conscious world. Lifting my right hand to my neck, I moved my fingertips gingerly over the swollen welts that formed a hideous necklace around my throat. The memory of Frank Adamski’s strangling grip flooded back. I looked nervously toward the lake.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” My mother smoothed the hair over my forehead and smiled down at me. She looked tired.

  “How long…” I started to speak but my voice was hoarse and sore.

  She lifted a glass of water to my lips and helped me sit up.

  I sipped the tepid water slowly at first, then grabbed the glass and thirstily gulped it down.

  Elsbeth spoke rapidly, as if she couldn’t believe her own words. “You’ve been sleeping since yesterday. Doc Whiting was here all night with you. You almost drowned. Siegfried dragged you up from the bottom.” Her voice cracked and her mouth crumpled. She took a moment to control herself, then looked adoringly at her twin.

  He grimaced, touching a large purple bruise on his forehead, and moved closer to the bed. In his eyes I saw the horror we’d shared beneath the water.

  “Adamski’s dead. He strangled himself on the anchor rope.”

  I looked up quickly, wondering if he’d told anyone that he had wound the rope around the man’s neck. I remained silent for a moment, turning the memory around in my mind.

  I lay there looking into Siegfried’s traumatized eyes, and it all came back. Sharon. Long golden hair floating eerily in the water. White, puffy face. Flat, dead eyes.

  “Sharon’s dead, too, isn’t she?” I asked, my voice trembling.

  My mother laid her hand on my arm. “I’m afraid so, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  My throat tightened. I stifled the urge to sob. Sighing, I closed my eyes tightly.

  Elsbeth took my hand in hers and squeezed. “It’ll be okay, Gus. We’re here for you. Blood brothers forever. And don’t forget, you guys found the church loot. You’re heroes.”

  I smothered the feelings of despair and opened my eyes, flashing a half-smile at her.

  She pushed a purple-wrapped candy bar into my hands.

  I recognized the Milka label and smiled. It was warm and mushy from her fingers.

  “It’s from my mother, Gus. She wanted you to have it when you woke up.”

  Several larger figures filled the doorway. My father walked quickly toward the bed and reached down to hug me, right in front of my friends. “You okay, sport?”

  I looked into his concerned brown eyes and nodded.

  From the doorway, my grandfather chuckled. “Of course he’s okay, André. He’s a LeGarde. All the LeGarde men are tough as nails, right, Odette?”

  Gramps slid his arm around my grandmother’s shoulders and puffed on his pipe, winking at me.

  She raised a hand and wiggled her fingers at me, a teary smile creasing her face. I heard voices in the outer room.

  Oscar, Millie, and William Stone; Betsy, Annabel, and even Mrs. Jones were there. Instantly, I related to Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

  The crowd shifted in and out.

  My mother waved Mrs. Jones inside. “Come in, Mrs. Kennedy.”

  I looked up at her in surprise. “Mum. Don’t call her that.”

  “It’s all right, young man. I’m leaving today, so no there’s no more need for subterfuge.” She walked over to the bed and stood beside me. The twins and my grandparents melted back into the living room. Barney stood tall in the doorway, his ever-present sunglasses in place.

  “I just wanted to thank you, my young friend. The church bell that you found is very special to me. I was baptized in St. Stephen’s church, you know.”

  “Really?” I whispered.

  She smiled and handed me a photograph. It showed her standing beside the President in the rose garden at the White House. “I want you to have this, Gustave.”

  I swallowed hard and looked up at her. “Are you sure?” I asked, holding the treasure carefully.

  She nodded. “Quite sure. I have other copies at home. Besides, I wanted to give you a little something before I left. Thank you for everything, Gus.”

  She smiled at me, patted my arm, and drifted back into the living room under the watchful eye of her guard as I murmured my thanks.

  My mother looked into the room worriedly and asked, “Honey, can you handle a few more visitors? The Stones are here. They were very concerned about you.”

  I was tired, but nodded anyway. “Okay.”

  Oscar guided Millie into the room, holding her elbow. William and Betsy held back and waited in the doorway. Millie came toward me slowly, smiling through the pain of movement that was so obvious from her gait. “I think he’s going to be just fine, Oscar. Look, he has a little color in his cheeks, don’t-you-know?” She kissed her fingertips and touched them to my cheeks, her arthritic fingers trembling slightly.

  Oscar supported her arm. “I do think you’re right, Lady. But the boy needs his rest. We’d best leave him be.”

  William came forward and placed a large box on the bed.

  Betsy stood beside him, looking fetching in her pink and white sundress.

  William smiled sheepishly, then raised the gift out of the box as Betsy spoke.

  “Go ahead. Give it to him.”

  He placed the Thunderbird model on my nightstand. I looked up at him in surprise. The green metallic paint sparkled. It was perfect.

  “Here ya go, squirt. It’s yours.” He rubbed one finger over his nose and grinned at me, proud of his accomplishment.

  Although I was pleased with the gift, my heavy-lidded eyes started to close. I struggled to thank him. “It’s really keen. Thanks.”

