LeGarde Mysteries - Double Forte'

Double Forté, A Gus LeGarde Mystery by Aaron Paul Lazar

Setting: East Goodland, New York and the Belgrade Lakes of Maine.

Double Forté is a chilling mystery set in the verdant landscape of Upstate New York's Genesee Valley. Packed with memorable characters, hair-raising chase scenes, and touching family moments, it’s a solid page-turner.

Desolate over his wife’s suicide four years earlier, small-town college professor Gus LeGarde faces bewildering emotions when he falls for Camille, the vivacious, dark-eyed daughter of his secretary. Yet troubling events in her past cause her to rebuff Gus's affections.

Romance glimmers, however, as both become embroiled in an adventure when Gus discovers a mute child shackled to a bedpost in a secluded cabin. The mystery turns deadly when the child's kidnapper escapes on a snowmobile that tumbles into the deep Letchworth Gorge.

To order:

"What road is that?" Folks from the Genesee Valley have guessed and guessed - but they haven't yet identified the road featured on the cover of Double Forté. To find out, click here.

Excerpts from Double Forté:

Chapter 25

I sat with Joe and Detective Sweeney from the Rochester Police Department, watching Siegfried from the observation window. I’d asked to be in there with him, helping him, but they’d refused. He’d been questioned for an hour and a half, with various detectives approaching him from so many angles that he’d become confused.

Graffiti was scribed into the surface of the massive oak table. For what seemed the hundredth time, I traced my forefinger around the letters of the name, “Bonnie” that was carved into the tabletop. A cup of bitter coffee cooled before me. The room was brutally hot, and the air was stifling.

Lieutenant Russell sat to my left with Detective Sweeney. They both watched my brother-in-law from behind the window.

“What’s wrong with that guy, anyway?” Sweeney said, “Is he a little touched, or what?”

He tapped his forefinger on his right temple and almost sneered at me. I felt my ire rising as it had done in high school when the thoughtless juveniles of Conaroga had tormented my brother-in-law in the streets and in the schoolyard. I’d protected him then and had done so ever since. I turned to him,

“He’s not ‘a little touched’,” I whispered fiercely, “He sustained brain damage after a boating accident when he was twelve years old.”

Sweeney smiled at me again.

“Brain damage, huh? Can he remember anything? Looks like he can’t remember squat to me.”

My cheeks flushed in anger.

“Siegfried functions at a very high level. He drives, holds down a good job, pitches in around the farm, and is a trustworthy member of our family.”

Sweeney turned and stared at me for a long time. Sweat broke out on my brow, slid down my temples, along my jaw and dripped down under my shirt collar.

“What relation is he to you, anyway, Professor? You seem pretty protective of him. You guys ‘together’?”

Before I could answer, Joe quickly explained.

“No, No, Detective Sweeney. It’s nothing like that. Siegfried is Gus’s brother-in-law. His deceased wife’s brother, right Professor?”

He turned to me for confirmation. I took a deep breath and consciously pushed the anger down.

“Right. We grew up as friends, and then I married his sister.”

Sweeney pushed back on the chair and balanced on the two rear legs as he picked his teeth with a wooden toothpick. The damned thing had been dangling in his mouth all morning. He bore his black eyes into mine as he furrowed his brow.

“Has he ever been in trouble before? Any penchant for violence?”

I stared at him, wondering why he was pushing so hard. In spite of my attempt to control it, I spat out the words as I returned his glare.

“Siegfried is the gentlest soul you’ll ever know, Detective Sweeney. His view of the world can be childlike, but that youthful attitude brings with it an innocence you probably haven’t seen or felt in a very long time.”

He picked again at his teeth, still rocking on the chair. His eyes continued to bore into mine.

“So what happened to your wife, Professor? How’d she die?”

I felt the blood drain from my face, surprised that he would ask me about Elsbeth. I hesitated for a moment, deciding to keep the real reason to myself.

“It was an accident, Detective. She died in an accident.”

Joe looked at me sideways, knowing full well that I was lying. He kept silent.

