“I hope some of your pics are in better focus.”
“I’ll take this home with me to have a look on the computer. I’ve got an Ultra HD monitor that I use for my forensic work. But I already know what it’s going to show me. Those are the Beliveaus all right. Tomorrow I’m going to go bust their skinny little asses.”
During our day together, talking about faith and doubt, anger and forgiveness, I had forgotten what a tech whiz Ronette was. She was a woman of many talents and even more interests.
I zipped up my coat. “I’d better pack my toolbox when I get home. This cabin’s going to need a lot of work to make it halfway habitable.”
My comment seemed to float about us like a balloon on the air.
Then she turned to me with a secretive smile. “We’ll see about that.”
23
Ronette said she would have a set of keys made and showed me where she would hide them, under a pulpy log outside the gate. Then we said our goodbyes. After what had been a brutal day, I was eager to get on the road, and Ronette was pumped up to pay a visit to the Beliveau boys.
Out of curiosity I checked to see if I had a cell signal, but my phone might as well have been dead. I could play solitaire on it or use the flashlight to light my way to the outhouse, but I wouldn’t be engaging in pillow talk with Dani Tate from my cot.
The clouds were falling on the valley now like curtains after a play. I had spent enough time as a warden living outside in all weather to know that I was in for a wild ride back home.
The highway carried me downstream. I passed again the Bard of Avon coffeehouse, closed for the evening, and the airstrip named for Charles Lindbergh. Off to my left the Sandy River looked more like the muddy river, so brown was it with run-off from the farm fields and sheep pastures.
I finally got a four-bar signal when I crossed the border into the unusually named town of Strong. Maine was famous for its weirdo place names. The state probably had twenty municipalities that had been christened after foreign countries and capitals: Peru, China, Mexico, Norway, Paris, Poland. The list goes on. It was no wonder tourists described my rural state as “quaint.” They might have rethought their adjectives if I introduced them to men such as Trevor Dow, Gorman Peaslee, and the Beliveau boys.
Or Billy Cronk, for that matter.
Among the messages I had missed was a call from the man of the hour. Someone in the Department of Corrections must have decided that they couldn’t deny a soon-to-be-pardoned prisoner the use of a telephone. Billy’s call was time-stamped midafternoon.
“Hey, Mike. I wanted to thank you for paying for my family’s motel. You’ve always looked out for them while I was inside, and I won’t forget it. They’re transferring me to the Farm this afternoon. The docs think I won’t die if I take my antibiotics and hold off on doing crunches a few days.”
I couldn’t be sure if that was a joke or not.
“Could you talk to Aimee for me? She still don’t believe this is for real. She thinks the governor’s promise is for shit and he’s going to screw us over as soon as the camera lights go off. What do you think about that? Should I be worried? I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”
I’d been planning to drive straight home, to give myself time to pack for an extended stay at the luxurious Tantrattle Cabin and get some much-needed sleep. But hearing my friend’s bearish voice made me wish to see him again in person. I checked the clock. No way was I going to make it back to the Midcoast in time for visiting hours at the Bolduc Correctional Facility. But again, maybe Billy’s heroism and provisional pardon had earned him special treatment.
The other messages weren’t urgent or important.
I had hoped for an update from Dr. Holman concerning Shadow. I was doing my best to manage my expectations about his survival. The clinic was surely closed now, and while the veterinarian had given me her personal number, I was loath to call lest I hear bad news.
It also worried me that I’d heard nothing at all from Dani.
I had been reckless, letting our relationship get physical so quickly, assuming she would be content with an extended period of no-commitment nights together while I got Stacey out of my head. But Dani had been clear that she couldn’t continue with the status quo. I knew she would want to hear about Shadow, but I wasn’t ready to give her an answer about my feelings, if the conversation took a turn in that direction. I would call her when I got home, I decided.
Coward.
As I crossed the bridge and entered the outskirts of Farmington, I spotted the gun shop Pulsifer had mentioned over breakfast. My plan was to canvass the area hardware and sporting goods stores in the vain hope that my unknown archer had purchased the bolt locally. But for a variety of reasons I was reluctant to step through the doors of Fairbanks Firearms.
A few wet flakes of snow landed on my windshield as I pulled into the parking lot. The faux log cabin was ringed by concrete Jersey barriers to prevent a determined thief from doing a smash-and-grab. A large orange banner across the door shouted WELCOME ANGLERS! A smaller one pasted inside a dusty window whispered BUSINESS FOR SALE BY OWNER.
I had never visited my uncle’s shop, but I had heard from one of my informants that Denis Cormier was not fully following federal and state laws pertaining to gun sales.
A buzzer sounded as I entered. The store resembled any number of backwoods businesses catering to fishermen and hunters. There were racks of spinning and bait casting rods, some as tall
