Scout squirmed in her seat. “Yes.”
Libby glanced back and forth between them again. “Your hair is a unique coppery shade. I’ve not seen it very often.”
“Um, there’s a reason for that. I think.”
Libby looked up. “There is?”
“Um. My name’s Scout, and I’m…I’m actually related to you. We have…we had…the same father. Rudy Vanderhorn was my father. My mother said he had my exact hair color when he was a boy.”
***
Libby stared at the redheaded woman who sat beside her with tears welling in her eyes. She glanced between Sidney and Scout. She was right about the hair color. “Wait a minute. I don’t understand. How—”
The girl leaned forward, covering her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook. “I’m too late.”
“Wait,” Libby repeated. “Rudy was your father? How’s that possible? When were you born?”
The girl hiccupped a few times, then sat up, wiping furiously at her wet cheeks. “I’ll be thirty-three in a few weeks.”
The blood drained from Libby’s face. “That’s not possible. I’ll be thirty-three in August. How—”
Scout stuttered the words. “My mother was Iris. She was married to Rudy.”
Libby stiffened. “But Iris was my mother. She left us when I was three, and we never saw her again. There’s no way she could be your mother.”
Scout glanced up at Libby. “My mother, Iris, left when your father had an affair with someone else. She was pregnant with me when she ran. Iris isn’t your mother. It’s not possible. Not if we’re both turning thirty-three. And we’re sure as hell not twins.”
Libby felt the blood drain from her face. She was about to ask Scout what in the world she was talking about, but Fritzi entered, bearing a tray of clinking glasses.
Fritzi laid the tray on the glass-covered coffee table. “Here you go, ladies. You can add your own sugar, if you want to. There is a bottle for Sidney, too.”
Fritzi’s hands trembled, and Libby wondered if she was still upset about having been asked about Rudy. She’d been with the family for as long as Libby could remember, and had taken his death very hard.
When Fritzi left the room, Libby picked up her daughter and took a deep breath. How could this woman accuse her father of such a terrible thing? “I don’t understand what you’re saying. It’s not possible. Like I said, my mother—Iris—didn’t leave until I was three years old.” She stopped and thought about it. “I mean, that’s what my father always said. I don’t actually remember her.”
Scout didn’t answer.
“You’d better tell me what you know,” Libby said. “Just start from the beginning.”
Chapter 2
The man rubbed his eyes and stared at the sea, leaning back against the wall of the cave.
Where am I?
He scratched the long stubble on his chin and felt his stomach growl. He couldn’t remember when he last ate.
He rose and steadied himself. Horrifying images swirled in his brain but he pushed them away.
No. Just ignore them.
He glanced down at his clothes. A ratty tee-shirt. Cut off jeans. No shoes.
His right hand throbbed from a scabbed over cut. He wondered if it was infected because it hurt like hell.
The cave opened to the green swelling waves of Paines Creek Beach. That much he remembered. The fishing was good here.
Glancing down at the floor of the cave, he saw a net, a fire pit, and an old blanket. A filet knife rested on the rocks around the fire, next to a sheet of blackened aluminum that had probably been used for cooking over the fire. A plastic jug caught rainwater dripping down the wall on the opposite side, and a covered barrel stood close by.
Is this my stuff?
Thirsty, he grabbed the jug and upended it, draining the contents.
His bladder urged him outside, and in the far away mist he saw one or two fisherman dotting the distant horizon where the sea met sand.
It’s low tide.
He found a private nook and took care of business, then turned to note a beat up old sea kayak upended against some driftwood.
Is it mine?
With a start, he recognized it.
Yes! Yes, I need to go out on the water. I need to hurry.
He grabbed the old green craft and unearthed a paddle beneath it. Dragging it behind him, he picked up his net and headed for an open spot where the tidewater streamed toward land. If he positioned himself into this little saltwater river and paddled hard, he could end up on the open sea, where he would start searching again.
Ten minutes later, he broke free of the stream and glided into the open water. His heart pounded with fear, but he didn’t know why.
An insistent voice sounded in his head.
Find them.
***
Scout dried her eyes and met Libby’s angry gaze. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure how much you knew about…what happened.”
Libby crossed her arms. “What did happen?”
Shifting uncomfortably, Scout whispered. “Your mother wasn’t Iris. She’s the lady with whom our father had an affair.”
“Who is she?” Libby cried. “And why would my father lie? He said…” Her words trailed off. “Oh. I see.”
“I don’t know who she was. Neither did my mother. She only knew there was another woman, and she was pregnant, too.” She gave a rueful smile to Libby. “Rudy lied to protect you, most likely. To make it sound respectable. He was married to Iris, right? And if he said she was your mother, you wouldn’t be upset. And maybe nobody would know he had the affair.”
“I guess,” Libby said, pushing off the couch and facing the window with her arms crossed. “I need time to process this. My God.” She stood for a while watching the sea, then turned to Scout with an angry expression. “Who was this mystery woman, anyway? Where is she? And why did she desert me?” Her volume rose with each question.
Scout pulled back, uneasy. “Um, listen. I don’t know who she was. I’m sorry. Maybe I’d better go.” She jumped up and started to walk toward the door.
