Chapter Four

B eing the chief of police had its perks, Jack realized as he walked around Pine Creek PowerSports. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had let him shop after-hours. Then again, thinking Jack was about to drop ten grand on a snowmobile might be the real reason Paul Dempsey didn’t mind missing dinner.

“If you’re looking for speed, this is the baby you want,” Dempsey said, patting the dark cherry cowling of a snowmobile that looked as if it belonged in a Star Wars movie. “Don’t let the fact that it’s a four-stroke scare you off. She’s got plenty of get-up-and-go, and her top end is one hundred and nine miles per hour right out of the crate.”

Get-up-and-go sounded good. Apparently this machine could live up to its looks. “I don’t see a hitch for a fishing sled.” Jack bent over to study the mess of wires and engine parts exposed when Dempsey lifted the cowling.

“This baby isn’t for fishing!” Paul said. “It’s designed for trail riding.”

“So I can’t ride trails and fish with it?”

Paul looked wounded. “Well, you could. But it’d be a sin to hitch a sled behind this beauty.” He gently closed the cowling with a sigh and crossed the crowded showroom. “If you’re looking mostly to fish, you’ll want this one,” he said, stopping beside a bigger and definitely less aerodynamic snowmobile. “It’s got a longer track, the clutch is geared lower for towing, and it’s a two-stroke. This is the workhorse of the fleet.”

It was also three grand cheaper.

Jack looked back at the dark cherry snowmobile.

Dempsey immediately returned to the expensive machine. “People sit up and take notice when a man shows up on a sled like this one.” He pulled a rag from his back pocket and he started to caress the hood, more than polish it. “Ain’t nothing on this lake that can catch it. And being a four-stroke, it’ll give you better gas mileage, as well as run quieter and cleaner.”

Jack looked back at the fishing machine. Damn, it was ugly. “If I buy one tonight, can you deliver it to my house tomorrow? I’m renting the Watson place in Frog Cove, out on the end of the point.”

Dempsey shook his head. “Don’t gotta deliver it. You can just drive it home.”

“It’s got to be ten miles out to my place.”

“Don’t matter. You just go down the side of this road here, cut through the center of town to the lake, and head up the western shoreline. It’ll take you twenty minutes, tops.”

“It’s legal for snowmobiles to travel on plowed roads?”

“Not really, but no one will bother you. We do it all the time.” Paul’s face suddenly reddened. “Leastwise, no one used to bother us. You gonna start enforcing that ordinance? ’Cause I gotta tell you, that would kill business downtown. Snowmobilers make up half of Pine Creek’s winter sales, especially at the restaurants.”

Jack gave him an easy smile. “I’ve only been here a week. I’m not sure yet which ordinances I’m supposed to enforce and which ones I’m not.”

Dempsey relaxed and started polishing the snowmobile again. “I’ve got a helmet that perfectly matches this paint. You show up in that and a black leather suit, and you’ll have to beat the snow bunnies off with a stick.”

Jack gave one last look at the ugly black workhorse, then held out his hand to Paul. “I’ll take this one,” he said, closing the deal with a handshake, “and I’ll pick it up tomorrow afternoon.” He reached inside his jacket for his wallet. “Is a check drawn on a Canadian bank okay? I haven’t set up with a bank account here yet.”

“I take credit cards.”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t use them. I’ll open an account tomorrow, get some money transferred, and bring you cash.”

Paul chuckled as he headed for the counter. “Don’t bother. I’ll take your check. I can’t imagine our police chief would try passing bad paper around town.” He started writing up the sales slip. “Say, what happened down at Marge’s bakery, anyway? Is it true the little bastards trashed the place?”

“Pretty much. Any little bastards in particular you referring to?”

Paul looked up with a frown. “Hell, everyone knows Tommy Cleary and his brothers are behind all our missing stuff.”

“Nothing of value was taken,” Jack told him. “Just a couple of pies and day-old doughnuts.”

“They swiped a snowblower off my lot about a month ago. Found it sitting on Main Street the next day, right in front of the Pine Creek Art Gallery.”

“Would that be Winter MacKeage’s place?” Jack asked as he took out his pen and began writing the check.

“She’s the owner and artist, though she’s a Gregor now. She married some rich bastard from away. They’re living in a cottage on the lake right across the cove from you, while they build a huge house up on Bear Mountain. Winter’s sister, Megan, has been running the gallery most of the fall.” Dempsey shook his head when Jack looked up. “Too bad about Megan.”

