Voodoo Summer (LeGarde Mysteries Book 11)

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  I grinned at him, handed the bell back to my grandmother, and ran into his waiting arms. “Gramps,” I said, squeezing him tight. “I missed you a lot.”

  “Me, too, boy.” He hugged me back, smelling of garlic and meatballs and faintly of pipe tobacco. I looked up into his twinkling eyes and felt completely at home.

  “Tonight, you’re guests. But tomorrow I hope you three kids will come up and help us with the meals. I’ll let you use my boat again this summer, if you do.”

  I grinned up at him. “Keen, Gramps. I can wash dishes, if you want.”

  “Perfect. My dishwasher just deserted me for that ritzy new place down the shore.”

  He frowned, and I noticed my grandmother giving him an admonishing glance, as if to say, “Not now.”

  He ushered us inside to the table closest to the kitchen. “This is a place of honor, just for you three. Hope you enjoy the meal.” With that, he disappeared into the swinging double doors leading to the massive kitchen.

  With its pristine white linen tablecloth and sparkling glassware, the table seemed almost too fancy for us to eat on. I worried about spilling spaghetti sauce on the tablecloth, and then shook the thought away. The camp girls had a great big washing machine in the icehouse and I knew they were accustomed to cleaning up after guests every day. I chose the seat closest to the window, settling on a rock maple chair. Nestled in a cluster by the windowsill were salt and pepper shakers, containers of mustard, ketchup, maple syrup, and a little glass shaker bottle of Parmesan cheese.

  Our waitress was Betsy, the girl I’d had a massive crush on two summers ago. She was still beautiful, but older and taller. I noticed a sparkling ring on her finger and wondered if she were engaged. She’d be nineteen this year, if I remembered right.

  “Hey, folks. Welcome back,” she said, sending me a dizzying smile. “And look who’s grown about a foot since I last saw him.”

  I blushed, studying my hands. “Hi, Betsy.”

  My father rescued me. “Yes, sir. Gus is thirteen now. He’s growing like a weed.”

  My parents bantered back and forth for a few minutes with her, and then got down to business so we could order our drinks. When it was my turn, I’d regained some self-confidence. “Milk, please.”

  She smiled at me, scribbling on her note pad. “Growing boys need milk, that’s for sure.” With a swish of her white nylon uniform, she waltzed to the next table, where the couple behind us had just settled in.

  My grandmother stayed at the back door, welcoming each guest with her warm Maine accent. It was part of the tradition. They’d chat about who caught what fish that day, how great the water was for swimming, or a hundred other mundane subjects. The best part was the way everyone lit up when my grandmother spoke to them. She had a talent for making them feel special, every last one.

  Betsy brought out a tray of toasted garlic bread, followed by plates of spaghetti and homemade meatballs.

  I dove into my meal as if I hadn’t eaten for days, and was ready when she asked if I wanted seconds. “Yes, please.”

  While my parents kept up a conversation, I listened to the snatches of dialog floating in the air around the dining hall. “Delicious, as always.” “That Jean-Paul is a genius in the kitchen.” “Saturday night is lobster night.” But there was one bit of information that really made me sit up and take notice. The couple behind us was discussing the new Seven Whistles resort.

  “Harold, I’m telling you, we ought to check it out.”

  “Why, Miriam? I’m happy right here.”

  “But each room has its own shower and even a little refrigerator. Can you imagine?”

  “I can imagine the price.”

  “It’s not supposed to be too exorbitant, dear. And they say the cuisine is incredible.”

  “Cuisine? Isn’t that a little hoity-toity, even for us?”

  “The owners are from Louisiana. Baton Rouge, so I hear. And they make one heck of a jambalaya.”

  “Jamba what?” Harold hissed. “I don’t want fancy-schmanzy. I want to stay here next year.”

  Miriam huffed. “Well, the Murphys and the Cunninghams are already there, and they are raving about it. There’s even a pianist who plays for the guests every night.”

  “Again,” Harold scoffed. “Why would I care? I want to fish, eat real food, and relax. I don’t need to feel like I'm in Carnegie Hall or at The Ritz, for Heaven’s sakes.”

