Chapter LXXXI

Ellar Michaud crossed the creek as the light was fading. He wasn't worried about being spotted by Antoine Pinette's crew, or even old Den Hickman himself. He'd been trespassing on Hickman land since boyhood, and these woods were as familiar to him as his own, so even without the camo gear he'd have been confident of passing unnoticed by a bunch of city folk. As for Hickman, his arthritis meant that he could barely walk unaided, and his approach was usually heralded by the noise and fumes of his piece-of-shit Chevy Avalanche. Hickman's wife was senile and their two kids had largely abandoned them both, although they surely still expected to be left the property when their parents passed away. It was no surprise, then, that Hickman had welcomed Pinette and his people onto his territory. They'd serve as entertainment, if nothing else.

Hickman had attempted to add a codicil to his will stipulating that it could not be sold to the Michauds in perpetuity, but his lawyer—who drank at the Junco and talked too much, hence Ellar's inside knowledge of the matter—had pointed out to Hickman that this condition would become void twenty-one years after the life of a person living at the time of the restriction, or ninety years after the covenant. Even under those conditions, it would be hard to enforce, meaning little prevented a future buyer from disposing of the property to the Michauds, in part or in whole, Hickman himself unlikely to be in a position to object from six feet under. Hickman, Ellar imagined, had likely been chewing on that particular quandary ever since. With luck, the indigestion would kill him.

Ellar didn't know how deep Antoine Pinette's pockets might be—certainly not deep enough to satisfy Den Hickman, even as the old fucker heard the Reaper sharpening his scythe—but the Michauds had been doing homework of their own on Pinette, aided by reports in the Bangor Daily News and the Portland Press Herald. Months before Mattia Reggio fell into their hands, they were aware that Pinette's people had ties to Robert Stonehurst down in Portland. While Bobby Ocean, as the papers called him, wasn't Rockefeller rich, he was wicked wealthy by Maine standards, enough to be able to buy up the Hickman acres without batting an eyelid. If Ellar regarded Stonehurst as a potential buyer for the tract, five would get you ten that Hickman might be thinking along the same lines. This made eliminating the threat posed by Pinette, Ungar, and the rest all the more urgent. If Ellar was right, they were preparing for an outright purchase.

And then, ladies and gentlemen, Ellar Michaud and his kin would be royally fucked. They'd be forced to raze the old house for fear of drawing further attention to its nature and purpose, and according to Aline, the inhabitant wouldn't like that one bit. In revenge, it might decide to dispense with the Michauds. It had been part of this land long before their arrival and would persist long after they were gone, insinuating itself into the hearts and minds of those who succeeded Ellar and his sisters. In the meantime, the Michauds would succumb to whatever ailment it decided to visit upon them, because it was in them and of them. It was in the fruit they ate from the trees, the produce they grew in the garden, and the air they breathed. It had already infected generations of their family, permitting the contamination to remain largely dormant and rendering them asymptomatic, but that could easily change: a lump on Aline's breast, a telltale tumor in Eliza's mouth, dark blood in Ellar's stool. It was all well and good to speculate on the reality of its existence in daylight, but by night, in the woods that had birthed it, its actuality was harder for Ellar to deny.

He pushed these thoughts away. He and his sisters had settled on a course of action, even if a massive propane explosion was anything but subtle. Ellar was certain that the subsequent investigation, while revealing no trace of his involvement in the destruction, would uncover evidence of criminality on the part of Pinette's people. Ellar, during one of his previous recces of the camp, had seen military cases on the site, and before he died, Mattia Reggio had confirmed that Pinette was involved in the illegal sale of weapons. That would be sure to diminish any sympathy for the victims, as well as lead to awkward questions for Den Hickman and Bobby Ocean. Ellar wished old Den the best of luck selling land with a crater in the middle and the odd body part still lodged in the upper branches of trees.

Ellar came within sight of the camp. Already lamps were lit and fires were burning. He could hear music playing; nothing to which he'd have opted to listen by choice. He wore night vision goggles, but didn't think he'd need them; he was used to negotiating the darkness.

Ellar found a declivity, set aside his duffel bag, and waited for night to fall.