  Betsy leaned down to peck my cheek. “He’s tired. We’d better go.”

  Her voice trailed off and I sank back down into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 56

  October 31st, 1964

  East Goodland, New York

  “Gus, be sure to wear your jacket.” My mother was arranging candy in a bowl for prospective trick-or-treaters.

  I nodded begrudgingly, not wanting to cover up my wonderful costume. The long johns had been dyed blue, and my red bathing suit doubled as Superman’s trunks. My blue shirt was emblazoned with a large red “S,” sewn by my mother last night.

  The temperatures had dropped into the forties, but my red tablecloth cape would be hidden if I wore a jacket over it. I thought for a moment, slipped into the lightest jacket I could find, and tied the tablecloth around my neck. It flowed over the coat and hid it. If I left it unzipped, the “S” would still show.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk with you, son?” my father asked from behind the newspaper. He put it down and looked at me with a familiar concerned expression.

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll be fine, Dad.”

  He exchanged worried glances with my mother.

  My frequent nightmares had finally diminished, although I still had the drowning dream from time to time. Doctor Prendergast said I might always have such a dream, but not to worry because it w
as completely normal. We spoke a lot about what was “normal” in our sessions. We talked about death, evil, and fears.

  I reached for my Superman mask and held it to my face, pulling the elastic strap around my long hair. It was one battle I’d won that fall: the elimination of the weekly haircut. Although it hadn’t yet approached “Beatle” hair length, I’d made it at least halfway there and was pleased when the other kids in the sixth grade noticed.

  I stood before my parents, breathing through the small mouth hole in the stiff mask.

  “Well, don’t you look spiffy,” my mother said.

  My father rose from his seat and joined me at the door, pushing a silver flashlight into my hands. He handed me the paper shopping bag I’d decorated in class that day. “Looks like he could save the world, Gloria.”

  I smiled behind the mask and nodded, heading out into the dark night. “See ya later.”

  Running hard across the field connecting our house to the Marggranders’, I pounded over the grass with my cape rippling in the breeze behind me. My new school sneakers were quickly soaked with heavy dew that coated the stubbly pasture grass. The mask eyeholes provided minimal vision, but I knew the path by heart and felt protected behind the face of my hero. I pushed the fears of lurking monsters deep into my subconscious and sprinted across the field. Although it was only five-thirty, it was already dark.

  The stars arced bright in the sky, lighting the way to the Marggranders’ side door.

  Their porch light was on. Candles flickered within a pulpy shells of two carved pumpkins.

  Elsbeth opened the door before I knocked and pulled me inside. She beamed at me in a long white dress with attached wings.

  Mrs. Marggrander had been working all week on the wire and filmy fabric structures. They sparkled with glitter and miraculously hung from her shoulders. A gold braided curtain tie was fashioned into a halo. It rested on her dark curls, encircling her hair like a garland.

  “What do you think, Superman?” She grinned and twirled around.

  “It’s beautiful, Elsbeth. I think you’ll win first prize.” I looked up as Siegfried and his parents entered the room.

  He was dressed as a doctor, wearing a long white coat, mustache, stethoscope, and carrying a black bag. He winked at me from behind an old pair of heavy glasses. “I think so, too. She looks like a real angel.”

  He approached me and felt my biceps with his fingers, nodding and pretending to examine me. He put the stethoscope up to my chest and listened as I breathed in and out behind the sweaty plastic mask.

  “Ja, ja. Muscles of steel and a heart of gold. He must be Superman.”

  Elsbeth hopped up and down in place and giggled, running to the dining room table to grab the JC Penney’s bag she’d decorated with black cats and orange jack-o-lanterns.

  I noticed with a smile that there were no bats in her design.

  We’d been anticipating the Halloween party at the East Goodland Methodist church for weeks.

  “Papa? Mama? Can we go now?” she asked, prancing over to them.

  Mr. Marggrander wore a rare smile, zipping up his jacket. He looked at me, speaking in his strong German accent. “Ja, ja, presently. But I have one question for Superman.” He lifted a forefinger to his chin and cocked his head. “Will you be flying to church or driving with us tonight?” His lips twitched.

  “I—” I looked at him in surprise. I’d never heard him crack a joke before.

  “Now, Klaus.” Mrs. Marggrander smiled broadly, shaking her forefinger in his direction and nudging him toward the door. She grabbed her big square pocketbook from the hook on the wall.

  We all headed for the door. The twins linked arms with me and answered their father. “He’s coming with us, Papa.” They leaned forward and glanced at each other, laughed, and repeated the words again in unison. “He’s coming with us.”

  —The End—

  Reviews

  You've just read Tremolo: cry of the loon, book 5 in LeGarde Mysteries. If you enjoyed it, I hope you’ll consider leaving a review on Amazon. It doesn’t have to be long or fancy—just a few lines about what you liked best or how the book made you feel is perfectly fine.

  Authors really do read the reviews and love to hear what their readers think and feel about the characters, the story, or the writing. It’s validating, especially if you enjoy what we work so hard to produce!