“Ah. Sorry to hear that,” Sweeney said insincerely.

He lost interest in me and turned his attention back to Siegfried.

I sensed fear in Siegfried’s voice as it was transferred to us through the tinny speakers on the wall. I turned to watch him, and felt my heart go out to him as he put his head in his hands and began to speak German again.

“What’s with the switch in language, Professor? Cute way to get out of answering questions, as I see it.”

I looked toward Joe for help. He didn’t see me. His eyes were riveted to the one way glass.

“Listen, Detective,” I began with resolve, “Siegfried was born in Germany. He learned German first, and then English when he moved here as a child. After the accident, he completely reverted to German, losing all of the English that he’d learned previously. When he gets nervous, he goes back to his native tongue. He can’t help it. It’s not a ruse to confuse you, trust me,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Is he Jewish, then?” he asked as his eyes looked at the fair blond man on the other side of the window.

“Half,” I said, wondering where he was going with the questioning.

He put all four legs of the chair back on the scarred linoleum floor and leaned toward me.

“Interesting. So what’s with the ponytail? Leftover from his hippie days?”

I looked at the irritating man and pursed my lips together as I tried to regain control. I realized that he was trying to bait me and attempting to anger me to see if he could push me into blurting out some hidden tidbit that would help him solve the case. I forced myself to speak calmly.

“You’re questioning his hairstyle? Is long hair against the law in your precinct?” I asked evenly.

Joe’s lips twitched a little. He covered his mouth with one hand and coughed to hide the smile.

“Okay, Sweeney,” said Joe with authority, “Enough is enough. We’ve got the general idea, don’t we? Let’s stop harassing these poor people until we’ve got a body to worry about. The guy might’ve hooked up with some old girlfriend at a bar and could be staying with her, or fell and knocked himself out on the ice. We haven’t even finished our search of the local hospitals, have we?”

Sweeney curtly shook his head.

“Not yet, Russell. But there’s one thing that really bothers me.”

He stood up and leaned against the one way mirror, staring with malice toward Siegfried.

“What’s that, Detective?” Joe asked.

“This guy says he dropped Perkins off at his office building and saw him drive off—”

“Right,” said Joe briskly, “So?”

Sweeney turned back toward us and almost hissed,

“Then why is Perkins’ car still parked in his office parking lot?”

I swallowed hard, realizing that this man actually thought Siegfried could have had a hand in the suspected foul play.

Joe spoke up immediately.

“Look, Sweeney. He could’ve driven back to pick up something at the office that he forgot. Maybe he met someone there, and went for a drink? There are a thousand explanations that don’t involve the good man in the other room. If you’re not going to charge him with something, it’s time to let him go.”

Sweeney sighed long and loud, clearly reluctant to release his suspect.

“I could call my lawyer if it would speed up the process,” I warned.

Sweeney shook his head, retreating slightly.

“No, no. That’s not necessary, LeGarde. We just wanted to find out what happened Sunday night. Your brother-in-law was the last person to see Perkins, and we thought maybe he’d have a clue.”

I pushed back my chair and stood up. Sweeney pressed the intercom button and spoke into it, instructing the men in the other room to bring Siegfried out. We joined them in the hallway.

Siegfried’s face was ashen and the muscles around his mouth were tight. Joe followed us down to the coat rack and stood silently beside us as we retrieved our coats. My concern for Siegfried deepened as I noticed his hands shaking when he tried to zip up his parka. After a moment of struggle, he finally zipped up his coat and looked at me. His looked like a wounded animal.

Joe cleared his throat and put his hand hesitantly on the giant man’s arm.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this, Siegfried. They just need to know what happened, that’s all. Thanks for cooperating,” he nodded at both of us, “We appreciate you both coming down and I’ll be in touch about Baxter. Soon as I hear anything, I’ll give you a buzz.”

Siegfried nodded mutely. I thanked Joe for getting us out of there and walked with Siegfried back out to the Volvo.