“How’s that?”

“She’s pregnant. Came home a little over four months ago, looking like a whipped puppy. Word is the bastard sent her packing when she told him she was having his kid.”

“A woman named Libby MacBain and an elderly lady were running the art gallery when I stopped in to introduce myself,” Jack said.

“The old lady would be Gram Katie, Libby’s mom. They’re minding the store because the MacKeages have a big shindig up at their place every Christmas. Old Greylen had seven daughters, the poor bastard, but he managed to get five of them married off. I think that leaves only the scientist who works down at NASA, and Megan.” He snorted. “I’m surprised Greylen didn’t go after the guy with a shotgun.”

“That his style, is it?”

Dempsey started writing some very large numbers on the sales slip. “The MacKeages are nice enough folks, but a bit strange. They’re like an old-fashioned clan from Scotland, and the MacBains are related to them somehow. If it weren’t for the lovely women they married, they’d be a bunch of cranky old hermits, living off in the woods someplace.”

“I’ve met Michael MacBain.”

“That would be Libby’s husband. He owns a Christmas tree farm just outside of town. You and Simon ever come into more trouble than you can handle, you call his son, Robbie. He was in the Special Forces for a while. He’s a good man to have on your side in a fight.”

“Thanks for the tip. So, what’s the damage?” Jack asked, peering down at the sales slip.

“That depends on if I have a leather suit that fits you,” Paul said, sizing him up. He walked over to a rack of black leather jackets. “You wear a large?”

“Yup. And medium pants.” Jack slipped on the jacket Paul held out to him and flexed his arms. “Feels good.”

“You might want a bigger size to cover that gun.”

Jack looked down at the revolver on his belt. “I’m going to have to do something about this damn thing. It’s been driving me crazy all week.” He took off the jacket. “This is fine. Medium on the helmet, too.” He walked back to the counter, set the jacket down, then walked over and sat on the snowmobile he’d just bought.

Yup, if this baby didn’t make him one of the locals, nothing would.

Megan came into the living room and plopped down in an overstuffed chair by the hearth, opposite her mother. “You are looking at a woman who is once again gainfully employed.”

“That quickly?” Grace asked in surprise. “Was it your credentials that got you the job, or was Mark Collins bowled over by your smile?”

Megan laughed. “It must have been my credentials, since Mark wasn’t even there. A secretary faxed him my résumé, he called back in twenty minutes, and we had a phone interview.”

“So is the position what you expected?” Camry asked from the couch, where she was coloring with Elizabeth’s almost-three-year-old son, Joel.

“Even better: I’ll be my own boss. Mark said he only expects to make it into the field a couple of times this spring and summer. Using the state’s criteria, I’m to design the survey—which Mark has to approve—then do the work and hand in the results next September.”

“What university is he affiliated with?” Grace asked.

“None. He owns a freelance environmental consulting firm that services large corporations worldwide, including paper and chemical mills, oil companies, mineral mines, and such. If a company wants to expand, they call Mark to do an impact study to meet governmental requirements. He called from his office in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.”

“And he’s got an office in Maine?” Cam asked.

“No. It turned out the address listed in the posting was the resort developer in Augusta. It was their secretary who put me in touch with Mark.”

“And he hired you without even bothering to check your references?” Grace asked.

“He remembered seeing my name affiliated with that pipeline oil spill study I headed up in Alaska four years ago,” Megan explained. “And I could hear a keyboard tapping over the phone, so he was probably doing an Internet search on me as we spoke. Mark said he prefers contracting with regional engineers and biologists when he can, because we’re familiar with the local regulations.”

“But you haven’t lived in Maine for ten years,” Grace pointed out.

Megan shrugged. “I listed Maine as my current residence.”

“Speaking of which,” Cam said, setting Joel on the couch so she could stand up. “Beth and I found you a place to live today. A couple she teaches with is moving, and they’re planning to rent out their house in Frog Cove with the option to buy. Beth and Chelsea are over there right now, negotiating your lease.”

Megan sat up straighter. “Where in Frog Cove? Is it on the lake?”

Cam nodded. “Out on the point. So if you buy a boat, you can travel to most of your work by water this summer. It’s perfect, Meg. There are two bedrooms downstairs and two more upstairs, it’s got a beautiful woodstove in the living room, and it has a great view of Bear Mountain. You can even see Winter and Matt’s cottage directly across the cove.” Cam batted her eyelashes. “And Jack Stone lives just three houses down.”

