with a history of clear-cutting forestlands and then selling off the denuded lakefronts as real estate holdings. Last year, they’d announced their plan to “sell” the leased lots in Flagstaff to their current occupants at outrageous prices.
“We can’t afford to stay,” admitted Ora.
“I’d say the Wendigo directors took the murder of their spokesman last year somewhat in stride,” said Charley with a sour smirk I’d never seen from him before.
“So they’re just taking over the whole town and forcing everyone out?” said Sarah with genuine horror. “How can they do that?”
“It’s their land,” I explained.
“They’ve got the deed, that’s for sure, but I’ll bet that CEO couldn’t find Flagstaff, Maine, on a map.” Charley took a deep breath to calm himself. “I suppose we shouldn’t abandon all hope just yet.”
“That’s been my advice all along,” said Ora. “Desperate times call for hopeful measures.”
“I’ve fought for many a lost cause before and seen it come through,” her husband agreed, but there was the timbre of defeat in his voice.
“Will you buy another cabin somewhere?” I asked.
“We still have Ora’s mother’s house in Farmington, but I can’t live in town without going stir-crazy,” said Charley. “Civilization has lost its appeal for this old bird.”
“It
never
appealed to you,” said his wife. “You just endured it for the sake of the girls.”
They exchanged uncharacteristically disapproving glances, as if Ora’s remark concealed some veiled meaning. It made me wonder about their two daughters. They were estranged from their younger girl, Stacey, who still blamed her father for the plane accident that had crippled her mom.
Sarah leaned her elbows on her knees. “Where will you go if you leave Flagstaff?”
“A fellow I know has offered us some good land over toward Machias,” said Charley. “I was posted in eastern Maine when I was a young warden and have always liked the people. Once you get past Bar Harbor, the Down East coast is more like the whole state used to be back at the dawn of time.”
“You told me not to live in the past,” I said. “You said I’d miss out on the present if I did.”
Charley flexed the arm my father had shot as if it were giving him trouble. “I guess you could say that recent events have spoiled me on the present tense.”
“Let’s talk about happier subjects,” suggested Ora.
But her husband’s expression remained grim.
8
W e’d just about finished dinner—Ora’s Indian pudding was as delicious as advertised—and Sarah was talking about the kids in her fourth-grade class. Two glasses of Pinot Grigio had made her a little tipsy, and now her complexion was glowing. “You never know what they’re going to say,” she was telling us. “And you don’t know if anything
you
say will have repercussions in their life.
Everything
is formative with them. And yet they can be so resilient, too.”
“Those children are lucky to have you for a teacher,” said Charley.
“There are days when I feel more like a social worker. I had to go buy a winter coat for one little girl who came in during a blizzard wearing just a sweater—and then her mother sent it back! She said she didn’t want charity.”
“That sounds like my mom,” I said. “When I was a kid, she never wanted to admit how poor we were.”
A phone rang in the next room. I’d left my cell in its holder, still attached to my gun belt. The sound carried from the bedroom closet: a worrying, faraway cry of alarm.
I set down my beer bottle.
Sarah put both hands on the table. “You’re not on duty tonight, Mike.”
The phone rang again. Everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to react.
“Please, let it go,” Sarah said.
I was positive the call concerned Ashley Kim. Was she phoning me back finally? Or had Hutchins managed to track her down? Maybe it was MaryBeth Fickett, calling from the town office. I found myself turning to
“We can’t afford to stay,” admitted Ora.
“I’d say the Wendigo directors took the murder of their spokesman last year somewhat in stride,” said Charley with a sour smirk I’d never seen from him before.
“So they’re just taking over the whole town and forcing everyone out?” said Sarah with genuine horror. “How can they do that?”
“It’s their land,” I explained.
“They’ve got the deed, that’s for sure, but I’ll bet that CEO couldn’t find Flagstaff, Maine, on a map.” Charley took a deep breath to calm himself. “I suppose we shouldn’t abandon all hope just yet.”
“That’s been my advice all along,” said Ora. “Desperate times call for hopeful measures.”
“I’ve fought for many a lost cause before and seen it come through,” her husband agreed, but there was the timbre of defeat in his voice.
“Will you buy another cabin somewhere?” I asked.
“We still have Ora’s mother’s house in Farmington, but I can’t live in town without going stir-crazy,” said Charley. “Civilization has lost its appeal for this old bird.”
“It
never
appealed to you,” said his wife. “You just endured it for the sake of the girls.”
They exchanged uncharacteristically disapproving glances, as if Ora’s remark concealed some veiled meaning. It made me wonder about their two daughters. They were estranged from their younger girl, Stacey, who still blamed her father for the plane accident that had crippled her mom.
Sarah leaned her elbows on her knees. “Where will you go if you leave Flagstaff?”
“A fellow I know has offered us some good land over toward Machias,” said Charley. “I was posted in eastern Maine when I was a young warden and have always liked the people. Once you get past Bar Harbor, the Down East coast is more like the whole state used to be back at the dawn of time.”
“You told me not to live in the past,” I said. “You said I’d miss out on the present if I did.”
Charley flexed the arm my father had shot as if it were giving him trouble. “I guess you could say that recent events have spoiled me on the present tense.”
“Let’s talk about happier subjects,” suggested Ora.
But her husband’s expression remained grim.
8
W e’d just about finished dinner—Ora’s Indian pudding was as delicious as advertised—and Sarah was talking about the kids in her fourth-grade class. Two glasses of Pinot Grigio had made her a little tipsy, and now her complexion was glowing. “You never know what they’re going to say,” she was telling us. “And you don’t know if anything
you
say will have repercussions in their life.
Everything
is formative with them. And yet they can be so resilient, too.”
“Those children are lucky to have you for a teacher,” said Charley.
“There are days when I feel more like a social worker. I had to go buy a winter coat for one little girl who came in during a blizzard wearing just a sweater—and then her mother sent it back! She said she didn’t want charity.”
“That sounds like my mom,” I said. “When I was a kid, she never wanted to admit how poor we were.”
A phone rang in the next room. I’d left my cell in its holder, still attached to my gun belt. The sound carried from the bedroom closet: a worrying, faraway cry of alarm.
I set down my beer bottle.
Sarah put both hands on the table. “You’re not on duty tonight, Mike.”
The phone rang again. Everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to react.
“Please, let it go,” Sarah said.
I was positive the call concerned Ashley Kim. Was she phoning me back finally? Or had Hutchins managed to track her down? Maybe it was MaryBeth Fickett, calling from the town office. I found myself turning to
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