Murder on the Brewster Flats

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “Hey, little guy.”

  He stopped as if frozen for a moment, and then began to wiggle all over again, feet tapping the floor in an allegro tempo. He whined and licked the air.

  I couldn’t resist and leaned over to pick him up. “You poor little guy. You’ve already been abandoned once, haven’t you, buddy?”

  As if to answer me, he began once again lapping at every free inch of skin he could access.

  “Okay, okay. I won’t leave you alone. You and I are going to be best pals. And maybe I can set you up in the laundry room for a while, huh? Then you won’t be so lonely.”

  He looked up at me as if he understood, nuzzled his wet little nose into my neck.

  “And maybe, if you’re a good boy, I’ll tell you all about Max. He was a real hero, that dog. You would have loved him.”

  He gave a sharp bark as if to answer me.

  “Okay. Well, let me tell you about the time he saved my life from a very bad man named Baxter…”

  I carried my new friend toward the house, astounded by how quickly the man-dog bond could take shape. I’d always miss my dear Max, no other animal could ever take his place, but maybe now some of the pain would lessen with this little guy.

  “What should I call you, huh?”

  He leapt up in my arms and licked my cheek again.

  “You really are beautiful, fella.”

  He cocked his head as if listening.

  “Shall I call you Beau? Or maybe something a little more proper? How about Beauregard for your official name, and we’ll call you Beau for short?”

  Once again, he hopped up to my face and went crazy, wiggling all over and trying to nip my ear. I set him down and let him run in wild circles around me. He grabbed the leather lace on my boat shoe and began to growl and pull. His little tail wagged madly and he glanced up at me as if wondering why I wasn’t playing with him. I wondered how long these shoes would last with him in the house.

  Then again, I honestly didn’t care. Maybe I’d even donate the shoes to him if he liked them so much.

  I ran toward the house with the puppy in hot pursuit, laughing out loud. “Come on, Beau.”

  We burst into the kitchen together and I found Siegfried standing in front of the refrigerator, taking out a gallon of milk to fill three little sippy cups lined up on the counter. In the dining room, my noisy family had already gathered at our long trestle table. The aroma of lasagna and garlic bread filled the air. Beau stopped and sniffed, definitely interested in the dinner menu.

  “Hello, Professor.” Sig chuckled. “I see you couldn’t leave him outside.”

  I leaned down to pick up the puppy, who had started to head for the dining room. “Yeah. I just couldn’t. He was so sad.”

  Sig laughed again. “Well, we can make a bed for him in here.”

  “I think he’s going to want to sleep with me. I might just set the alarm and take him out every few hours until he’s trained, you know?”

  Sig filled the cups and grinned. “Sleep with you? Already?” He screwed on the caps and couldn’t stop chuckling.

  I shrugged. “Why not? Beau’s a smart dog. I can just tell.”

  “Beau? That’s a good name. And of course he is, Professor. He’ll learn fast.” He picked up the cups and turned for the dining room. “But now, aren’t you hungry? Let’s go eat.”

  “Good idea. I’m starving.” With Beau tucked under one arm, I followed Sig into the dining room, sat down, and let the puppy curl up on my lap. He fell asleep in minutes.

  A sense of peace descended over me. In the midst of the controlled chaos of our family meal, with the comforting sound of little ones yelling and making messes, with the aroma of bubbling cheese and garlic toast in the air, I relaxed and realized that maybe life could go on, even though my dear Max was gone. There would be new adventures, and for many years to come, I’d have my new pal, Beau, by my side.

  I leaned over and took a bite of the lasagna. “Perfect, Mrs. Pierce.”

  She winked at me. “Of course it is, Professor. It’s my secret recipe.”

  Beau snuggled against me and gave a little puppy whine with his legs sleep-pumping, as if he were dreaming of romping in the fields or chasing rabbits.

  I stroked his head and he settled down. “It’ll be okay, little fella. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  --The End--

  Afterword

  Murder on the Brewster Flats is the first “series crossover” book I’ve written, letting characters from the LeGarde Mystery series “meet” folks from the Paines Creek Beach love story series. I started writing it last summer, when my wife and I were on our annual vacation to Brewster, Massachusetts, on our beloved Cape Cod. I decided Gus and Camille really deserved a vacation, too, and just couldn’t resist plopping them down onto Paines Creek Beach.