Chapter 32

I leaned forward in the driver’s seat of the tractor trailer as the trees whipped by the window. The truck rolled backwards downhill at a frightening speed. Fear billowed up into my throat. I yelled in terror as we plummeted toward the ravine. It was summer, and the green leaves shimmered in the sunlight as I looked helplessly at the passing whirr of scenery. I groped around frantically for the brake pedal and then looked down to the floor of the cab, panicking as I realized that the pedals had turned into a computer keyboard. I tapped anxiously at the keys, trying to type, “Stop,” again and again. My fingers misfired, repeatedly hitting the wrong keys. The truck continued to barrel down the hill and was about to crash over the edge of the cliff when the nightmare stopped and I woke with a start.

Something clattered on the porch beneath my bedroom window.

Max jumped from the bed and trotted down the hallway toward the stairs, whining softly. I pulled back the heavy down comforter, allowing the chilled air to steal over my perspiring body.

Wondering if the noise had been part of the dream, I sat still for a moment, listening hard in the hushed darkness. Max's toenails clicked down the stairs and he whined again from the first floor, louder this time.

A soft thud came from the porch.

I sat bolt upright and leapt to my feet, running across the cold floorboards toward the foot of the bed. I pulled on my bathrobe, walked quickly down the hall to the window, and pulled aside the curtain. A shadow flickered at the edge of my vision. Startled, I scanned the border between the woods and the horse pasture. I strained hard to see, but could find nothing amiss in the ink black night. The stirring could have been a nocturnal animal making its meticulous way across the frozen ground, or a heavy fir branch swaying in the wind. Beside the barn, a plume of exhaust puffed up into the darkness. The police car was still in position.

Purposefully leaving the lights off, I felt my way downstairs.

A few deep orange coals still glowed through the glass door on the woodstove. As my vision adjusted gradually to the dark room, I noticed the moonlight reflecting from Max’s wiry gray coat on the far side of the great room in the foyer. I moved quietly over to the front door, where I found him, nose pressed to the crack at the edge of the doorsill. His tail wagged slowly as he greeted me, but he didn’t budge from his vigil. I patted his back and felt raised hackles under my fingertips. A low growl came from his throat.

Icy fingers tap-danced down my spine and a shot of adrenaline surged through my bloodstream. I ran to the mudroom and slid my bare feet into a pair of felt-lined galoshes, and then grabbed Max’s leather leash from the hook on the wall. He remained glued to the door. I looked around wildly for a weapon. Max growled again, and then issued a short, warning bark. I ran to the hearth and felt around among the fireplace utensils, closing my hand around the poker.

As I snapped the leash onto Max’s collar, he looked up anxiously. He pulled hard when I opened the door.

A rush of cold air invaded my lungs. My bathrobe flapped in a gust of wind. Max was straining hard at his leash. We stepped onto the porch and his head swiveled slightly to the right. He tensed, and began to bark wildly as he dragged me toward the corner of the house.

Baxter stood silently, his face a mask of fury. He wore a red parka and a black ear-flapped hat that was too small for him and that probably belonged to Bill Thompson. Frozen ice crystals had formed on his beard and mustache. His gray eyes glittered as he took a step toward me, clenching and unclenching the axe that he held in his massive fist. My stomach lurched.

“Baxter,” I said involuntarily. The name rushed from my lips in a harsh whisper.

He spit words at me with malice as his eyes narrowed to a slit.

“Where’s my daughter, LeGarde? What have you done with her?”

Max continued to bark as he lunged forward on the leash.

“She’s not here, Baxter. She’s in a foster home in the city,” I lied quickly, hoping to divert him from the knowledge that Sadie was sleeping soundly in a bed two miles away.

The light in the carriage house snapped on. Sheba barked in concert with Max. The carriage house door slammed.

He took two steps toward me, brandishing the axe in the air.

“Tell me where she is or I’ll haunt you, LeGarde. I’ll take out your family one by one, just as you took my little girl.”

Baxter growled like an animal and swiveled his head around as he heard the approaching footsteps. My stomach lurched as he hurled the axe through the air.

I sidestepped the heavy implement as it sailed past me and thumped heavily across the porch boards.

