Don't Let the Wind Catch You (LeGarde Mysteries Book 6) Read online

  "Look!" I pointed to the cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling, which seemed to twirl around an ethereal finger. Faster and faster, they reminded me of a cotton candy machine.

  We stood and waited in the silence that ensued.

  "Where'd she go?" Elsbeth linked our arms and pulled us further into the room. She craned her head up and around, but Penni remained quiet until the same non-melodic keening we heard the first day outside the cabin came again, filling the room with unearthly sounds. At first it sounded almost like crying, but it progressed to a musical theme. Simple, and in minor keys, she repeated the hypnotic phrase over and over again.

  Elsbeth started to hum with Penni, harmonizing in such a way that the music took shape and form, and the minor mosaic reminded me of Indians dancing around a campfire.

  Mesmerized, I sank onto the floor by the old piano and leaned my head against the carved leg, running my fingers along the smooth patterns on the wood.

  Siegfried did the same, but his eyes practically bugged out of his head. "Mein Gott. I wish I had a tape recorder. She's giving us a show."

  I nodded, unable to speak. "I think she's trying to tell us something. Something really important." After several minutes, my eyes started to close, and before I could protest that I really wasn't very tired, I found myself dreaming of a young Indian girl from the Oneida tribe who held a great secret. A secret so intense she knew her life depended on keeping it. She stared at me in the dream, with her smooth dark hair in two plaits on her shoulders. A buckskin garment covered her torso. High cheekbones accentuated bright black eyes burning with fear. She touched my hand, and I woke.

  Sig shook my shoulder. "Gus. Look!"

  The door of a large glass cabinet creaked open and slowly swung back and forth. I got up with legs that felt like they had no bones and approached it. "I think she wants us to look through this stuff."

  The twins joined me at the cabinet. Six shelves were packed with dusty journals, books, and magazines. I divided up some of the piles and we started going through them. The first book I came to was a Farmer's Almanac. Visions of Oscar Stone and his passion for history crossed my mind. I pictured him looking at these things with white gloves on so he wouldn't damage them. "Careful how you handle them. They're really brittle."

  Elsbeth brought her pile to the sofa and sat with her head bent down as she examined them. "They're probably very valuable, ja? Mein Gott, look at these dresses." She continued to flip through the old magazines, chuckling and shaking her head at the fashions.

  I pictured Penni sitting beside her. Who knew? Maybe she was gazing at each page just like Elsbeth.

  Some of the leather-bound folders contained funny-looking numbers scratched with a fountain pen. Siegfried glanced at the book in my lap. "Ledgers. Lots of them. Probably from a business."

  I finished reviewing my collection, found nothing exciting, and went back for another stack. This bunch seemed a lot older. The books were extremely brittle and dusty. But it was getting close to suppertime, and I figured it would take forever to go through them.

  "Do you think Tully would mind if we borrowed some of these to look at when we get home?" I said.

  Siegfried stood and dusted his hands on his pant legs. "Nein. And I think Penni already gave us permission."

  Elsbeth started rooting around in a corner. "We'll need something to help carry these books."

  I looked behind the couch and under the coffee table. "Wait a sec. I think I saw an old satchel hanging on the back of Tully's bedroom door." I carefully retraced my steps upstairs and found a canvas rucksack. It was old, but didn't have any holes in it, so it would work. I crept around the sinkhole in the floor and down the stairs again, and loaded the oldest of the books into the bag. Elsbeth found two white tablecloths in the buffet in the dining room and tossed one to her twin. She tied some knots in it, and slung it over her shoulder packed full of books. Siegfried copied her.

  We made it back to the Ambuscade with the books bumping against us. Our horses trotted out from under the trees and into the broad rolling fields of alfalfa that crested the hill near the monument. We cantered slowly on the gravel side of the road toward home and parted on Sullivan Road. After taking care of Pancho, I hurried upstairs with Shadow at my heels to study my finds.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  After dinner, I lay on my stomach facing the foot of my bed. Shadow curled on the rug, chasing an imaginary rabbit. His legs twitched and he yipped every so often. I wondered if his dreams were due to the meatballs I'd slipped him under the table tonight. They'd been unusually spicy. Usually my mother cooked things pretty bland, but the cover had come off the red pepper flakes and she said she didn't want to waste the hamburger, so she picked out what she could and cooked them anyway. I liked them hot, but I wondered if I'd messed up my dog's insides and worried about the nighttime gas bombs he might release later.

