LeGarde Mysteries

     My cold feet woke me. They dangled over the side of the bed, almost numb. I drew them back under the blankets, rubbed my legs together to generate heat, and snuggled deeper into the feather pillow. The morning breeze lapped lake water against the rocks beneath my room with a rhythmic, soothing sound. It almost lulled me back to sleep, but the aroma of bacon and eggs wafted into my room, making my stomach rumble.      Shadow poked his beagle snout out of the covers and sniffed, allowing cold to invade the warm pocket beneath the blanket. I pushed him out and re-tucked it around my legs, cocooning inside. He tried to nose back in.

     "Shadow, stop it."

     He whined and scooted up to my pillow, licking my face.

     "Cut it out!" I laughed as he stuck his cold nose against my neck. I grabbed the blankets and pulled them over my head just as my mother called from the kitchen.

     "You up, Gus? Breakfast is ready."

     I freed my head and shouted.

     "Yup. Be there in a sec."

     This time, Shadow snaked his head under my armpit and nuzzled me. I patted his head and made a fuss over him, telling him what a good dog he was. His eyes closed in ecstasy as my fingers ran down his floppy ears, stroking them. They were soft and silky and I loved the feel of them.

     "Okay, boy. Time to get up."

     Throwing back the covers, I slid onto the cold wooden floor and reached to pick up the socks I'd worn for the past two days. I sniffed them and shrugged. "Good enough. They're not walking on their own yet."

     Shadow followed me to the dresser, wagging his tail. I pulled out a fresh shirt, jumped into the jeans that hung over the top of the chair, and laced up my once-white Keds. My big toe almost poked through the right shoe. I threw on a flannel shirt and buttoned it up, then trotted to the kitchen where my mother stood stirring eggs in bacon fat in a cast iron skillet. Raisin toast had just popped out of the toaster.

     "I'm starving," I said, reaching for the toast.

     She tapped the back of my hand. "Hold on a minute, young man. Just look at those grimy paws."

     I flipped them over and shrugged. She ruffled my hair and leaned down to hug me.

     "You had quite an adventure last night, didn't you?" Her voice quavered and she squeezed me tight, comforting me with her warm embrace. After a few seconds, she let go, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron.

     "Now go wash up and comb your hair." She flipped the eggs in the skillet and added, "Your father started a fire. You can eat breakfast beside it, if you want."

     I nodded and walked into the new bathroom installed just last year. It was located behind the kitchen and beside the big bedroom my parents shared. The addition was a welcome replacement for the outhouse, in spite of the fact that it didn't always function as it should. A bucket of water stood beside the toilet, ready for the next flush. I used the toilet and dumped the water into the bowl. It gurgled down the drain. The tap worked, so I lathered my hands with a sliver of Ivory soap, splashed cold water on my face, and ran a wet comb through my hair.

     "Don't forget to fill the bucket," my mother called.

     It was too big to fit under the faucet in the sink, so filling it up meant a trip to the water pump behind the cabin. I carried it into the kitchen.

     "I won't," I said. "I'll do it after I eat, okay?"

     She smiled indulgently and filled my plate with fried eggs, bacon, and buttered raisin toast.

     "All right, just this once."

     Grinning, I took the food and a hot mug of Ovaltine into the living room. Perching on the side of the high hearth, I soaked in the warmth of the fire. My father entered with an armful of firewood.

     "Mornin,' Son." He unloaded the logs onto the hearth beside me.

     "Mornin', Dad," I mumbled through a mouthful of bacon.

     He smiled at me with a familiar tolerance. "Don't speak with your mouth full, Gus," he said, turning toward the kitchen. "Is the coffee ready, Gloria?"

     Throwing another log on the fire, he leaned down to pat Shadow. He stroked his long ears and made a fuss over him, just like I had. Shadow, in his glory, whipped his tail back and forth in delight. The flames licked higher, glowing red-gold on the rough pine walls.

     "Yes, dear. Come sit with me and have some."

     My father cupped his hand beneath my chin and raised my face to his. To my horror, he leaned down to kiss me on the forehead, then casually walked into the kitchen for his coffee.

     "Dad!" I hissed, mortified someone might have seen.

     I spun toward the door to be sure no one was walking past the cabin. The front door to the Marggrander cabin was closed with its shade drawn. Elsbeth and Siegfried were still in bed. Relieved, I returned to my breakfast and devoured it.

     Casting a furtive glance toward the kitchen to be certain my parents weren't watching, I laid my plate on the ground. Shadow licked the buttery remains from the china, his tail wagging rapidly. As I leaned over to pick it up, Oscar Stone knocked twice on the screen door. He raised one scraggly blond eyebrow in surprise when Shadow slurped the dinner plate.

     "Good morning, everyone." He worked his way into the kitchen and sat down for his usual cup of coffee. Feeling guilty, I followed him and put my plate in the sink, shaking some Borax powder on it. I used a sponge to scrub it extra clean and rinsed it with hot water from the teapot. Oscar noticed and nodded with approval.

     "Is Millie still in bed?" my mother asked.

     Oscar looked in my direction, unwilling to share the difficulties of caring for his wife in front of me. The Stones had been family friends since before I was born and frequently joined the Marggrander family and ours for their summer vacation at Loon Harbor. Millie suffered from advanced rheumatoid arthritis. William, their fifteen-year-old son, worked as a cabin boy during the day. He slept in the bunkhouse at the top of the hill next to the icehouse. I couldn't wait for the day when I held the job myself, and envied his pine-walled bunkroom.

     Oscar lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'm afraid so. The poor dear had trouble sleeping last night, so she's resting. Thought I'd come by to see if you'd heard."

     My father put down his white china mug and looked directly into Oscar's blue eyes.

     "Heard? Heard what?"

     Oscar shot me a glance. I knew in an instant what he meant. "This is adult talk. Vamoose."

     I slunk back into the living room and plopped on the couch next to Shadow, who'd curled into a ball in the corner. Running my hands down his smooth coat, I listened closely.

     "A ten-year-old girl’s missing. Near Black Bear Point."

     I bolted straight up.

     My father asked, "What happened?"

     Oscar looked at me, still reluctant to speak. I rose from the couch and moved out of sight around the corner. In spite of the fact that he whispered, his words were still clear.

     "Name's Sharon Adamski. Her father called the police station last night around midnight. Folks have been searching since dawn. They need more volunteers, which is why I came to get you, André."

     I drifted back into the kitchen. "That's the girl–"

     "Dear Lord!" my mother said, covering her mouth with her hand.

     My father scraped his chair back on the linoleum, suddenly all business.

     "Of course I'll help." He took a final swig of coffee and reached for his sailcloth jacket. "Let's go."

     I raised my eyes to his. "But–"

     "Later, son. This is important."

     They strode out the door, leaving me behind to consider the ungodly possibilities of Sharon's fate.

     Is she still hiding in the woods? Did he find her and beat her? I shuddered inside.

     Heavy-hearted, I pressed my nose to the screen and watched Oscar and my father disappear over the hill.