Oscar joked about being wary of unwelcome droppings from above, and the crowd roared. From the expression on William’s face, it was clear that he must have warned the boy of the potential dangers just before he snapped the shot. The slide show ended with a shot of the glorious tree in full bloom.
Oscar finished his final narrative and turned off the projector light to a round of applause. Chatter filled the room and the lights were turned up. I stretched my arms toward the ceiling, trying to wake up enough to stand and rejoin my parents.
Siegfried leaned over and gently shook his sister’s shoulder. Her dark eyes fluttered open, filled with confusion. He smiled at her and whispered a few comforting words in German. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
The crowd dispersed slowly, each guest stopping to say a few words to Oscar. Clearly pleased with their reactions, he smiled and nodded graciously as he received the flow of compliments.
I rose and rolled my sleeping bag, waving to the twins who followed their parents out the door.
“Mrs. Jones” had slipped out first with her protectors close at hand. My mother and father sat still on the couch, whispering and smiling at each other. William helped his father with the equipment, and we all walked back through the cool moist air to our cabins. I was too tired to wonder if the elusive Frank Adamski stood waiting in the dark shadows, and when I finally reached my bed, I tumbled into it fully clothed.
Chapter 40
I woke late the next morning to the sound of voices in the kitchen. The smell of coffee and toast filled the air.
“They broke in while we were at the slide show. It’s as if they knew we’d all be occupied for hours last night.”
I sat bolt upright in bed.
Grandpa’s voice continued. “She’s pretty upset. They took some of her family photos and a silver candy dish that belonged to Odette. She’s most upset about the cat. Apparently he escaped and hasn’t returned.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and felt around for my sneakers.
My mother said, “How do you think they discovered Rose’s identity, Jean-Paul?”
I could hear the tension in her voice. There was silence as I tied my sneakers and raced into the kitchen. Grandpa looked directly at me with a sad and questioning look in his eyes.
My heart dropped to the soles of my feet. He thinks I told someone.
“It wasn’t me, Grandpa. I haven’t breathed a word. I’ll swear on the Holy Bible! I haven’t even told the twins,” I panted, circling around to my mother’s side.
A collective sigh of relief filled the room.
I was startled to see Officer Lawson sitting beside my father.
He tipped his hat at me. “Hello, there, Gus.”
“Hi, Officer Lawson.”
“Well, then, it must’ve been one of the staff,” Grandpa continued. “If none of us spilled the beans, it can only have been one of our girls or one of Rose’s own people. The FBI is going to interview everyone here to figure out if…” he hesitated for a moment, “…if Mrs. Jones is in danger. If it was a local person and they haven’t told anyone else, she might be safe. If word has spread, her safety could be compromised. There were two attempts on her life in the last six months.”
I walked over to the window and looked anxiously toward Number Fifteen. My mother leaned over my shoulder. Her eyes danced with concern. The place was swarming with officials.
Just as I was about to turn away, the curtain in the living room was pulled aside and I saw her. She beckoned to me urgently.
“Mum?” I asked, turning to go.
“Go ahead, honey. She seems to have taken a shine to you. Just don’t get in the way, all right?”
I spun around and raced across the kitchen, flying over the floorboards, out the screen door and across the porch. I churned up the pathway and was abruptly stopped short by two strong arms. The man had come out of nowhere.
“But—” I sputtered.
Mrs. Jones came onto the porch to call me. “It’s okay, Barney. He’s my friend.”
He let me go immediately. “Sorry, kid.”
I waved him off. “It’s okay.” Straightening my clothes, I ran up to Mrs. Jones.
“We’d better talk inside, Gustave. These men get so nervous about my safety.”
∞∞∞
After my conversation with Mrs. Jones, I ran to the twins’ cabin. I’d been commissioned with the very important task of searching for Ivanhoe and I needed reinforcements. Mrs. Jones’ protectors were threatening to move her out of the camp and she was petrified she might have to leave her beloved pet behind. The men were busily analyzing the risks involved. They arranged to interview everyone on the premises by noon. After promising the Marggranders not to leave the grounds, we circled the cabin.
