Aaron Paul Lazar [Lazar - Don’t Let the Wind Catch You

Whenyoung Gus LeGarde befriends Tully, a cranky old hermit in the woods who speaksto an Indian spirit, he wonders if the man is nuts. But when the spirit rattlestin cups, draws on dusty mirrors, and flips book pages, pestering him to findevidence to avenge her past, things change fast. What Gus doesnt understand iswhy his mother hates Tully and forbids him to see the old man. What could Tullyhave possibly done to earn this distrust?

Facedwith long-buried family secrets and danger, Gus summons courage beyond his yearsin this poignant and powerful telling of the sultry summer of 1965.

Don't Let the Wind Catch You

A Gus LeGarde Mystery

Aaron Paul Lazar

Dont Let the Wind Catch You by Aaron Paul Lazar

This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in this book are fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2013 - 2017 by Aaron Paul Lazar. Originally published by Twilight Times Books of Kingsport, Tennessee.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

Second Edition, June 2017

Cover art by Kellie Dennis, of Book Covers By Design

Published in the United States of America.

Other Books by Aaron Paul Lazar

LEGARDE MYSTERIES (country mysteries set in the Finger Lakes)

GREEN MARBLE MYSTERIES (mysteries with time travel and a ghost)

TALL PINES MYSTERIES (sensual womens mysteries set in the Adirondacks)

PAINES CREEK BEACH SERIES (love stories by the sea)

BITTERSWEET HOLLOW SERIES (romantic suspense involving kidnapping)

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Devils 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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Dedication

To my wife, Dale, who spent many of her own childhood days with me on horseback riding through deep woods on her palomino gelding, Sir Galahad. Although our riding days are over in this lifetime, I can't wait until we get to do it all over again on the next go round.

Just for the record, Lord, next time Id like a black Morgan, just like Pancho.

Chapter One

We crept toward the old shack on our bellies, crab crawling over moss and leaves. Elsbeth breathed softly to my left, just out of sight. Siegfried took the lead, several feet ahead of me. Behind us, the horses stood tethered to maple saplings; they munched steadily on sweet leaves with a rhythmic crunching sound, their tails swishing against the sting of deerflies.

"Gus?" Elsbeth's whisper glanced off the air. "Do you think anyone lives here?"

I pressed a finger to my lips. "Shh. I think I heard something." I was glad I'd left Shadow at home. That little beagle would've betrayed us, running all over the woods baying at every new scent he found.

Siegfried raised a hand, signaling us to stop. He'd heard it, too. It was a keening sound, a high-pitched wail that was speech but not speech, closer to song, but with no melody I recognized.

Ice crawled down my spine and tingled in my toes. My heart pounded against the soft earth. I chanced a look at Elsbeth, whose eyes had gone wide with what some people might think was fear. But I knew better. Excitement lurked behind those big brown eyes. She didn't scare easily now that she was eleven.

Wood smoke escaped the chimney in a lazy tendril, spreading into pewter softness that filled the air with the aroma of campfires on cold winter mornings. Whoever lived in this remote, ramshackle cabin must have just started a cooking fire, for the scent of wood smoke was soon followed by the clanging of a cast iron pan and the distinctive scent of bacon.

Siegfried glanced back at us, motioning toward a tumbled-down stone wall. He hopped to his feet and scrambled toward the cabin, chest tucked tightly to his knees. Although I was a full year older than the twins, I often let Siegfried lead. He was the one with the compass and the navigational skills, and often took us on excursions into the forests behind the Ambuscade.

While we lay on our bellies watching the cabin, I couldn't help but remember snatches of Mrs. Wilson's history lessons last year. Even though we'd often played around the Ambuscade Monument, which was back in the field we'd just crossed, I really hadn't appreciated the importance of the area until she started sharing the story.

She told us George Washington sent John Sullivan and his men to fight for the settlers in 1779. They'd attacked the Indians, and had burned villages, cut down apple orchards, and destroyed families. It had been a real slaughter.

But it was hard to know who to root for, because some of Sullivan's men had been later ambushed by British troops and some Iroquois Indians. Fifteen men were massacred very close to where we lay. Two of the officers, Boyd and Parker, were captured and tortured in Little Beard's village in a town we now know as Cuylerville.

A plaque stands there today, marking the spot where they were tortured. Now, in 1965a hundred and eighty-six years laterI stared at it in fascination whenever my father drove us past it on the way to Letchworth State Park.

Siegfried elbowed me and pointed to the house, where a shadow crossed the window.

I nodded and watched.

Elsbeth lay snug against me behind the stone wall. She whispered so close to my ear it tickled. "Someone's in there."

A one-sided conversation had started up inside the cabin. I strained to hear, trying to calm the heartbeat in my ears that pounded over the words I couldn't make out.

I listened to the deep male voice. Gruff and playful, he seemed to be discussing plans for the day. But no one answered him.

I scanned the area. Siegfried noticed and followed my gaze. No telephone poles or wires. No electricity. Unless he had one of those walkie-talkies like they used in the war, he must be talking to a mute person or to someone with a very soft voice.

I noticed several cracked windows and wondered why the man hadn't fixed them. The front door looked solid, made from rough planks, but the roof dipped and waved near the chimney. I imagined when it rained it probably dripped from the ceiling into buckets. Globs of tar and different colored shingles plastered the roof in various spots. A beat-up Ford pickup was parked under the trees in the back.

Siegfried crawled around the edge of the wall. We followed him, creeping closer to the side of the shack until we were directly under the window with two cracked panes.

Now we could hear better. The man's rumbling voice gave me chills.

"Why don't you want me to go?"

Silence.

"Okay. So come with me. What's the big deal?"