“Professor? Was ist los? (What’s wrong?)”

Siegfried called from the snow-packed lawn, fully dressed and brandishing a baseball bat.

I turned to answer him, but was attacked from behind. The force of Baxter’s body knocked me over the porch railing and into the snowy ground below, out of sight of Siegfried or the police cruiser. Siegfried shouted to the officer in the cruiser. I landed on my face in the snow, with my legs pinned to the ground under the hefty weight of Baxter. Max barreled around the porch with his leash flapping behind him. He raced toward us, barking hysterically. Baxter pummeled my head twice with his ham-sized fist, and then kicked hard at my ribs. Max growled ferociously and tore at his clothing with his strong teeth.

“That’s just for starters, LeGarde. If I don’t get her back, you can expect more. Much more.”

He shoved at my shoulder for good measure and then took off across the yard toward the woods. Siegfried arrived seconds later. Sitting up slowly, I shakily brushed the crumbs of snow particles from my hair. Max’s leash had wound itself tightly around my left calf. He pulled on it as he tried to follow Baxter into the woods. I untangled the leash and held him back, rubbing the chafed skin on my exposed calf.

“Are you okay, Professor?” Siegfried asked as he arrived breathless and offered his hand to me.

An unfamiliar police officer appeared at my side. A light snapped on from an upstairs window. Harold frowned down at me from his bedroom window.

I pulled my pajama pant leg down over my scraped leg, stood up with Siegfried's help , and dragged Max over to his dog-run, clipping the lead to his collar. He streaked like lightning to the end of the seventy-five foot run, was pulled up short as he continued with his frenzied barking.

“Mr. LeGarde, what happened?”

The officer had his hand on the butt of his revolver, looking poised for action. I cinched the robe tighter around my waist and looked toward the woods, carefully fingering a large lump that was forming on my left temple.

“It was Baxter. He took off in that direction.”

The young deputy snatched the phone from his belt and began to bark information into it. I shivered and walked with Siegfried into the kitchen.

Chapter 48

I woke to the sound of crying as I hauled myself up into consciousness. The interior of the car came slowly into focus. We were on the hillside. The Volvo was upright, but was tilted at a thirty degree angle with the passenger side shoved tightly against a large tree trunk. I shook my head a few times and rubbed my eyes. My left temple throbbed. I reached forward and turned off the engine.

“Opa!”

I turned my head to see Johnny, who was still snugly buckled inside his car seat. His cheeks were red from crying in the cold air. My muddy brain wondered how long we had been sitting there. Siegfried moaned and tried to shift his weight away from the door with a useless right arm.

“It’s okay, Johnny. Opa’s here. We’re gonna be okay, little man. You just hold on a second while Opa gets out, all right?”

I grabbed his mittened hands and gave them a squeeze. He snuffled a little, nodded, and said,

“Why you do dat, Opa? Car went bump, bump, bump!”

I grimaced, grabbed a Kleenex from the dispenser, and gently wiped the moisture from his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, honey. It was an accident. Are you okay?”

His mouth turned down, but he nodded slowly. Twisting back to the front, I asked Siegfried,

“Are you okay, Sig? Is it broken?”

The color had drained from his face as he forced a smile and answered.

“Ja, I think it is broken, Professor.”

I smiled grimly at my friend, and patted his shoulder.

“Hang on for a minute. Let me see if the door still works.”

I pushed open the heavy door, lifted my legs over the seat, and immediately sank up to my knees in snow.

Shouts came from the top of the hill. I waved up to the snowplow operator and he skidded down to our position, swinging from sapling to sapling in order to remain upright.

“You guys okay?” he asked, as a long plume of frosty air escaped from his lips.

His hair was plastered to his head beneath an orange wool cap. He ducked down and leaned into the car, looking at Johnny and Siegfried with worried, gray eyes. I opened Johnny’s door, determined that he was all in one piece, and answered him.

“I guess we’re okay,” I said unsteadily as the enormity of what happened finally hit me.