“I should warn you that your father isn’t happy about this,” Grace said, going to Joel, who had decided eating a crayon was more fun than coloring with it. “No matter how much I reasoned with him last night, I couldn’t convince Grey that going back to your fieldwork is exactly what you need right now.”

“Why is he so upset?” Megan asked. “It’s not like I’m moving to Siberia. I’ll only be eight or nine miles away.”

Grace sat on the couch with Joel on her lap. “He doesn’t like the idea of you living alone with a brand-new baby. He claims that back in the twelfth century, a man his age no longer had to worry about his daughters; he’d have married them off by sixteen and turned the worrying over to their husbands.” She chuckled softly. “He thinks society never should have done away with arranged marriages. He’ll eventually calm down, once he sees you’re able to manage everything—which I know you will.” She shot Meg a crooked smile. “But you’ll probably have to move back to Gù Brath when you get near your due date. Your father will camp on your doorstep if you don’t, ready to rush you to the hospital at your first contraction.”

“But you had us girls at home. And Beth had a midwife for Kadin and Joel. I’m using the same woman for my delivery.”

Grace sighed. “Let’s not mention that to your father just yet, okay? Let’s let him get used to your moving out, first.”

Camry plucked Joel off Grace’s lap. “Come on, Meg, let’s go see your new place. Beth and Chelsea and the owner are waiting for us.” She shot Meg a grin as she carried Joel out the front door. “Maybe we’ll even catch a glimpse of your sexy neighbor.”

“Did it ever occur to any of you that I might want to pick out my own place?” Meg asked as they crossed the bridge out front.

Cam led the way to Megan’s SUV. “Of course not. We know your tastes. Besides, we figured Dad couldn’t argue it’s not safe for you to live on a half-deserted camp road when you’re only three houses down from the police chief.”

Meg snorted. “Great. You’ve just moved me out of one macho-man environment into another.”

Megan gazed at the house her sisters had decided she should rent. “Okay,” she conceded to Camry, “you guys do know my tastes. It’s totally adorable.”

A couple of porch lights lit up what certainly appeared to be a perfect house on the outside. The shingles were stained gray, the shutters painted a dark green, and the front door—set inside a porch that ran the width of the house—was a deep, rich red. It stood nestled in a stand of old maple, birch, and hemlock on a spacious lot, its cottage-style architecture giving it a cozy, welcoming feel.

“I’ll have to buy a snowblower to keep the driveway neat, like it is now,” she said. “Plows make such a mess of everything.”

Cam arched an eyebrow. “Moved in already, have we?”

Elizabeth came out of the house, and Megan opened the back door of her truck to release Joel from his car seat. “Will someone please explain why they make these buckles so hard to open?” she grumbled, fighting the buckles.

Elizabeth pulled Megan out of the way and reached inside. “So the kids can’t unfasten them. Hey, big boy,” she said with a laugh, straightening with her son in her arms. “Has Auntie Cam been feeding you crayons again?”

“Go potty,” Joel said, wiggling to get down.

“Inside, not in the snowbank!” Beth said, rushing to catch him, then steering him toward the house.

“What is it with little boys and yellow snow?” Megan called after her.

“That’s his father’s doing!” Beth called back, scooping up her son to carry him up the steps. “Walter’s been teaching Joel to write his name in the snow.”

“ You’re having a girl,” Camry declared as they walked up the path to the house. “You can teach her all about your plants and animals, and I’ll teach her to drive a spaceship.”

“Before or after she’s potty trained?” Megan asked—only to go utterly still the moment she stepped into the home of her dreams. “Oh my God,” she whispered, trying to take it all in. “It’s perfect.”

The interior had an open floor plan, the kitchen and living area combined into one large room divided by a counter peninsula. The walls were time-mellowed knotty pine, the hearth supporting the red enamel woodstove was made of river stone, and the floor, except for a small slate area at the entrance, was rock maple.

There wasn’t any furniture and no curtains covered the expansive windows facing the lake, which made the place feel amazingly large—despite the fact that the entire house would probably fit in Gù Brath’s living room.

“I guess you like it,” a woman said. “I’m Joan Quimby. I taught class across the hall from Beth,” she explained, holding out her hand.

“Why are you leaving this beautiful place?” Megan asked, returning the handshake.

