I drove across the causeway, where a dam caused the Sabao River to bulge up before it emptied into the Machias below. The lower river was tidal, so whatever ice formed would shift and buckle twice a day as the sea pushed salt water up the estuary. Pressure ridges formed where the ice had broken apart and then crumpled together again.
But the Sabao, above the sluice, was all fresh. At this time of year, fishermen pulled brown trout, black bass, and pickerel through holes in the ice. State regulations prohibited anyone over the age of sixteen from fishing the Sabao-it was a kiddie fishery, a place where the local youngsters could learn the pleasures of angling without being elbowed off the river by adults-but I never seemed to drive past without having to chase some knucklehead off the ice.
This morning I spotted a tiny figure way out on the ice. Maybe a teenager-he was too far away for me to tell at a glance. But then the clouds moved off and the sun caught him full-on, and I saw a flash of orange clothing.
I hit the brakes so hard, the rear of my truck almost fishtailed. The driver in the car behind me tooted his horn and then zipped past on the left. I swung the truck into the causeway lot and reached behind the passenger seat for my binoculars. My hand roved across the backseat debris like a blind tarantula. But it found nothing. Where had my binoculars gone? I remembered using them two days earlier, when I was working ice fishermen on Gardner Lake.
I leaned forward, shaded my eyes, and squinted into the middle distance, uncertain that I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.
That numbskull out on the ice was wearing an orange life jacket.
If you have to wear a personal flotation device out on the ice, then maybe, just maybe, the conditions are unsafe for fishing.
Did that joker really think a PFD would prevent the river current from pulling him under the ice? The rule of thumb with ice thickness is: It takes a foot of ice to support a medium truck, eight to twelve inches to support a car, five inches to support a snowmobile, and four inches to bear the weight of a person. But those guidelines don’t take into account moving water, not just actual rivers like the Sabao but also the inlets and outlets of larger bodies. Most people assume lakes and ponds are still waters; they don’t realize that strong currents can move beneath their placid surfaces. And wherever the water is flowing, the ice tends to be thin, even when the temperatures collapse in the middle of February. Countless vehicles and people fall through the ice because they have no appreciation of Mother Nature’s treacherous side.
On some other morning, I probably would have ventured across that unsafe surface to box that idiot’s ears. Not that he was violating any laws by being out there. Kathy Frost had always reminded me that taking stupid chances isn’t illegal. A good thing, too, or else I would already have been serving a life sentence.
20
I felt self-conscious entering a public space, smelling even faintly of skunk. As I pushed through the double doors of the McDonald’s, I passed an old geezer on his way out. He gave a noticeable wince, which made me even more nervous than I already was about speaking to Jamie.
It took her a while to notice me in line. She was busy assembling orders, salting hash browns, and bagging breakfast sandwiches. She was dressed in that ridiculous referee uniform with its indoor sun visor, using a radio headset to converse with someone in the drive-through. When she finally spotted me, she paused briefly and then let the teenage boy at the register take my order.
“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.”