“I simply can’t understand how our father was kidnapped by the ghost of a sixteenth century Austrian count,” Joe confessed. “He was Flemish, and you’re wrong,” corrected Frank. “Didn’t Dad tell you? Mr. Egmont is not the supernatural embodiment of the great Lamoral. No! He is the very real descendent of the bastard son Beethoven conceived on the night the Egmont Overture debuted. Mr. Egmont is his great great grandson and over time he cultivated not only an obsession with Wild Bill Hickok, mystical dentistry, and rare coins, but also a taste for the polygamous lifestyle that threatens our way of life. Do you understand now, Joe?”
“Not at all,” the younger lad replied. “Though now I get the lovely music.” Among the lightning shadows the first shocking notes of Beethoven’s masterpiece were pulsating, pulsating, pulsating.