Libby followed her, touching her arm. “No. Please. I need to know more.”
Scout hesitated.
“Why did you come here, anyway?” Libby said, her voice dangerously close to hysteria. “Why did you want to see my father?”
“He was my father, too.” Scout felt her anger rise. “But he never acknowledged me. And I’m in trouble now.” Her voice wobbled and she felt tears stinging her eyes again.
Libby’s expression softened and the words spilled from her lips in a rush. “I’m sorry. Come back and sit down. Are you okay? What happened to your arm?”
Scout followed her to the couch and gingerly settled on the flowered cushion. “My mother’s boyfriend happened.”
Libby suddenly called out. “Fritzi! Can you come here, please?”
She bustled into the room so fast; Scout thought she must’ve been lingering in the hall.
“Can you take Sidney into the kitchen?” Libby said. “I need to talk to Scout.”
“Ja, of course, Miss. I will take our little one.”
“Great.” Libby handed the baby to Fritzi. When she was sure the woman was out of earshot, she faced Scout. “Listen. I’m sorry. It’s just a shock. I mean—”
“I know,” Scout said. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t come here to hurt you.”
“So, what happened with Iris’s boyfriend?”
“Ugh. Monty.” Scout sank deeper into the couch. “Like I said, years ago my mother ran away from The Seacrest with nowhere to go. She was three months pregnant with me at the time. Monty took her in.”
Libby’s eyes filled with instant empathy, glancing over at the sling. “Was he abusive?”
Scout snorted. “He wasn’t so awful when I was little. But he started drinking when I was a teenager. And he never stopped.”
Libby touched Scout’s arm. “Did he do this?”
Scout took a deep breath. “
Uh huh.”
“Why?”
“He’s convinced my mother was hiding money. He thought Rudy sent her some. He tried to make me tell him where it was.”
“Did he send her money?”
“Hell, no. I don’t think there was any money. My mother would have told me before she died.” Her voice hitched a sob. “Except…well…I guess that’s not true, either. She didn’t even tell me she contacted our father. I had to find out through Monty.”
“Wait.” Libby blanched, blinked, and slumped back. “Iris is dead?”
Scout felt her heart squeeze, felt the edges of her world going black. “Um. Yes. I’m sorry, I should have told you earlier. Mum had breast cancer. I lost her back in March.” The room went fuzzy. She couldn’t breathe. A dark curtain pulled across her vision. “I’m sorry. I—”
Libby caught her as she slumped sideways. “Hey. Are you okay?”
She forced herself to come back. “Just hungry, I think. Low blood sugar.”
“Drink this,” Libby said, holding up the glass of lemonade.
With a concentrated effort, Scout took a few sips. She leaned forward, holding the still-cold glass against her forehead. “Better.”
“Want a sandwich or something?” Libby asked.
Scout heaved a sigh. “I hate to be a burden.”
“Don’t be silly.” Libby pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go into the kitchen and fix you up. And you can tell me more about all these secrets our father kept from me.”
Chapter 3
He woke in the kayak, sprawled forward, head lolling on his knees. With a start, he jerked up and took stock of his surroundings. He floated on a calm sea with only a few gulls crying and gliding overhead.
His skin burned and his throat felt parched. He steadied himself, leaning down to bring cool seawater up to his arms. He trickled the water over the scorched skin and over his face. The heat was oppressive today, even on the open ocean.
He stretched his sore back muscles and gazed around at the blue world. Blue water, blue sky, broken only by a few cottony clouds sitting motionless above him.
A flounder lay in his net. He didn’t remember catching it.
Thirst stirred him to look for the shore. He turned and searched the horizon in all directions. Nothing but blue.
Oh, God. Where is it? How far out did I drift?
He squinted into the distance and saw the rainbow mainsail of a sloop heading away from him. It couldn’t be that far out. If he followed the little craft, he’d probably hit shore in no time.
Picking up the paddle, he began to stroke toward the sailboat. In a brutal flash, the visions came again, darkening the sky and tearing up his soul. Arms flailing in the water. A child crying. Water churning with black clouds whipping overhead.
He stroked harder, sweating and moaning, trying to push the pictures out of his head. Aloud, he yelled, “NO!” Faster now, he zoomed across the flat sea, until in the distance a thin black smudge limned the horizon.
Land.
Weakness swam inside him. He needed water. Badly.
In the distance, a dark cloud brewed, moving swiftly toward him.
He couldn’t let it find him, and pushed harder for shore. Now the dunes and houses on the coast came into sight. He oriented himself, saw his dark cave opening to the left, and redirected the kayak toward it.
This was home, that much he knew. He needed to get home.
In fifteen minutes he pulled the little boat up the shore, dragging it over wet sand toward his cave. But something wasn’t right. He sensed it.
He flipped the kayak over and approached the cave slowly. Someone was in there. More than one person.
Laughter brayed from inside. “Hell, Sammy. Do it!”
The sound of a wet crash met the man’s ears. He reached the opening, heart pounding and fists clenched.
Three teens cavorted inside, kicking his few possessions around and snickering. The water barrel lay on its side, empty.