  I'd browsed through half of the dusty old books we stole from the Tully homestead, but I'd found nothing that jumped out at me.

  Of course, I had no idea what I was supposed to be looking for. Why didn't Penni tell me which book to read? I knew she could flip pages. She could even show me the cover in my head, if she wanted to. And she'd talked to me before, in short sentences. "Help Tully!" came back to me, over and over again. But my spirit friend had conveniently disappeared. Why?

  Irritated, I slammed the book shut. "Damn!" I had to say it under my breath so my mother wouldn't have a hissy fit, but it felt good to cuss out loud. I sneezed again and closed the MAD Magazine I was using to hide it. I was losing enthusiasm and my eyes had grown dangerously heavy. It seemed like I'd never make up for the lack of sleep last night. I leaned down and stuffed the book in the knapsack I'd hidden beneath my bed. "Ugh. I give up, Shadow. I don't even know what I'm looking for. Geez."

  Even my dog had deserted me for the rabbit he chased in his dreams. He didn't wake up, but let out a little snort.

  It wasn't even eight o'clock, too early for bedtime. But I didn't care. I changed into my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and turned out the light.

  I'd been asleep for only an hour when my mother came into the room and touched my forehead. "Honey? Are you okay?"

  I mumbled and turned over. "Just tired."

  She smoothed the hair on my forehead and kissed it. "Okay, then. G'night. And don't forget, tomorrow's the funeral. Don't take off on Pancho before we get up, okay?"

  "Glirrdomph." I pulled the covers over my head, rolled over, and didn't wake up until the sun pierced my window at seven.

  ***

  "Gus! Are you ready?"

  At nine-thirty I looked at the penguin in the mirror and chuckled. "Yeah. I think so." I fumbled with my dad's cufflink and finally got it through the hole in my cuff. "I'm coming."

  My mother's perfume reminded me of all the special occasions we'd had together as a family. Church at Easter and Christmas, dinner parties, school concerts, and weddings. I'd only been to a handful of the parties and weddings, but I remembered watching my parents walk out to the car all dolled up. And my mother always smelled like that, that sweet, delicate, almost flowery scent. I think it was the Chanel No. 5 my father gave her for Christmas every year.

  I hopped down the stairs so fast I almost skidded onto my backside on the final step. The new shoes had slippery soles and I wasn't used to the weight of them yet.

  "Did you brush your teeth, Gus?"

  My breath still felt minty fresh from the Crest I'd globbed onto my toothbrush. "Of course, Mom."

  She stood in black pumps, a plain black dress with a matching short jacket, and held her fancy black purse with the sparkly clasp in front of her in gloved hands. She seemed nervous, but I didn't blame her. Sitting in a church with lots of people crying and with a dead body on the pulpit made me feel pretty nervous, too. My dad jingled the car keys and checked his watch. "Come on, Gloria, Gus. We'll be late."

  Shadow circled and barked when we approached the door. He knew something was up, and wanted in. I
leaned down to stroke his silky ears. "Sorry, buddy. You have to stay home for this. We'll be home soon. I promise."

  We left Shadow whining in the house and piled into the Oldsmobile. I noticed that Dad had washed it, and that it shone as well as a ten-year-old station wagon could.

  The Catholic church was a place we'd always driven past, but never entered. My parents lowered their voices to whispers as soon as we pulled in the parking lot next to dozens of cars.

  I glimpsed a local newscaster adjusting his tie in the mirror of a van parked on the street. Would he actually come into the funeral to report on it? I couldn't imagine such a thing, but I knew Mrs. Brown's story was big news. "Woman escapes fifteen-year captors; reunited with hubby three days before he dies." Although I understood it was newsworthy, it seemed pretty tacky that they would show up at the funeral.