  Thanks in advance for taking a few minutes to write a review ;o)

  - Aaron Paul Lazar

  What’s Next?

  If you enjoyed this story, you might like the other books in the LeGarde Mystery series, many of which are set in the same locale with the same characters. (see complete book list following this).

  If you are curious about Gus’s youth, you might like to read the prequels Don’t Let the Wind Catch You and Voodoo Summer, or any of the “adult Gus” books in the series where you can join him as a father and grandfather in multiple adventures throughout the Genesee Valley. And if you enjoy the style of these books, check out The Green Marble Mystery series or the author’s romantic suspense and love stories at http://www.lazarbooks.com.

  Please consider hopping over to Amazon to leave a short review if you enjoyed the book!

  - Aaron Paul Lazar

  Scroll down for an excerpt from Don’t Let the Wind Catch You, available on Amazon, Barnes&Noble, etc. as an eBook. It is also available in print and audiobook.

  Chapter One

  We crept toward the old shack on our bellies, crab-crawling over moss and oak leaves. Elsbeth breathed softly to my left, just out of sight. Siegfried took the lead, several feet ahead of me. Behind us, the horses stood tethered to maple saplings; they munched steadily on the sweet leaves with a rhythmic crunching sound, their tails swishing against the sting of deerflies.

  “Gus?” Elsbeth’s whisper glanced off the air. “Do you think anyone lives here?”

  I pressed a finger to my lips. “Shh. I think I heard something.” I was glad I’d left Shadow at home. That little beagle would’ve betrayed us, running all over the woods baying at every new scent he found.

  Siegfried raised a hand, signaling us to stop. He’d heard it, too. It was a keening sound, a high-pitched wail that was speech but not speech, closer to song, but with no melody I recognized.

  Ice crawled down my spine and tingled in my toes. My heart pounded against the soft earth beneath me. I chanced a look at Elsbeth, whose eyes had gone wide with what some people might think was fear. But I knew better. Excitement lurked behind those big brown eyes. She didn’t scare easily now that she was eleven.

  Wood smoke escaped the chimney in a lazy tendril, spreading into gray softness that filled the air with the aroma of campfires on cold winter mornings. Whoever lived inside this remote, ramshackle cabin must have just started a cooking fire, for the scent of wood smoke was soon followed by the clanging of a cast iron pan and the distinctive scent of bacon.

  Siegfried glanced back at us, motioning toward a tumbled-down stone wall. He hopped to his feet and scrambled toward the cabin, chest tucked tightly to his knees. Although I was a full year older than the twins, I often let Siegfried lead. He was the one with the compass and the navigational skills, and took us on excursions into the forests behind the Ambuscade.

  While we lay on our bellies watching the cabin, I couldn’t help but remember snatches of Mrs. Wilson’s history lessons last year. Even though we’d often played around the Ambuscade Monument, which was back in the field we’d just crossed, I really hadn’t appreciated the importance of the area until she started telling us the story.

  She said Washington sent John Sullivan and his men to fight for the settlers in 1779. They’d attacked the Indians, and had burned villages, cut down apple orchards, and destroyed families. It had been a real slaughter.

  But it was hard to know who to root for, because some of Sullivan’s men had been later ambushed by British troops and some Iroquois Indians. Fifteen men were massacred very close to where we lay. Two of t
he officers, Boyd and Parker, were captured and tortured in Little Beard’s village in a town we now know as Cuylerville.

  A plaque stands there today, marking the spot where they were tortured. Now, in 1965–a hundred and eighty-six years later–I stared at it in fascination whenever my father drove us past it on the way to Letchworth State Park.

  Siegfried poked my side and pointed to the house, where a shadow crossed the window. I nodded and watched.

  Elsbeth lay snug against me behind the stone wall. She nudged me in the ribs and whispered so close to my ear it tickled. “Someone’s in there!”

  A one-sided conversation had started up inside the cabin. I strained to hear, trying to calm the heartbeat in my ears that pounded over the words I couldn’t make out.

  I listened to the deep male voice. Gruff and playful, he seemed to be discussing plans for the day. But no one answered him.

  I scanned the area. Siegfried noticed and followed my gaze. No telephone poles or wires. No electricity. Unless he had one of those walkie-talkies like they used in the war, he must be talking to a mute person or to a very soft-spoken person.

  I noticed several cracked windows and wondered why the man inside hadn’t fixed them. The front door looked solid, made from rough planks, but the roof dipped and waved near the chimney. I imagined when it rained it probably dripped from the ceiling into buckets. Globs of tar and different colored shingles plastered the roof in various spots. A beat-up Ford pickup was parked under the trees in the back.

  Siegfried crawled around the edge of the wall. We followed him, creeping closer to the side of the shack until we were right under the window with two cracked panes.

  Now we could hear better. The man’s rumbling voice gave me chills.

  “Why don’t you want me to go?”

  Silence.

  “Okay. So come with me. What’s the big deal?”

  More silence.

  The man groaned. “Nobody will see you. You can wait outside.”