Siegfried slid his huge body over to the driver’s side, maneuvering over the stick shift with his broken arm. He winced several times as he tried to slide through the tight space. I reached in to help him.

“Can you fellas walk?” he asked us as he looked at Siegfried and then peered into the car again at Johnny.

I held Siegfried’s good arm and helped him steady himself. He was slightly off balance at first, but then seemed to find his center and he stood unaided. Siegfried nodded to the plow driver.

“His arm is broken. Could you give us a lift?” I asked.

He nodded vigorously.

“Sure. No problem.”

I unbuckled my grandson.

“Up,” he said simply, in a little voice.

I gathered him into my arms and held him tightly against me, kissing his cold little cheek and mumbling comforting words that tumbled out of my mouth. I felt terribly responsible for both traumas that my dear little friend had undergone in the past twenty-four hours. I wondered if he’d be able to forgive me, deep down in his little-boy heart.

He pushed back and looked at me intently.

“Opa?” he asked with wide eyes.

“What is it, sport?”

“I hungry.”

A brief laugh barked from my lips. It was tinged with relief and near-lunacy. I collected myself and shifted him onto my right hip.

“It’s almost time for supper, isn’t it? Let’s get out of here.”

The driver introduced himself as Pete. He held Siegfried’s good arm, helping him climb, and apologized all the way up the hill.

“I don’t know what happened. I just started sliding out of control. There was nothing I could do! There must’ve been a big patch of ice underneath the snow. Been driving this rig for thirty-five years and never saw the likes of this!”

We managed to drag ourselves up the hill, struggling through the deep drifts. I carried Johnny, who clung to me fiercely with his face buried in my neck. When we reached the plow, Pete climbed inside. I lifted Johnny up to him. After helping Siegfried up to the passenger side, I pulled myself up after him and we all squeezed onto the black vinyl bench seat.

It was an old rig. Stuffing poked out from splits in the fabric and insides of the side windows were coated with a yellow, smoky glaze. I found the middle lap belt in the crack between the seat and back, amidst empty packs of tobacco and gum wrappers. I helped Siegfried buckle up.

Siegfried stifled a moan of pain as Johnny accidentally knocked against the broken arm. I lifted him up and placed him on my lap to give Siegfried more room. He forced a weak smile in my direction.

“Danke,” he whispered.

Next, I lengthened my seatbelt and buckled my grandson in with me. I realized that even if I’d brought the car seat up the hill with us, it wouldn’t have fit. The driver slowly turned the vehicle around to head back up the hill.

The truck smelled strongly of wet wool and pipe tobacco. My feet were numb and soaked and small spheres of snow clung to my gloves and pants. As the heat blasted out of the vents and started to warm us, I reached up and rubbed the tops of my ears. They were hot and tingling. Johnny leaned his head against my chest and sighed. It was the sound of a baby who had seen far too much in his short little life. My heart ached for him. As the cab warmed, I pulled back his hood and I stroked his damp hair as we talked of home, and Max, and comforting things.

Pete made his way slowly toward Sullivan Hill, and almost didn’t make it through the mountain of snow at the edge of our driveway. After several scooping motions to move the pile to the side, he finally pushed through and drove us up to the back porch. We thanked him and waved goodbye as we disembarked and headed for our warm hearth and the healing powers of Mrs. Pierce’s hot chocolate.

Chapter 56

Camille smiled as she dropped fresh cilantro into the skillet and stirred it with a large wooden spoon,

“My mother— what a beaut she is! Always plotting, huh?”

I picked up the wet dishrag from the table and walked behind Camille to rinse it under the faucet. Her hair brushed against my cheek as I walked behind her. I inhaled the fragrance of strawberries and felt my soul stir.

Smiling sideways at her, I hung the dishcloth over the faucet to dry.

“She's one in a million, that's for sure,” I said, as I reached over and lightly caressed her cheek with the back of my hand, “I'm glad they both went upstairs, though. Selfish as it is, I’m really looking forward to spending time alone with you. We’re always surrounded, you know?”