One of the boys, the taller of the group with a mop of dyed green hair, held up the plastic jug. “There he is, boys. Think he’s thirsty?”
Hollow laughter filled the cave.
He stepped forward. “Please. Go.”
The green-haired boy—apparently named Sammy—smirked and emptied the jug. “There you go. Lick it up.”
With a roar, the man felt his temper flare. He walked toward the boys, who now stumbled backwards in fear.
Sammy threw up both hands. “Hey, Mister Hobo, or whoever you are. We were just funning with ya.”
One of the younger boys pulled at his sleeve. “Sammy. Come on. We gotta get outta here. He looks crazy.”
The man drew himself up taller. “I am crazy. And you little bastards better run.” He wasn’t sure where the words came from, but they flowed from his lips unbidden.
The boys scattered like frightened rabbits.
He stared at his empty water jug, his thirst now searing his throat. He grabbed it and tipped it upward, savoring the few drops that trickled onto his tongue.
Not enough. I need more.
With the jug in hand, he walked outside. The sun blazed overhead, and his body suddenly went slack.
Water.
He staggered up the dunes and glanced toward a mansion set back on its perfectly manicured grounds. There was a big barn near the house. Horses in the pasture. That meant water. If he could make it to the barn, he’d surely find water.
He trudged up the hill and headed for salvation.
The Seadog on Amazon
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Devil’s Lake
Bittersweet Hollow, book 1
Two years ago, Portia Lamont disappeared from a small town in Vermont, devastating her parents and sister, who spent every waking hour searching for her. When she suddenly shows up on their horse farm in a stolen truck with a little mutt on her lap, they want to know what happened. Was she taken? Or did she run away?
2015 Finalist Readers’ Favorites Awards
2015 Semi-finalist in Kindle Book Review Awards
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About the Author
Aaron Paul Lazar is obsessed with writing. He's completed twenty-seven books to date, and has earned twenty literary book awards. He writes mysteries, suspense, love stories, and more. You'll usually find him writing his heart out in the early hours of the day - preferably in the dark, quiet hours when no one else is awake in his bustling household. Visit his website at www.lazarbooks.com to sign up for a free book and to learn about future deals.
You may contact him at [email protected].
Books by multi-award winning author Aaron Lazar
LEGARDE MYSTERIES
1. DOUBLE FORTÉ
2. UPSTAGED
3. MAZURKA
4. FIRESONG
5. TREMOLO: CRY OF THE LOON
6. DON’T LET THE WIND CATCH YOU
7. THE LIAR’S GALLERY
8. SPIRIT ME AWAY
9. UNDER THE ICE
10. LADY BLUES
11. VOODOO SUMMER
12 MURDER ON THE BREWSTER FLATS
THE LEGARDE MYSTERIES OMNIBUS
THE YOUNG GUS LEGARDE MYSTERIES BOXED SET
The above is the order the books were written. If you’d like to read them in order of Gus’s age, here is the list:
LEGARDE MYSTERIES – in order of chronology
TREMOLO: CRY OF THE LOON
DON’T LET THE WIND CATCH YOU
VOODOO SUMMER
SPIRIT ME AWAY
DOUBLE FORTÉ
UPSTAGED
MAZURKA
FIRESONG
THE LIAR’S GALLERY
UNDER THE ICE
; LADY BLUES
MURDER ON THE BREWSTER FLATS
GREEN MARBLE MYSTERIES
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF BILLY MOORE (formerly Healey’s Cave)
TERROR COMES KNOCKING
FOR KEEPS
TALL PINES MYSTERIES
FOR THE BIRDS
ESSENTIALLY YOURS
SANCTUARY
BETRAYAL
TALL PINES BOOKS SET
PAINES CREEK BEACH, love stories
THE SEACREST
THE SEACROFT
THE SEADOG
BITTERSWEET HOLLOW, romantic suspense
DEVIL’S LAKE
DEVIL’S CREEK
DEVIL’S SPRING
WRITING GUIDES
WRITE LIKE THE WIND, volume 1
WRITE LIKE THE WIND, volume 2
WRITE LIKE THE WIND, volume 3
Aaron Lazar’s Book Awards
The Seadog
2016 Winner, Best Indie Book Award, Romance
Devil’s Lake
2015 Finalist Readers’ Favorites Awards
2015 Semi-finalist in Kindle Book Review Awards
The Seacrest
2015 Semi-finalist in Kindle Book Review Awards
2014 Best Beach Book Festival WINNER, Romance category
2013 ForeWord Book Awards, Romance, FINALIST
Double Forté
2012 ForeWord BOTYA, Mystery, FINALIST
Tremolo: cry of the loon –
2013 Eric Hoffer Book Awards: Grand Prize Short List
2013 Eric Hoffer Book Awards: Honorable Mention, Eric Hoffer Legacy Fiction
2011 Global eBook Award Finalist in Historical Fiction Contemporary
2011 Preditors & Editors Readers Choice Award – 2nd place Mystery
2008 Yolanda Renée's Top Ten Books
2008 MYSHELF Top Ten Reads
For the Birds
2011 ForeWord Book Awards, FINALIST in Mystery
Murder on the Brewster Flats Page 25