  “All right dear. But don’t feel badly next year if all your friends are staying down at The Seven Whistles and you’re fishing alone out on the lake.”

  Harold’s voice deepened. “Being alone doesn’t sound so bad, right about now.”

  My mother caught the tail end of the conversation and stiffened. She widened her eyes at my father, who leaned forward to listen.

  “Gloria. That’s not good news,” he whispered.

  She nodded, cutting her last meatball in half. “I know. I’ve been hearing a few rumors from the cabin girls that this new place is stealing all the long-time guests from around the lake.”

  I watched my father’s face darken. “Well. It won’t last. Places like that don’t have the history, or the heritage, that Loon Harbor does. They have no character.”

  My mother smiled. “Exactly. And they don’t have your parents running it, either. That’s half the draw, don’t you think?”

  He smiled. “Exactly.”

  I waited for them to say more, but they busied themselves with their meals.

  By the time dessert was served, I was almost too full to enjoy it. Somehow, I stuffed a whole dish of chocolate pudding with whipped cream into my already overly full stomach.

  We strolled out of the dining room and down the hill when everyone began to disperse.

  “Are you too tired to go to the living room tonight, honey?” my mother asked, ruffling my hair.

  “Heck, no, Mum. The twins are expecting me.”

  “Good,” my father said. “I want to sit and listen to the radio for a few hours to wind down after this long day.”

  “Sure, Dad.” We headed out, and I walked between the two of them, feeling completely and ridiculously happy.

  How could life be any better?

  Hours later, after we’d played a few games and had finally headed home in the dark, a terrified scream split the night air.

  Chapter 4

  “It came from the Marggranders’!” I cried, veering off the path toward their cabin.

  My father was right behind me as I pounded up the stairs and pushed through the screen door.

  Mr. Marggrander edged past us, racing down the steps. “Someone’s out there,” he cried. “Brigit saw him.”

  “Wait.” My father quickly joined him. “I’ll go this way. You go around the other side,” he said.

  I rushed into the bedroom where I found Elsbeth and Siegfried trying to calm their mother.

  “Shh, Mama. It’s okay. He’s gone,” Elsbeth whispered.

  Mrs. Marggrander sat on the bed, sobbing into her hands. She slumped against her daughter. She’d always been frail, and the twins often dealt with her emotional breakdowns. But I couldn’t blame her, because she’d often told us the horrific stories of her incarceration as a girl in a Nazi concentration camp. She’d lost her whole family in Buchenwald and had been the sole survivor. I figured she was the bravest woman I knew for having survived that ordeal.

  Siegfried poked his head out the window. “She said he was tall with a dark hood. His eyes glittered.”

  “Whoa,” I said, standing next to him. “Unbelievable.”

  “It was real!” Mrs. Marggrander sobbed. “I saw him. I swear.”

  I held my hands up, palms out. “Oh, gosh, no. Please, Mrs. Marggrander. I don’t doubt what you saw. It’s just nothing like this has ever happened here at camp before.”

  Siegfried muttered a few words with his father through the window, and then turned to me. “There’s a first time for everything,” he said darkly. “There are footprints in the sand,
just below the window. My mother wasn’t imagining him.”

  The two men grabbed a flashlight from inside the cabin, hurrying outside to examine the prints. I followed them.

  “Looks like he came in from that direction,” my father said, pointing into the darkness. “From The Seven Whistles’ property.”

  I walked behind them as they traced the trail into the black night. I stayed close to my father, jumping at every little sound. “You think it’s one of their guests?” I asked. “Or someone who works there?”

  Mr. Marggrander frowned. “Whoever he was, he will be in big trouble. I’m calling the police.”

  My father turned to me. “Listen. Why don’t you take the twins up to the living room? We’ll bring Brigit over to Wee Castle and let her stay there with your mother. We’ll have to use the office phone to call the authorities.”

  I nodded, already heading back to the cabin. “Okay, Dad. We’ll hang out there until you come get us.”

  We all walked with Mrs. Marggrander to Wee Castle, then Sig, Elsbeth, and I flew toward the living room, flying over the root-strewn trail. Imagining some glittering-eyed peeper in the darkness made me run even faster.