  Of course, I used the same location a few years back when I wrote my first love story, The Seacrest (followed by The Seacroft, book 2, and The Seadog, book 3) Finn, Jax, and Cody McGraw, Libby, Scout, and Rudy Vanderhorn, Fritzi, Jack Remington, and all the other characters who ended up populating the Paines Creek Beach love story series live on Paines Creek Beach in Brewster. So it just seemed natural that Gus would bump into them, particularly Jack Remington, in his forays along the beach.

  It was fun having Gus meet my other beloved characters, especially Fritzi. I have a soft spot in my heart for her, mostly because after what she went through in The Seadog. I also loved reconnecting with Bubba and Lucy, Scout and Jack’s dogs.

  So you see, dear readers, these characters really are “real” to me and I was ridiculously pleased to mix them together in this book.

  For the record, I write most of my series books as “standalones,” so that you can go from say, book 12, to book 1, to book 4, without any difficulty or confusion. Please feel free to explore among the twenty-seven titles I now have to offer you.

  Happy reading,

  Aaron Paul Lazar, December 31th, 2017

  www.lazarbooks.com

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my writer friends and advanced Beta readers who helped me get the manuscript in shape for its final review by the Beta Readers team: Sonya Bateman, Marta Stephens, and Joan Otto Miller. You have stood by me forever and I will always be eternally grateful for your eagle eyes and willingness to help. Without you, the books wouldn’t be where they are today.

  And thank you from the bottom of my heart to my outstanding Beta Readers and my Advanced Reviewers who took the time to scour through the manuscript to find my dumb typos and inconsistent plot elements and/or to provide early reviews:

  Gabriela Scholter, Sheila Deeth, Joan H Young, Elana Kahn, Glenda Bixler, Heather Joseph, Mary Emmons, KC Curtis, Stephanie, Jane Firebaugh, Kenneth Lingenfelter, Lee Dalzell, Cheryl Malandrinos, Mary Alice Grimes, Jan Smith, Jenny Woodall, Viv Drewa, Elsie Duggan, Jane Oakes, Natalie Neal, Evelyne Winkler, Marge Holdorf, John Kurtze, Beverlee Smith, Sonia R. Martinez, Mary Bradley McCauley, and Dalice Peterson.

  This year my readers were outstanding. I reached out for help when I felt blocked for the first time ever, and they helped stimulate my mind so I could get back to what I love, writing. Thank you all! (Psst…if I inadvertently left you off the list, please contact me and I’ll update this edition to add your name!)

  Many of the folks who contributed ideas or sent me supportive thoughts were: Linda Mae Frank, Jan Lerner, Peggy Adamson, Cherie Osier, Don and Peg Harman, Helen Valenzuela, Lynda Hopsicker, Elizabeth Sherratt, Rhonda Grant, Cathy Geha, Evelyn Dabelko Cruze, Clay Boutwell, Judy Tew, Deborah Lavery, Marcia Ditter, Patricia Gallant, BinaBug, Angela Mason, Linda Mae Frank, Oakley R., Andrea Stoeckel, retired UCC minister, Linda Marion, Lee Dalzell, Alice Richardson Grimes, Joan H Young, Karen Vaughn, Laura L. McLendon, Joyce Retherford, and Sharon Pribble.

  Folks whose ideas I used or who inspired me to twist on those ideas: Nathalie Lauzé, Lynn Elliott, Debbie Dowd, Julia Mason, Camilla C., SLB, Cathy Geha, Nancy Gawron, Dianne Kitson, KC
Spiker Curtis, and John & Sheryl Wetmore.

  I’d also like to thank all of the readers who contributed to ideas for Gus’s new puppy’s name. Elsie Duggan, Murray Logan, and Linda Mae Frank all suggested “Beau,” which I have chosen. Elsie suggested Beauregard as the dog’s “proper” name. And it was quite fitting, for when I started writing LeGarde Mysteries, my pen name was originally going to be “Jack Beauregard.” Pretty neat, huh? Thanks to all who sent the great selection of dog names!

