“What can I get you?” The kid had a cowlick that stuck up like the stem on a pumpkin.
“I’d like to speak with the shift leader, please.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“Tell her I’ll be seated around the corner.”
I stepped out of line and made my way to the rear of the narrow restaurant, settling down in one of the booths to wait. The satellite radio broadcasting through the restaurant speakers was playing “Low Rider” by War.
After about five minutes, she appeared, carrying a plastic tray. She had removed the headset but not the visor. It gave her a vaguely sporty look. I noticed the puffy circles beneath her eyes from ten paces away.
“What’s this?” I asked as she set the tray down in front of me.
“The usual,” she said. It was an egg McMuffin and a large cup of coffee with cream and sugar.
“Please, sit down,” I said.
“I’m working.”
“Just for a minute so I can apologize.”
As she slid partway into the seat across the table from me, her nose twitched. “Did you get sprayed by a skunk?”
“Sort of.”
“Shouldn’t they all be hibernating?”
I didn’t want to get into the whole sordid George Magoon story with her. “They should be. One got into my house and polluted the place.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I had to get a room at the Blueberry Bunch Motel until I can clean everything.” I took a breath. “Look, I owe you an apology.”
She crossed her arms and glanced toward the frosted window.
“As a warden, I’m not allowed to share information about ongoing police investigations. In the eyes of the attorney general, we’re both material witnesses to a homicide. Technically, we shouldn’t even be talking.”
She started to stand up, but I put my hand on her arm and eased her back down.
“I should never have agreed to take you to the hospital.”
“Why did you do it, then?”
“Because I wanted to get to know you. I still do.”
“Why? So you can get me to say something that will incriminate Prester? Thanks but no thanks.”
“That’s not it. You’re right that I am attracted to you. Who wouldn’t be? But there’s more to it than that.”
She sensed a truckload of bullshit headed her way. “Like what?”
“My mom was a single mom. She and my dad split up when I was nine. My father was a son of a bitch-worse than Randall. For a few years, it was just the two of us, bouncing around from apartment to apartment in Portland. My mom never worked at McDonald’s, but she waited tables at a pub.”
“What are you saying-that I remind you of your mother?” A look of disgust appeared on her face.
“Not at all!” I said. “I just remember how difficult those years were for both of us. It must be that way for you and Lucas.”
She grew quiet and seemed to settle into the booth, as if the urge to flee had passed.
“In my truck last night, you told me how you were trying to change your life. If I were in your shoes, I’d feel pretty desperate, too.”
“You wouldn’t have become an alcoholic and a drug addict.”
I pictured that tantalizing can of Foster’s in my refrigerator. “I don’t blame you for not believing me, but I hope you will accept my apology. I wish you and your family the best, Jamie. I really and truly do.”
Her posture had softened while I’d been speaking; her shoulders no longer seemed so tense and she was holding my gaze. Finally she said, “Aren’t you going to get in trouble for coming in here? The whole town knows I’m bad news.”
“Let me worry about that,” I said. “I’d like to drop off Lucas’s notebook tonight.”
“I’m going to try to see Prester later, if they’ll let me. Then I have a meeting at seven. My sponsor is already pissed that I missed two days in a row. Come by after eight-thirty. I should be home by then.”
“Is there any chance Lucas might have taken a pair of binoculars from my truck?”
She gave a sigh that made me think it wasn’t the first time Lucas had stolen something. “There’s a one hundred percent chance he did. I’ll find them when I get home tonight.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“He has this idea of becoming a ranger someday. That’s probably why he took them. If you want, you can have dinner with us. I’m sure Lucas would like that. He’s sort of infatuated by you.”
“Thanks for the invitation, but it’s probably best if I just drop off the notebook.”
“There will be extra food, if you change your mind. I’m making American chop suey. Please take a shower before you come over, though. You really do stink.”
I smiled and reached for my wallet. “How much do I owe you for breakfast?”
“It’s on the house,” she said, rising to her feet.
“Are you allowed to do that?”
She gave me the kilowatt version of her usual megawatt smile. “Didn’t you see my picture by the door? I’m the Employee of the Month. I can do anything I want in this place.”
From McDonald’s, I drove downtown to the Wash-O-Mat, where I spent the next two hours watching my clothes do somersaults in the dryer.
There was a college student behind the counter when I entered, jawing into a cell phone about her “lame” professor. I got coins from the machine and various boxes and packets of detergents and softeners, anything with a perfume to mask the stench of my clothes.
I brought my laptop from the patrol truck. After everything I’d learned over the past forty-eight hours, I had plenty of people whose names I wanted to feed into the secure databases that law-enforcement officers can access in the state of Maine.
I typed the name Randall Cates and the date of birth from his car registration into the search fields and brought up his fish and wildlife and motor vehicle records. There was a conviction for night hunting, and another for operating a snowmobile under the influence, citations for speeding and driving unregistered vehicles. Fewer than I’d expected, frankly. Up until someone killed him, he’d been very careful to maintain a Teflon coating around himself.
Not so Prester. The string of Title 12 and driving convictions was as long as Corbett had claimed: practically the entire Maine Criminal Code from A to Z. No violent offenses, however.
Barney Beal had incurred speeding tickets on the road, on the trail, and on the water. I couldn’t access his criminal records, but the kid was definitely a speed demon, if nothing else.
Who else? I’d need a date of birth or license number to check Kendrick’s records in the database.
I did locate the article about him in the New York Times Magazine, and as Doc Larrabee had suggested, the tone was as breathless as a teenage girl posting on her Facebook page about her favorite pop singer:
MAN, OUT OF TIME By Ariel Evans
Kevin Kendrick is a teacher, an environmental activist, and, he’ll tell you, the best woodsman left in America. He believes that the nation’s survival depends on relearning forgotten skills, from building a fire with nothing but sticks of wood to making a boat out of sealskins. It might sound far-fetched, but spend a week with him in the wilderness of eastern Maine, which he calls home, and you just might decide he’s right.
The article was long but well-written and interesting. It repeated the stories Larrabee had mentioned of Kendrick’s amazing adventures living among the headhunters and paddling across the Labrador Sea.
It also laid out his philosophy in depth, of which I’d sensed only the vaguest outline the other evening. It was, verbatim, the credo of Earth First! “The Earth is currently experiencing the fastest mass extinction event in its history and the perpetrators of this holocaust are none other than ourselves, the human race. Much as addicts have no hope of a cure until they admit to themselves that they have a problem, so must we admit to one in our relationship with the Earth.”