She looked up at me and smiled nervously. The situation was new to both of us. We hadn’t been together without Johnny, Sadie, or Siegfried tagging along except for a few dinners in public places. I empathized with the uncertainty in her smile, and decided to move to safer ground.

“Smells incredible, Camille. What is it?”

She glanced over at the handwritten recipes that lay on the counter beside her and pointed to the cast iron skillet that she currently tended.

“This one’s called ‘Vagan Beteta nu Shak’. It has eggplant and potato and is seasoned with curry and cilantro.”

She opened the oven door and pulled out the rack, lifting the glass cover from a casserole dish. The heady scent of Indian spices rose through the air. My stomach growled in response.

“This one is sort of like refried beans, but made with red lentils and seasoned with garlic, turmeric, cardamom, cumin, and ginger.”

She’d regained her composure as we discussed the meal. As she closed the oven door, the timer went off.

“How can I help?” I asked.

She reached over and turned off the oven and nodded toward the living room.

“Could you finish starting up the fire?” she said with a smile in her voice.

I nodded and walked over to the hearth. I added more crumpled newspapers to the pile that I'd started earlier, balling them up and stuffing them under the grate. Next, I grabbed several small pieces of kindling and lay them in a crisscross pattern over the papers. Finally, I put three split birch logs on top of the kindling. I searched for the matches, but couldn’t find them.

Camille called out from the kitchen,

“The matches are in the cupboard over the mantle, Gus.”

I opened the cupboard door and closed my hand around the red box.

“Got ‘em. Thanks,” I answered, as I knelt back down and struck a match on the side of the box.

I held the flame to the papers and watched as the fire roared up around the dry wood. Instead of a cozy, atmospheric fire, I had created a blazing bonfire. Shaking my head, I drew the screen across the hearth as I walked back into the dining room to light the two white candles that were placed in the middle of the table in tall, teakwood candlesticks.

She carried a tray of flatbread to the table as she glanced at the bonfire, politely reserving comment. She raised one eyebrow in surprise and looked at me.

“Guess I got carried away, it should die down in time for dessert,” I laughed.

She laughed as she walked back to the kitchen and removed the large skillet from the stovetop.

“Would you open the wine, honey?”

I nodded, opened the refrigerator, and removed the bottle of Riesling. The blues CD had stopped. Camille replaced the CD with the score from Miss Saigon. I smiled in approval and helped her carry the food to the table.

The flatbread had been placed next to a shallow yellow bowl of what appeared to be a green condiment. As we both sat down, she pointed to it.

“This is called Hari Chutney, Gus. It’s made from blended cilantro leaves, garlic, ginger, almonds, green chilies, coconut, and cumin.”

I reached over to take a spoonful of the chutney and smeared it onto a piece of the bread. The fiery flavor was incredible. I tore off another piece of bread and eagerly took another bite.

“Excellent, Camille. Your friend Gangaram is a genius. Is this his native cuisine?”

She nodded as she chewed and swallowed.

“Mm hmm. He came over from India for college and settled here. He’s told me so many interesting stories about his boyhood, Gus. It’s fascinating.”

As she spooned out the two main dishes onto our plates, we began a long and animated conversation that ranged from Gujarati customs, to Sadie’s amazing breakthrough, to our common interest in musical theater. Lea Salonga’s pure voice decorated the air as we moved from topic to topic, enjoying the food and finding great solace and inspiration in each other’s company.

“So, you played the part of Annie in junior high?” I asked as I refilled our wine glasses for the second time.

The bottle of Dr. Konstantin Frank’s semi-dry Riesling was nearly empty.

“Eighth grade. It was so much fun. Nearly all the other kids in the show were in high school, except the other orphans, of course. The older kids really spoiled us.”

I looked at her, trying to picture her at that age in a red wig.

“I’d love to see pictures, Camille.”

“Mom has tons of albums from all the shows I've been in, I'm sure she'd show them to you. Only problem is, you might not be able to get away for hours!”