“Bob and I are moving to Germany. I’m going to teach English to third graders and Bob will teach high school math. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house.” She headed toward a door on the left side of the living room. “There are two bedrooms down here with a shared bath, and two more upstairs with another full bath.” Joan stopped inside the lakeside bedroom and smiled apologetically. “The ones downstairs are a bit small, but I like having the larger living area.”

“Is there a deck facing the lake?” Megan asked, walking to the French doors on the back wall of the bedroom.

Joan flicked a switch and light flooded a snow-covered deck running the width of the house, as well as a large yard studded with old-growth trees.

“I see a dock pulled up on shore,” Megan said. “Do you have a boat?”

“Yes, a pontoon boat. It’s parked on the other side of the house, covered in snow.”

“Are you planning to sell it?”

“In the spring. Paul Dempsey over at PowerSports is going to come get it once the snow melts, and put it on his lot on consignment.”

“Tell him not to bother,” Megan said, walking back into the living room to find Chelsea and Camry, at the counter, reading what must be the lease.

Meg walked up and took the paper from them. “I’m not renting this house,” she said, smiling at their startled expressions. “I’m buying it.” She looked at Joan. “When are you and Bob leaving?”

Joan seemed even more shocked. “Um, we’re driving to Boston tomorrow and flying out the day after that.” She waved at the empty house. “You want to buy it? But you haven’t even seen the upstairs.”

“I’ve seen enough. Anything more is just a bonus. I’ll write you a check right now for your asking price, if you throw in the boat.”

“Meg,” Camry said, “what are you doing? Your job is going to last less than a year.”

“It doesn’t matter where my work might eventually take me; I still need a home base. I’ll sell my condo in Boston and move up here permanently.”

“Meg, you need to think about this,” Chelsea interjected. “You can’t just walk into a house and buy it in five minutes.”

“Why not?”

Nobody had a good answer to that.

“Then it’s settled,” Meg said, holding out her hand to Joan.

Joan pumped Megan’s arm excitedly. “Bob will be thrilled! We never thought we’d sell this place in the middle of the winter.” She took the lease and tore it up with a laugh. “You’re going to love it here, Megan. The sunrises are beautiful.”

The muted whine of a high-performance engine echoed off the bare walls, and the four women followed Joel over to the lakeside windows. A snowmobile shot out from the end of the point, and went zooming past the front of the house in a cloud of snow colored white and red from the head- and taillights.

“That must be our new police chief,” Joan said. “He moved into the Watson place about a week ago. I saw him driving what looked like a fancy new snowmobile when he came home just before dark.”

“Snow-bile!” Joel shouted, jumping up and down.

Chelsea nudged Megan with her elbow. “Maybe he’ll give you a ride if you ask him real nice.”

Megan walked back to the counter to dig through her purse for her checkbook. “You can deposit this tomorrow,” she said to Joan as she started to fill out the check. “It’s from my money market account. Um…how much?”

Her face turning a bit pink, Joan named a figure that made Megan suck in her breath. “I guess I haven’t been paying much attention to the real estate market lately. Ah, how about I make this out, but you give me three or four days to transfer some funds?”

“Good grief, Meg, this isn’t like buying a toaster,” Chelsea said, walking up to the counter. “Make the check out to my law firm in Bangor, and we’ll hold the money in escrow while the paperwork is being done. A deed has to be drawn up, and clear title to the property needs to be researched.” She looked at Joan. “Do you and Bob have a lawyer?”

“No. We were going to hire a real estate broker and let them take care of that stuff.”

“Then if you don’t mind, my law firm can act on both Megan’s and your behalf.”

“Is that legal?” Beth asked, bending down to pick up Joel.

“It’s sort of a gray area,” Chelsea said. “But this is a simple transaction, since Meg won’t have to obtain financing. Why don’t you and Bob stop in my office on your way through Bangor tomorrow, Joan? I’ll call them in the morning and have someone start the paperwork for you.” Chelsea took the check from Megan and handed it to Joan. “Give them this, and you may consider your house sold.”

“When can I move in?” Megan asked.

“You should probably wait until the deed is signed,” Chelsea said. “But it’s up to Joan and Bob.”

Joan picked up the keys on the counter and handed them to Megan. “After twenty-eight years of marriage, I know what Bob’s going to say. Welcome home, Megan and baby,” she said, lightly patting Megan’s belly. “This is a wonderful place to raise children.”