Lucy found herself growing misty, thinking of all those people who came to help Bill and put out the fire. “He says he doesn’t remember much, but I’m sure he’d like to tell you as much as he can.”
“Great,” Ted said. “I’ll give him a call and set a time. I want to interview him face-to-face. You’re writing up the Franklin funeral. There’s the selectmen’s meeting and I think the finance committee is meeting—”
“What about the billboard? I want to do a piece on that, find out who’s behind it,” said Lucy.
“What billboard?” asked Ted.
“The one out on Route 1 that says America for Americans, with bigger than life mug shots of those three drug dealers that got arrested.”
“I hate those things. They spoil the view,” said Phyllis. “I was so happy when they finally took down that one of the governor.”
“I’ll swing out that way and take a look on my way to the interview,” said Ted, reaching for his jacket. “Meanwhile you’ve got plenty to do, Lucy.”
* * *
Lucy had finished up her story about the Franklin funeral and was trying to think of a way to write an interesting story about the selectmen’s debate as to whether or not the town had an adequate supply of road salt for the coming winter when Ted called.
“I saw the sign and it’s too big to ignore,” he said. “Go ahead and find out who’s behind it.”
“Great,” she said, only too happy to switch gears. She immediately called the owner of the sign, Maine Message, and spoke to a sales rep who was enthusiastic about the benefits of roadside advertisements.
“We have hundreds of billboards throughout the state. Surveys show that billboards are one of the most effective forms of advertising.”
“I’m not interested in renting a billboard,” said Lucy, explaining that she was a reporter with the Pennysaver newspaper. “I’m working on a story about a billboard that just went up on Route 1 and I need to know who is responsible for it. It’s got an anti-immigrant message, America for Americans.”
“I know the one. I sold that,” said the rep. “We’re not responsible for the message, you know. We just provide the space. We’ve had people propose marriage on our billboards. One guy rented one to announce the birth of his grandson. We do have limits. No profanity, no libel or slander, that sort of thing. If you want to call your neighbor a thief or a liar, you have to paint that on a piece of plywood yourself and nail it up on a tree on your own property.”
“Good to know,” said Lucy. “Can you tell me who put up the America for Americans sign?”
“Sure. I’m just checking my files . . . Ah, here it is. It’s actually a group called America for Americans, and the contact person is Zeke Bumpus.”
“Thanks,” said Lucy, abruptly ending the call. She didn’t need any further information. She knew exactly who Zeke Bumpus was and where to reach him.
He lived on Bumpus Road where his family had lived for hundreds of years without doing much to improve the place. The family home was a compound of ramshackle buildings surrounded by an assortment of things that might come in handy someday— things like busted washing machines, old cars propped on cinder blocks, and various pieces of rusting machinery. Family members supported themselves by occasionally working on lobster boats or helping local building contractors, but generally avoided full-time jobs.
Zeke operated a firewood business, and Lucy found him in a patch of woods next to the family compound, running logs through a splitting machine. The machine was noisy and she caught his attention by waving her arms.
He reluctantly silenced the machine. “Whaddya want?” he asked, scowling. Zeke was only in his mid-twenties, but looked older due to his thinning hair and growing waistline. He was dressed for work in a faded plaid flannel shirt, filthy jeans, and a pair of unlaced work boots.
“Hi, Zeke. It’s a nice day for outdoor work, right?”
He scowled at her. “I’d rather be hunting, but I gotta do this. We got a big order from the Queen Vic.”
“Yeah, they advertise fireplaces in every room.” Lucy was familiar with the town’s upscale B&B.
Zeke cocked his head and looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Are you here for wood? I can give you a half-cord.”
“No, I’m all set with firewood,” she replied. “I’m actually here to ask about that billboard, the one that says America for Americans. How’d that come about?”
“Is this for the newspaper?” he asked, narrowing his pale blue eyes suspiciously.
“Of course. People are wondering who’s behind the sign. It’s causing quite a stir.”
“Great. That’s what we want. We want folks to realize that these immigrants, these Muslims and Mexicans and Somalis, are taking our country away from us. It’s white people like you and me that built this country and now folks like us can’t get jobs. All the jobs have gone overseas to places like Bangladesh and China. Do you know our country owes millions and billions of dollars to the Chinese? What’s gonna happen if they decide it’s time to pay up, huh? It’s crazy the way we’re letting these Mexicans flood the country with drugs, and they’re sending us their criminals, too. Rapists and murderers, attacking white women and leaving them with little brown anchor babies.”
“I’m sure a lot of folks agree with you,” said Lucy when Zeke had run out of steam. She didn’t want to risk angering him further, so she ventured cautiously into the territory she wanted to explore. “Do you have some sort of organization people can join?”
“Sure, America for Americans. We’ve got a website and everything.”
“Those are expensive, aren’t they? And that billboard must have cost a pretty penny, right?”
“Money’s no problem. That’s for sure.”
“Really? How come?” Lucy seriously doubted Zeke’s little firewood business earned the kind of money needed to rent a billboard.
“ ’Cause a rich donor gave us a big, fat check.”
“Who was this donor?” asked Lucy,