She took another sip of wine and smiled at me. A faint blush had crept up onto her cheeks. I studied her dark-lashed eyes as we talked, realizing that I’d never seen her wear makeup. Elsbeth had been trained in the rituals of foundation, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. Although I’d never seen the need for it, she’d always spent a half hour each morning applying the ingredients that made her feel presentable to the world.

Camille’s natural beauty shone as we conversed and dined. She wore a soft pale blue cardigan sweater with pearl buttons and a faded pair of jeans. Her long curly mahogany hair fell loosely around her shoulders, glistening in the candlelight. As she spoke about her love of theater, she waved her fork in the air and laughed contagiously, sharing funny stories from her dramatic experiences. She said that she'd been directing the high school and local community productions for the past several years and asked if I'd be interested in playing piano in the fall for the upcoming production of the high school musical. I accepted without hesitation, eager to have an excuse to spend more time with her.

I felt myself being drawn toward her, passing through yet another level of her protective shell. I reveled in the closeness and responded in kind by relating stories about my own childhood.

As I finished the last bite of eggplant, I put my napkin beside the plate and looked at her.

“That was absolutely delicious, Camille. Your culinary talents astound me.”

She laughed off the complement as she rose from her seat.

“Thanks, but I just followed the recipes. Do you have room for dessert?”

My stomach protested, but I nodded my head eagerly. She removed two fluted glass bowls from the refrigerator and set one of them before me. I lifted a spoonful to my mouth and was instantly transported. The cool, creamy mango pudding was a perfect complement to the spicy food we’d consumed. I told her so as I devoured the pudding and then helped her clear the table and wash the dishes.

The sound of Tigger bouncing around Rabbit’s garden came from upstairs as the bedroom door opened. Two sets of footsteps crept quietly toward the bathroom and closed the door. The water ran briefly, and then Maddy and Sadie crept back toward the bedroom, giggling conspiratorially.

Deciding against coffee, we walked arm-in-arm into the living room. Boris snoozed on the rug near the fireplace and Ginger had settled on her usual spot in the green leather club chair.

We’d progressed to a recording of Louie Armstrong. The room was semi-dark and the fire had finally burned down to glowing embers. I walked over and added another small log to the fire, stirred the embers with a poker until the flames began to leap around the new log, and then returned to extend my hand to her in an invitation to dance. She accepted willingly, and raised her arms around my neck as I slid my hands around her waist.

I rested my cheek against her fragrant hair, enjoying the soft silky feel of it against my face as we danced to the rhythm of the music. Louie Armstrong’s gravelly, low voice was soothing and melodic. As we danced slowly in place, I leaned down to brush my lips against Camille’s forehead. She lifted her face to mine, her eyes still closed. My lips traveled slowly down her face, applying soft fluttery kisses to her eyelids, cheeks, and to her neck just beneath her left ear. Her skin was soft and smooth and the scent of her hair was intoxicating. My heartbeat quickened as she reached her hand up and placed it against my face, drawing me toward her lips. We stood motionless together before the fire, kissing long and deep until I felt a stirring within that had previously belonged only to Elsbeth. I pressed my hand against the small of her back, pulling her tightly against me as the passion flooded through my body. Lifting her beneath her arms, I raised her up and held her high above me, and then pulled her close, kissing her again as she slid slowly down my body until her feet reached the floor.

She rested her head against my chest, listening to my pounding heart.

“Your heart’s beating so fast, Gus.”

I felt myself melting into her eyes as she looked up at me.

“Yeah. It’s all your fault.”

I sensed her mood shift as she laid her head back against my chest. She had stopped moving.

“Gus?”

She took a step back and looked up at me, her eyes searching mine.

“What is it, honey?”

I took both of her small hands, pulling her closer to me.

“I'm— afraid.”

She said it softly, almost in a whisper.

“Afraid?” I echoed, “of us?”

I wanted her to say, “No! Of Baxter, or of Greg, or of the dark. “

She looked up at me again, her dark eyes flooded in anxiety.