Frank Adamski was still at large, and although the police believed he’d probably left the area shortly after he tried and failed to incinerate me, there was still the possibility that he was hiding somewhere in the woods.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” Elsbeth’s pure voice rang through the pines.
I copied her tone, and repeated the call. “Kitty, kitty. Here, Ivanhoe.”
After several minutes, Siegfried raised one finger to his lips. “Shh. We need to stop and listen between calls. He might be meowing and we’ll never hear him.”
We stopped, listened, and heard nothing but the sounds of camp. The birds sang overhead, a motorboat droned on the lake, and our footsteps whispered against the pine needles as we walked.
Nothing.
We started to call again.
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”
A breeze blew up from the lake. The air was fresh and filled with the scent of balsam. We continued for another hour, circling wider and wider until we reached the perimeter of the camp. Finally, we stopped beneath the sign for Loon Harbor.
“What now?” Elsbeth asked. She stood beside her brother in lime green shorts and an orange shirt with her hair pulled back into twin pigtails. Her face was flushed and for a minute, she looked about five-years-old.
“Good question.” I plopped on the ground beside the wooden signpost. Beside me, the painted image of a pair of loons swung gently in the breeze.
The twins copied me, dropping to the ground and sprawling onto the grass as if exhausted.
Glancing down the road in the direction of the blueberry farm, I thought about widening the search area. I was sorely tempted. But after a few minutes of thinking about it, I realized I could jeopardize the twins’ safety. It was too risky.
Elsbeth unraveled one of her pigtails and began to refasten it.
Sig plucked a long piece of grass from the base of the sign and chewed on it.
He stretched out and closed his eyes. “We should double back and recheck. We might have missed him.”
Elsbeth scanned the woods. “What if he’s out there?”
The image of Frank Adamski lurking out there proved a most formidable deterrent to each of us.
Siegfried suddenly rose. “Wait a minute, we didn’t look behind the icehouse. Maybe he wandered over there. Come on.”
Scrambling to our feet, we headed back down the hill. We passed the children’s playground and rounded the corner of the waitresses’ cabin, skirting along the front of the dining room and kitchen building. Finally, we reached the icehouse.
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty!”
We called for several more minutes. Finally we stopped and looked at each other, discouraged.
I walked over to the table where the fishermen cleaned their catch and scuffed my sneakers against the ground, turning over a pile of dry, iridescent fish scales. “Shoot!” I whispered fiercely. “I really wanted to find him.”
The twins exchanged glances.
Siegfried moved closer and put his arm around my shoulders. “Me, too, Gus. Es tut mir leid (I’m sorry). We can look again after lunch, Ja?”
Nodding, I walked over to the steps of the icehouse and sat down heavily. “You’re right.
You guys go ahead and get lunch. I’ll meet you down at the living room at one o’clock, okay?”
They nodded and disappeared in a wink. They had missed breakfast, like me, and Siegfried’s stomach had been growling for the past half hour.
I reached down to pick a cluster of sour grass, lifted it to my mouth, and chewed on it. The tart lemon flavor spread across my tongue quickly, making my lips pucker. I picked another bunch, thinking hard about Ivanhoe, Mrs. Jones, and Frank Adamski.
Yet another theft of religious artifacts was reported on the news yesterday. It happened in Augusta at a large catholic church. Similar types of precious relics were stolen, but this time the sanctuary was desecrated. Tables were overturned, statues were smashed, and a stained glass window was broken. According to Officer Lawson, the police thought that either Frank Adamski or his accomplices were still responsible.
I shook my head and wondered if Frank or his crowd had a grudge against churches in general. Why attack only religion? Was it because they were more loosely protected and housed items that could easily be fenced? I supposed that it was easier than home robberies. The risk of surprising someone in church at night was low.
Sitting back against the icehouse doorway, I wondered what had happened to the robbers that would make them so angry.