  Here’s the list of names I gathered who helped with the ideas (I just used first names): Murray (Beau), Elsie (Beau/Beauregard), Joan (Muffin), Linda (Beau), Sandy (Peeve), Robin (Roman), Linda (Roy), Bobbi (Natasha, Cleo, Kiki), Mort (Boo), Judy (Mozart, Bach), Heather (Remington, Boots, Pablo), Joan (Jasper), Marsha (Buc, Brad), Linda (Patches), Joan (Lucky), Danielle (Fluffers), Memaw (Remington), Janice (Balto), Nicky (Cooper, Ace, Scamp), Marta (Biscuit), T. Whitmire (Lord Rambo, Jetson the First), Julia (Gunther), Ricardo (Seadog, Sea Biscuit, Harry), Michelle (Frost), Dalice (Fizzgig), Marge (Oreo, Sherlock, Holmes), Anna (Spooky), Dave (Wellington, Duke, Hudson, Jupiter, Torque, Spanner, Barkley, Dozer, Axel), Cynthia (Twinkles), Darlene (Nelson), Teresa (Gizmo), Ray (Grappa), Linda (Coda), Renee (Henry), unknown (Herman), Debbie (Magic, Romeo, Saber), Jane (River, Copper, Willow, Patch, Bramble, Theo, Mudlark, Jules, Peabody), KC (Bobbi, Bobby), Karen (Fritz, Schultz), Sheila (Balto), Steph (Fidelio, Fido), Brenda (River), Alice (Dolce),

  What a list, huh? They were all so great; it was really hard to choose. ;o) Thank you all!

  Aaron Paul Lazar

  Reviews

  If you enjoyed Murder on the Brewster Flats, would you consider leaving a short 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.

  Thanks in advance for taking a few minutes to write a short review.

  What’s Next?

  If you enjoyed this novel, you might like the rest of the LeGarde Mystery series. And if you enjoy the style of these books, check out my other books at http://www.lazarbooks.com.

  Aaron Paul Lazar

  Following is an excerpt from the book I used to create this “series crossover” between LeGarde Mysteries and Paines Creek Beach love stories. You’ll find Jack and Scout Remington, Finn and Libby McGraw, Fritzi, and the dogs, Bubba and Lucy in this story. ;o) Here you go: The Seadog, book 3 in the Paines Creek Beach love story series.

  Synopsis:

  ***Winner of the 2016 Best Indie Book Award, romance category***

  A mysterious man with no past, a troubled young woman running from hers…and a powerful love that may heal them both.

  Scout Vanderhorn has lost her mother, her home, and all hope of security. In a desperate bid to escape her abusive stepfather, she travels to a seaside mansion on Cape Cod in search of the real father she never knew—and finds a secret sister who welcomes her into the family, troubles and all. But it’s not long before trouble comes looking for Scout.

  Unaware of his past, or even his own name, Jack Remington is lost. He spends his days scavenging for survival and compulsively searching the seas in his battered old kayak. At night, alone in his beach cave, he’s haunted by nightmares. But from the moment he glimpses Scout, a powerful connection is forged that begins to bring him back from the brink.

  Neither expects to fall for the other, but Scout and Jack can’t deny their explosive mutual attraction. Can this love remake a broken man and save a woman with nothing to lose…before the past drowns them in the oncoming storm?

  Set on beautiful Cape Cod, The Seadog is a story of trauma and redemption, of mysteries and revelations -- and above all, the incredible power of love.

  Chapter 1

  Scout slumped in her old Honda Civic, staring at the grand mansion at the end of the white oyster shell driveway. Biting her lip, she peered toward the front window where a shadowy figure passed back and forth behind the sheer curtains.

  Was someone watching her? Would they call the cops on her?

  She knew her fifteen-year-old rust bucket didn’t look like it belonged to this place. The house probably expected Mercedes and Jaguars, not the beater she’d bought off her ex-boyfriend for three hundred bucks.

  Heart thumping wildly, she rolled down her window to catch the breeze coming off the sea. Instantly, fresh air filled the car with a salty tang.

  Did she have the courage to go right up to the front door and knock on it? Could she? And what would she say? “Hi, there. I’m the daughter you never knew you had.”

  She adjusted the sling on her arm, wincing. It still throbbed. Mind racing now, she considered her options.

  Go back, and face Monty’s anger? No, his wrath?

  Or…she could walk boldly up to The Seacrest mansion and demand that her father recognize her, insist that he help her.