“Sort of—” she whispered, “but mostly I keep remembering Greg and the things he did, Gus. It’s so ingrained in my memory that it’s hard for me to keep everything straight. I know you aren’t Greg, but most of the memories of him involved this kind of romance at first. You know, the physical stuff. Can you possibly understand?”

I wanted to drive away the demons that haunted her, erase them from the past, and assure her that I’d protect her from them. I wanted to say and do the right thing; to calm her, assure her, and let her know I’d never hurt her. I paused for a moment, trying to find the right words.

“Gus? Have I upset you?”

She looked at me in concern. I shook my head and led her over to the couch. We both sat down.

“Honey,” I began, “I’m crazy in love with you, and I’d do anything to take away those horrible memories that Greg left you. There’s no schedule that we have to follow. We can move forward as slowly as you need. It’ll take time for you to learn to trust again— to trust me.”

She nodded, her eyes wide. Her lower lip trembled slightly. I squeezed her hands as I continued.

“I’m happy just to be with you, Camille. I don’t care about the physical stuff— if, or when, it ever happens. It’s okay with me.”

She looked confused, and I clarified.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m so attracted to you that I feel dizzy when you’re around, but it’s scary for me, too. Elsbeth was the only woman that I ever held or loved, and I’m feeling conflicted. I know she’s gone, but I still get these awful twinges of guilt and depression. Is that abnormal?”

An expression of empathy crossed her face, as our roles suddenly switched and she began to comfort me.

“How many years were you together, Gus? Even before you were married?”

“Over thirty, since we met as children,” I said quietly, feeling the familiar feeling of sadness creep up on me.

“That’s a long, long time. It’s understandable, Gus. It’ll take us both time to adjust.”

She held out her arms and embraced me, holding me close to her.

“We’ll help each other, then,” she said quietly.

I nodded in agreement, enjoying the warmth and comfort of her arms.

An insistent ringing sounded far in the background. Boris’s head shot up from his nap and he trotted over to the kitchen. The telephone stopped ringing and Madelaine called down the stairs in her singsong voice,

“Professor, it’s for you. It’s Lieutenant Russell.”

We parted slowly. I picked up the receiver from the white wall phone in the kitchen, and then looked back over my shoulder to exchange a smile with Camille.

“LeGarde here.”

“Professor? Sorry to disturb your dinner. Your daughter gave me this number.”

I sighed a deep sigh, hating to relinquish time with Camille.

“It’s okay, Joe. What’s up?”

“Sam put your Volvo up onto the lift late this afternoon. He asked me to come by and take a look. Baxter was very clever.”

“Baxter?” I repeated.

“I’m sorry, Gus. I’m afraid someone tampered with your brake line. The most likely candidate is Baxter, of course.”

I stood quietly, letting it sink in.

“Gus? You there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What did you find?”

I shifted uncomfortably in place. He continued.

“Lots of little holes punched into the rubber tube that extends off of your brake line. All concentrated together in a tight cluster. Very clever, as I said. Small enough not to cause a catastrophic failure right away, but as time went on, the area got weaker and weaker until it finally gave way that day in the snow storm. Who knows when he did it, it could’ve been months ago.”

In shock, I stood silently in the kitchen. Finally, I mechanically asked the same question I had been asking over and over again since the day that Baxter had threatened to exact revenge.

“Any leads yet, Joe?”

I fully expected the same answer I’d been getting for months, which was “We’re workin’ on it,” but was surprised when he answered.

“That’s the real reason I called. A report just came in that he may have been spotted over in Erie, Pennsylvania. We’re retrieving videotapes from the gas station where a clerk was shot a few hours ago. He robbed the cash register and took off, heading east.”

I felt my pulse begin to race as I estimated the distance from Erie to East Goodland. By car, it would take about four hours nonstop.

“What do you suggest, Joe?” I asked evenly.

“I hate to say it, Gus, but I think you should get your family and Sadie out of there until we confirm his intentions. He seems to be on the warpath. Is there some safe place where you folks could go?”

I thought for a moment, and then answered him.

“Yes, Joe, there is. I’ll call you back with the details, okay? And Joe?”

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Thanks.”