I chewed some more on sour grass and listening to the whir of the freezer compressor. It ran for a while and then stopped. Temporarily satisfied with the internal temperature of the walk-in freezer, it paused between cycles.
I closed my eyes and listened hard, pressing my fingers against my temples, rubbing them in slow circles. I strained to listen against the soft noises of the forest. A pinecone dropped to the ground behind me. The wind whistled gently through the pine needles above. My sneakers squeaked lightly against the steps and I repositioned myself and listened even harder.
A flock of crows landed in the branches of the tall oaks behind the icehouse. They chattered raucously.
I glanced up in annoyance, wondering what caused them to screech so much. They continued as I waited patiently for them to stop.
Seven birds gathered together to complain and squawk in the swaying oak tree overhead.
I let out a sigh and got up. I’d never hear Ivanhoe if they continued with the incessant din. Walking around to the back of the building, I squinted up toward the noise. “Cut it out! You’re disturbing the peace up there.”
Their cries sounded almost human as they cackled relentlessly. Reminiscent of the ladies in The Music Man who sang, “Pick a Little, Talk a Little” rapid-fire, they gabbled in dissonant tones. I reached down for a pinecone and chucked it up in the general direction of the noise.
“Shoo!” I shouted. “Go away.”
A flurry of black feathers emerged from the tree as they lifted in flight, ducking and sliding around each other while they searched for a more hospitable perch. The top of one of the younger trees continued to sway after they vanished.
I shielded my eyes and focused on the treetop.
There, perched precariously in the top of the swaying tree, was Ivanhoe. He clung to the thin trunk in terror. I heard his plaintive, soft, mew.
“Ivanhoe! Here, kitty, kitty!”
The cat had climbed at least thirty feet straight up along the spindly tree. Various sturdier trees grew beside it, but Ivanhoe had chosen the weakest and wobbliest of the bunch. I looked around for reinforcements and saw none. Ivanhoe’s sapling was far too skinny to climb, but I was already formulating a plan. I called up to him and dashed into the icehouse. Rummaging around the workbench, I found a length of nylon rope and tied it around my waist. At the last minute, I grabbed an old oilcan and tied it to the end of the rope. Scurrying out of the icehouse, I jumped from the top step and scrambled over to the tree that held the terrified feline.
“It’s okay, boy. I’m coming for you. Don’t be afraid.”
The answering mew spurred me on. I began to climb the closest tree to the sapling. It was not an old tree, but the trunk was about ten inches in diameter and it sported many two-inch thick branches that held my weight well. I scrambled up the tree quickly. Soon I was ten feet below the cat.
The thin tree continued to sway above me, exacerbated by the heavy weight of the cat. Ivanhoe mewed at me, his eyes large with fear.
I imagined the only time he’d been higher than ground level before would have been as a passenger in his cat carrier on Air Force One.
I whispered softly to him, trying to calm him and steeling my own nerves. “Don’t worry, Ivanhoe. I’m coming to get you.”
I reached one arm around the trunk of my tree, hooking my elbow over a solid branch. With my free hand, I untied and slid the rope from my waist. The oilcan was still attached to one end of the rope. I swung the rope toward the sapling. After several unsuccessful tries, it finally caught. The weight of the oilcan spun the rope around the trunk. I’d snared it.
I repositioned my grip on the tree and pulled gently. The sapling moved toward the larger tree, bending easily. I looked up and watched the cat, careful to stop just as the smaller tree trunk brushed the sturdy tree that held me. Satisfied, I looped the free end of the rope around a branch and tied it off.
I’d planned to climb higher and reach over for Ivanhoe, but to my surprise he jumped from the sapling to my tree and began to howl. It was louder now, more strident.
Afraid he’d fall, I scurried rapidly up the trunk and finally reached him. His claws dug deeply into the bark. Securing myself by looping one leg over a limb, I hugged the cat with one arm and pried his claws loose. Finally, he let go and allowed me to lift him up. He purred so loudly it made me smile.