  She’d never met the guy, but she’d hated him her whole life. For the past twenty-three years, she’d pictured a leonine bastard, with a stone cold heart and miserly soul. Her mother had painted a pretty dreadful picture of Rudy Vanderhorn. And yet, here she was, about to face him down.

  Shaking her mane of fiery hair, she let out a shivery sigh. “I can’t go back. I can’t.” She eased the car forward and made her way along the driveway, coming closer to the home where she’d been conceived. Her mother—her dear, sweet mother—had run from this place years ago. Pregnant. Betrayed. And oh-so-scared.

  And that bastard Rudy Vanderhorn hadn’t even come after her. He just let her go. Never chased her. Never tried to find her. What was wrong with such a man?

  Well, she’d soon find out.

  Now anger replaced fear, and she felt courage swelling in her heart. “I have to do this. For Mum.”

  She pulled up in the parking area and turned off the engine. The beast choked, shuddered, and finally sputtered to a stop.

  With her purse on her shoulder, she slid out into the heat of the day. Her white sundress was already wrinkled. She smoothed its skirt and headed for the entrance, but before she could press her finger on the ringer, the massive door swung open.

  A heavy-set woman wearing a white apron glanced quizzically at her. “Ja? Can I help you?”

  Scout thought she sounded Swedish. Or maybe German? “Is Mr. Vanderhorn home?” Scout asked, nervously twisting her leather purse strap. “I need to see him.”

  The housemaid—if that’s what she was—turned as white as her apron. “Nein.”

  “I’m sorry. Do I have the right house? This is The Seacrest, isn’t it?”

  The woman drew in a quivery sigh, then seemed to collect herself. “Ja. I’m sorry. But the Mister…he…”

  “He what?” Scout asked, feeling queasy now.

  “He is gone. It was a heart attack. In the hurricane, last summer.” The woman’s voice wobbled and she seemed ready to burst into tears.

  “Fritzi?” A voice called from inside. “Who is it?”

  The distraught woman turned to answer. “It’s a lady, Miss. She wants to see the Mister.”

  “Hi. I’m Libby.” A dark-haired woman ambled forward with a baby on her hip. She shook hands with Scout. “You were asking about my father?” Suspicion grew in her eyes.

  But Scout could only stare at the baby girl. About five months old, the baby grinned at her with moss green eyes, peering under an unruly mop of flaming red hair.

  It was like looking at one of her own baby pictures.

  “I—” Scout’s legs turn to rubber. “I mean—”

  Now it was Libby’s turn to gawk. “Wait a minute. Do I know you?”

  Scout laughed, but she knew at any second it could swing into tears. Her father was dead. She was too late. “I doubt it,” she said, sagging against the door. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

  Libby put a hand on her arm. “No. Wait. Come inside. Let’s sort this out.”

  If she hadn’t been so hot, so tired, and if her arm hadn’t throbbed so badly, Scout would have run away. Anywhere but here, where s
he had to face such disappointment.

  “Come inside,” Libby urged. “Fritzi will get you a cold drink. Is lemonade okay?”

  Scout mumbled her assent and followed Libby into a room carpeted with a thick Oriental rug, and strewn with polished mahogany antiques. A vacuum stood on the floor by a grand piano.

  That’s what I saw from the road. Fritzi, if I heard the name right, was pushing that vacuum back and forth in this room.

  Fritzi made apologies and whisked the machine away, rolling it toward the hall. “I will be right back with refreshments,” she said.

  Definitely a German accent, Scout thought.

  “Please. Sit,” Libby said, openly staring again.

  “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. I’m sure you’re busy with—”

  Libby sank beside Scout on the couch and settled the little girl on the floor. “This is Sidney. She’s my youngest.”

  “You have more?”

  “Oh, yes. We have triplets, too. They’re four years old. Girls. Ramona, Sylvia, and Olivia.”

  “Pretty names.” Scout gave a trembling smile. “But four girls. Oh my.”

  Libby laughed. “It’s a bit of a challenge.”

  Scout nodded. “I’ll bet.” She folded her hands on her lap and lowered her eyes. This is too weird. I have to get out of here.

  Libby waited a beat, then burst out with her question. “I’m sorry. But you must have noticed. You have the same eye and hair color as my little one, here.”