  Inside, the room was filled with guests, smoke, and laughter. Someone pounded a ragtime tune on the old piano and three young couples danced on the rug. A few more families covered the couch and chairs, and some of the men sat around the poker table.

  I snagged a deck of playing cards from the cubbyhole in the bookcase. This is where the incomplete or bent cards were stashed for kids to play with. The “good” cards were kept up on the poker table, with strict instructions for kids to keep their hands off.

  Out on the porch, I heard my grandfather in deep conversation with several of the guests. On the other side, seated in the porch glider, I spied Betsy and William smoothly rocking.

  My heart hammered.

  William. With Betsy? What the heck?

  William Stone, son of Oscar and Millie Stone, had been coming up to Maine annually from East Goodland with my family and the Marggranders for as long as I could remember. William worked as a camp boy, ferrying suitcases from cars to cabins and back, lugging big blocks of ice to each family daily, and doing whatever other chores came his way. He and I went back a long way, even though he’d never been particularly nice to me. He was four years older, turning eighteen in August, and this was probably his last summer at the camp. In spite of the way he sometimes treated me, I still looked up to him and wished I could be a camp boy, like him.

  I watched the twins settle in the far corner by the blazing fireplace. They lay on their stomachs with legs kicking in the air behind them, shuffling the bizarre collection of cards into two huge piles.

  “You two stay here, okay?” I glanced out the window again at William and Betsy. “I’m going out on the deck for a drink of water. Be back in a sec.”

  “Come back soon,” Elsbeth said. “I want to beat you at Battle.”

  I laughed and agreed, then slid out the back door, sidling up to the corner by the Coke machine.

  Betsy giggled. William chuckled. And when I peeked around the corner to see them, I witnessed the most horrifying sight of the summer.

  They were kissing.

  I stepped back and slumped against the rough pine wall.

  How could they do that?

  William is two years younger than her. He’s a cad. He’s had too many girlfriends. What if he hurts her? Woos her and leaves her?

  I took in a deep breath and tried to relax.

  And what about that ring on her finger? It sure looks like an engagement ring to me.

  I shouldn’t care. But I still felt traces of the schoolboy crush I’d had on Betsy a few summers back. She still made my heart beat too fast. And as embarrassing as it was, I had to face up to my feelings.

  Was I jealous? I’d felt that way a few summers ago when she’d paid attention to William instead of me.

  Maybe.

  I listened to the cry of a loon in the distance. Its wavering call echoed across the lake, bittersweet and soothing at the same time. Ten feet away, my grandfather and two of his friends sat on the porch steps, smoking and talking. The lapping water on the rocks below created a calming counterpoint to their conversation.

  “It’s going to shut us down if this continues,” my grandfather said. “The Phillips family didn’t renew for next year. They admitted they’re going to sign up for The Seven Whistles next summer.”

  The big man to my grandfather’s right put a hand on his shoulder. “Jean-Paul, don’t worry. It’s just a fad. Your place has endured all time. It’ll keep going, no matter what.”

  The second man chimed in. “I can do a little snooping if you want. Check around over there for prices, amenities, etc.”

  My grandfather shook his head. “Jake, I appreciate the offer. But I don’t think that’ll help. I can’t lower my prices, that’s for sure. We’re barely scraping by as it is.”

  They sat in silence for a long time, puffing on pipes and blowing fragrant smoke into the night air.

  I felt trapped, upset, and scared. What was happening to my world? Were William and Betsy in love? Would the camp close next year? And who the heck was that guy peering into Mrs. Marggrander’s bedroom?

  After a few minutes, I stood and peeked around the corner again. Betsy was gone, and William sat by himself, slowly rocking back and forth in the glider.

  I grabbed a paper cup from the water dispenser, filled it up, and sipped it. Slowly, I approached William and stood looking at him.

  “Hi, squirt,” he said. “Take a load off.” He patted the seat beside him.

  I finished the water and crumpled the cone-shaped cup in my hands. “I saw you.”

  He glanced at me with a raised eyebrow. “Huh?”

