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.”