“Hey, kitty. You want to go home?”
He rubbed his head against me.
“That’s definitely a yes.”
I worked my way slowly down the tree, with my precious cargo clutched to my chest.
Chapter 41
When my feet touched the soft dirt at the base of the tree I breathed a long sigh of relief. Ivanhoe clung to me, shaking. He nuzzled his face into my neck and reached one paw to my shoulder. Gently, I disengaged his claws from my skin and sat down on the ground to rub his chin. I pulled several dried leaves and one burdock from his fluffy underbelly. After a few minutes, he relaxed and began to purr again.
Rising slowly, I held him in my arms, stroking his head with one hand and supporting his plump, furry body with the other. When I rounded the corner of the icehouse, I was startled by plaintive sobbing coming from the kitchen.
I crept up to the screen door with the cat in my arms. The crying escalated. I pressed my face against the screen and peered inside.
June sat in a chair with her head in her hands, wailing and rocking back and forth. Betsy stood beside her in her white uniform, stroking her hair and consoling her.
“I knew it wouldn’t work!” June sobbed.
My grandfather sat across from June, patiently waiting for her to calm down. His shoulders were slumped, lending him a defeated look. Disappointment lurked in his eyes.
June broke down and confessed her crimes. She pulled gobs of tissues from the dispenser Betsy offered to her. The mascara ran down her cheeks. I was simultaneously saddened and horrified, listening with the cat purring in my arms.
Oddly enough, the smell of fresh donuts wafted onto the stoop, producing rumbles in my stomach. Grandfather fried the donut holes especially for me. I felt simultaneously disturbed and ravenous. I ached for June, who wailed pitilessly, but my stomach rolled with a complete lack of empathy.
“Did anyone help you, June?” my grandfather asked gently.
She raised her red, tear-stained face to his. She hesitated, and then shook her head and then buried her face in her hands once more, shoulders shaking. With a muffled voice, she said, “No. I slipped out during the slide show and ran over to the cabin. There was no one else involved.”
An expression of disbelief crossed Betsy’s face. She exchanged glances with my grandfather, and then leaned over to w
hisper to June. “You’d better tell the truth, sweetie. They’ll find out eventually.”
June looked up at Betsy, horrified that she’d betrayed her. She sobbed even louder and pressed a wad of wet tissues against her face. “I’m so sorry,” she cried between hiccupping sobs, “my mother loved the president. She wanted a few mementos. Just a few pictures, that’s all.”
Betsy swiped her bangs back from her forehead. She straightened, shooting a sad smile at my grandfather. When she noticed me lurking on the porch, she swished toward me. “Good Golly, Miss Molly.” Betsy opened the screen door and drew me inside, propelling me toward grandfather. “Look, Mr. LeGarde. Gus found Ivanhoe.” When she leaned over to pat the cat her breath warmed my face.
I flushed when she placed a swift kiss on my cheek, draping her arm around my shoulders.
My knees wobbled a bit and I melted beneath her praise.
“What a hero,” she said.
Grandpa joined me and Betsy returned to June. The sobbing subsided and was replaced by intermittent whimpers and snivels.
“Well, well, well. Where did you find him, Gus?”
I went on to explain the morning’s events, careful to include the twins in the story. After all, it was Siegfried who sensed Ivanhoe’s location. He summoned his extraordinary sense of intuition once again and directed our attention to the area near the icehouse.
Grandpa listened closely as I explained the rescue. A look of amazement crossed his face and played there briefly. He looked back at June, and then put his hands on my shoulders. “I’ve got some serious business to attend to now, sport. So I can’t go with you right away. But I wanted you to know that…” He stopped for a moment, his face working with emotion. After a moment, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I doubted your integrity this morning. I should have known you’d never betray a confidence. You’re a good boy, Gus, a very special boy.”
Flushing with pride, I smiled thanks, turned, and headed toward Number Fifteen. I was about to turn the corner past the office when Betsy hailed me.
Tremolo Page 16