  St. Mary's was huge compared to our little Methodist church and seemed even bigger because of the sparse group of people inside. Light streaming through the vibrant stained glass took my breath away as we signed the guestbook and wandered inside. The pews were longer than those in our church. We moved about halfway up and sat on the right side. There was no coffin, and no Mrs. Brown. I studied the program, which included some foreign sounding hymns and lots of Latin. I figured I'd just follow my parents' example and fake it. But I wasn't sure what to do with the little stool I kept hitting my shins against. I noticed some were folded up against the pew and some were down. I flipped mine up to avoid bumping it again and settled back to take in the foreign aromas and sights.

  The priest wore flowing white robes and looked a hundred years old. He walked slowly, bent over, but his voice was strong and loud. He started the service with a hymn I didn't know, and to my surprise a small procession walked down the aisle, followed by six men carrying a black shiny casket. I spied Mrs. Brown with a few other family members, but couldn't quite see them because all of the adults in the church stood up when they came inside. I half wanted Mrs. Brown to turn and see us, but at the same time was afraid she actually would. I didn't want to see that awful look in her eyes again, and feel the pain tug at my heart.

  I needn't have worried. I saw her in a brief flash. She stepped slow and sure with her head bent down under a black gauze veil. Her shoulders slumped, and even the new dress Mr. Roberts had sold her looked a bit loose on her. Then she disappeared in a sea of shoulders and heads that craned and shifted between us.

  The service progressed, and everyone stood and sat at times I couldn't anticipate. I followed along, trying not to stare at the casket. I thanked God it was closed. The priest swung smoking brass things over the casket, saying mysterious words in Latin. It smelled funny, like some kind of exotic incense. I watched in fascination as the service neared the end. At one point, a big hulking man in the second row got up to say a few words about Mr. Brown. Now my view of Mrs. Brown was clear. She sat in the front row, alone except for a man who sat very close to her. I remembered that she'd been searching for her brother's house the night the car got stuck on Sullivan Hill, and figured that the guy next to her must be him.

  He turned to whisper in her ear, and when I glimpsed his profile, I froze. My mother stiffened when she caught sight of him. And my father put his hand on hers, as if to calm her.

  Zachariah Tully turned in my direction and gave the slightest nod of recognition. With slow and deliberate movements, he resettled next to Mrs. Brown and stood when the final hymn began.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  After the priest said the final words, the pallbearers lifted the casket and retraced their steps through the church, followed by Mrs. Brown and Tully. She stopped at our pew, and Tully shuffled to a stop behind her. He cast his eyes down and looked away, as if afraid of my mother's gaze. I had to hand it to my mother: in spite of her disapproval for whatever the heck Tully had done to make her upset, she acted with decorum and stayed cool. She used that company voice again, but nobody except my father or me would have known the difference.

  Mrs. Brown pushed aside her black veil and took my mother's hand in hers. "Mr. and Mrs. LeGarde. Young Gus. Thank you for coming."

  My mother answered in a hushed voice. "Our deepest condolences, Eudora. It was a lovely service."

  "Thank you, dear. You were so kind to me the night Clive—the night I lost him. I wanted to thank you, all three of you, from the bottom of my heart." She took the time to touch my hand and look into my eyes, and then did the same to my parents.

  "I'm so sorry for your loss," I said. I had practiced the sentence over and over again in my brain before we came to the church. It sounded stiff and ridiculous now, and my voice cracked a little. I flushed, looking at my shoes.

  "Thank you, dear." Eudora sighed and looked at the rest of the people waiting to offer their condolences. She slid her arm through Tully's and pulled him forward. "This is my brother, Zachariah."

  My parents nodded as if they'd never been introduced to him or seen him shambling around town. "Pleased to meet you," they both mumbled.

  Eudora turned toward the church entrance and seemed to steel herself, straightening her shoulders and holding her head high. She pulled the veil back over her face. "Come, Zak. Help me through the rest of this God-awful day."

  Her brother? Then that meant it was Mrs. Brown's room we'd been playing in at the old Tully homestead. Mrs. Brown used to be Eudora Tully.