  “I saw you kissing her.”

  He chuckled. “Oh. That.”

  I stared at him, feeling oddly betrayed.

  “What?” he said. “You don’t think I should’ve kissed her?”

  I shook my head. “She’s engaged.”

  He shrugged. “I guess. But a harmless little fling before she’s tied down forever isn’t such a bad thing.” He smiled. “Anyway, it was just a kiss.”

  “But she’s two years older than you,” I said, stopping the glider.

  “So?” He laughed as if I were an idiot. “I love older women.”

  “Argh!” I jumped up, threw my cup in the trashcan, and stomped toward the living room. At the door, I turned to him. “I hate you, William.”

  He jumped up and ran after me, blocking the door. He turned me roughly toward him. “Yeah? You hate me?” He leaned down to sneer into my face. “I think it’s more that you love Betsy. But you’re just a baby, little guy. She’d never take a second look at you. What are you, twelve?”

  “Thirteen,” I said, close to tears.

  “Oh, a big man. A teenager now.” He guffawed, poking my chest a few times for emphasis. “You think a nineteen-year-old goddess like Betsy would date a guy six years younger than she is?”

  “No,” I said, looking at my feet. “But you shouldn’t date her, either.”

  “Sorry, pal. I’ll take it where I can get it. And she’s definitely interested.”

  I glowered at him, pushed him out of my way, and darted into the living room.

  Chapter 5

  I plopped down next to Siegfried, backing up to the wall with my legs splayed out. I couldn’t help the long sigh that escaped my lips.

  Sig glanced sideways at me. “Are you okay, Gus?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Elsbeth sat up and stared at me, her brow wrinkled. “Gus? What’s wrong?”

  I didn’t want to tell them that I saw William and Betsy making out, and especially didn’t want them to know how I felt about the whole thing. Besides, I still had feelings for Elsbeth that had been baffling me. She was one of my two best friends, yet I found myself suddenly wanting to kiss her at the strangest times. Last summer, she’d kissed the s
ide of my mouth. I hadn’t stopped thinking about it for a year.

  So, how could I like two girls at once?

  I had to admit, though, Betsy wasn’t a real girl. She was more of a dream. Like a movie star, impossible to reach and of course, ridiculous to consider from a practical point of view.

  But Elsbeth was right here beside me, just a year younger, and so very special. We’d been friends since she’d moved next door to me when she was four years old. I was comfortable around her, and when I didn’t see her for a few days, I missed her terribly.

  But she was still only twelve, and still just a girl, albeit a beautiful, fiery, stubborn, and adorable girl.

  I looked into her questioning dark eyes and smiled. “I’m okay. It’s just I heard my grandfather saying something about The Seven Whistles. They’re stealing Loon Harbor guests. And it’s getting worse every day.”

  The twins gave me their undivided attention.

  I leaned toward them, whispering so no one would hear. “We need to do some investigating. See if we can find a way to lure our guests back for next season.”

  Siegfried scratched at a mosquito bite on his leg. “We should meet the girl in the canoe. Maybe she can help us get an insider’s look.”

  “Good idea. Does tomorrow morning sound good?” I asked. “We can pretend to be trolling for perch you know, ride back and forth in front of their camp, casting into the rocks beneath the birches. Maybe we’ll see her.”

  Elsbeth piped up. “We could also take a walk down the dirt road, pretend to be picking blueberries.”

  “Good idea,” I said, glancing at the two decks of cards. Siegfried had a couple in his hand, and Elsbeth owned the rest of the deck. “Hey. It looks like you’re winning, Elsbeth.”

  She grinned. “I am. But I think Siegfried’s ready to give up.”

  He stiffened. “I am not. I want to continue to the bitter end.”

  I laughed and plopped down on my stomach beside them. “Go ahead. I want to watch this battle first hand.”

  ***

  Two hours later, my father came to collect us. The police had come and gone, taken notes, and promised to ask questions in the morning at the nearby campsites. Mrs. Marggrander left the comforting embrace of my mother and returned home to her husband and children with the agreement that all shades would be fully pulled and the drapes drawn.