  It finally made sense. Mrs. Brown and Tully were the kids shown in the pictures in the old house. And it was their parents who'd died from the fever.

  When Mrs. Brown and Tully made it to the door, my parents shook off the silence and began to gather their things. It felt like a strange spell had been cast and then broken.

  "André? Can we skip the cemetery? I'm feeling a bit poorly."

  My father reacted as if he'd expected her request. "Of course, dear. We've paid our respects. And I should get back to the shop, anyway."

  I followed them to the car and watched everyone else form a parade to follow the hearse to the graveyard. The tension between my parents thickened the air. My mother's lips pressed tight together and trembled occasionally. I'd rarely seen her cry, and didn't relish the thought now.

  My stomach twisted. I wanted to help but didn't know how. What had Tully done to upset her so? And how could she hate such a sweet old man? A mixture of frustration and anger filled my heart, along with a good dose of guilt. I had befriended the man who made my mother crazy. I felt like a traitor.

  We settled into the station wagon. As we turned out onto the street toward home and away from the cemetery, my father whispered to my mother. "Did you know he was her brother?"

  A quick shake of her head gave the answer. "No."

  My father drove down Main Street and stopped at the light at the end of the road when it switched to red. "I knew he had a sister, but I didn't relate Mrs. Brown to that little Tully girl from long ago. So weird."

  My mother's eyes watered and she put a finger to her lips.

  I leaned forward and lay both arms on the bench seat between them. "I can hear you guys, you know."

  My father looked at me in the mirror. "Sorry, sport."

  "Why do you guys hate Mr. Tully so much?" The words flew out of my mouth before I could think to stop them.

  I received a frown and the "dad look" in response. "Your mother's upset. Just forget about it."

  His expression reminded me of the strap that hung in his closet. Although he'd never used it, it was always the threat of it swinging over my backside that made me mind him. His eyes bored into mine through the silvered glass of the mirror. I nodded and looked down at my hands. "Okay."

  There was no way I would rest until I knew what Tully had done to upset my mother to the point where I hardly recognized her. I was confused: mad at her for not telling me, and angry at Tully for whatever monstrous thing he'd done. If I didn't figure it out soon, my head would explode.

  "Don't forget, Gus. You have your lesson this afternoon." My mother was trying to sound normal. I
t almost worked.

  "I won't." I slid to the right side of the car and rested my chin on my arm, watching the fields and trees fly past. The corn in the field we passed swayed a bit in the fresh hot breeze winnowing through the rows.

  My father glanced my way again, this time with a more relaxed expression. "If you get changed fast, I'll drop you off on my way back to work."

  "Okay." My spirits plummeted. A piano lesson I hadn't prepared for, and an hour and a half of pushing a rusty old mower in the heat. What a party.

  With a conscious effort, my mother turned to me and smiled. "I'm making lasagna tonight, dear."

  I brightened. The prospect of garlic bread and lasagna crusted over with bubbly cheese cheered me up. "Great, Mum. That's my favorite."

  My father chuckled. "They're all your favorite, son."

  A laugh snorted out my nose. He was right. "Yeah. I know. But Mum's such a good cook, it's hard to choose."

  I won the smile I'd been aiming for. "Thanks, honey."

  The tension fell away like skin sloughing from a snake, and we drove home in sweeter silence.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Millie put her hand on my wrist and stopped me in the middle of a nocturne. I'd massacred the piece.

  "You didn't practice this week did you Gus?" She said it with no recrimination.

  I hung my head. "Er. Not exactly."

  "What's going on, dear? Is everything okay at home?"

  I looked up at her kind face and suddenly felt like crying. It scared me, and I sucked up my courage to stop the ridiculous flood of emotion threatening to turn me into a little baby. "I guess."

  She slid to the side of the bench and slowly straightened. "Come on. Let's get some lemonade and cookies. We can skip the lesson this week."

  With a sigh of relief, I followed her to the kitchen. "Where are William and Oscar?"

  "Doctor's appointment for William's ankle. He needs an X-ray to be sure it's mending properly."