Devine walked out. He had collected a lot of data, and very little that made any sense. But somehow he needed to make meaning of it, all while someone was gunning for him.
Why do I suddenly miss being deployed to Iraq? At least there I was pretty sure of who I was fighting against. Here, not so much.
Chapter 26
Only real food was a hopping place, Devine discovered as he turned the corner onto Hiram Silkwell Boulevard after walking from the Putnam Inn. Cars lined both sides of the street, and there were some folks milling about the entrance. The brick building occupied about a half block and looked to have once been some sort of warehouse or industrial space. The sign for the restaurant was formed from chunky welded metal, with the letters done in calligraphy. Two gas flames encased in glass lanterns flickered on either side of the double wooden door.
Inside, the floor plan was wide open, with wrought iron pipes and other metal fittings ornately bent into enormous light fixtures dominating the walls and the ceiling, the latter of which was open to the rafters. There were about thirty tables of varying sizes, most of them full of hungry customers and the accompanying noises of conversation and clatter of glasses and utensils. The kitchen was visible through large windows, and the professionally clad cooks and staff could be seen working behind large stoves and in front of commercial ovens, with huge pans and skillets and dishes in use, and orders digitally flying across computer screens.
Waitstaff emerged through double doors with large platters of food or armloads of drinks. Piped-in music wafted over the clientele, and a small bar set up along one wall was doing a healthy business.
In a town of fewer than three hundred people, thought Devine. But then Dak Silkwell told me about the thousands who live in the surrounding area.
But still, what made Putnam such a happening place?
As he looked around the room trying to find Silkwell, he noted two large paintings that were mounted on one wall. He walked over and eyeballed them. One was of a fisherman with a large net filled with... yes, it was mermaids, he concluded. The other painting depicted a storm blowing in off the coast and in the foreground a large home with a widow’s walk, where he could see the image of a woman looking anxiously out to sea.
The house, he easily noted, was Jocelyn Point. He looked down at the signatures at the bottom of both paintings.
The initials ADS. Alexandra Silkwell? With the D being her middle name, probably. The style was definitely hers. He could see that even though he’d only viewed a few of her pieces.
“Hey.”
He turned to see Dak striding toward him. The man had exchanged his muscle shirt and jeans for a tailored two-piece dark suit with an open-collared white shirt. His hair was slicked back and wound up in a ponytail. He looked like a totally different person, Devine noted. And maybe that was the man’s intent.
“You like them?” Dak asked, pointing at the paintings.
“Yes. Your sister’s work, right?”
“How the hell did you know that?”
“I saw some of Alex’s work when I spoke to her at her studio. But these are different. The mermaids I don’t really see her doing. I mean, catching them in a net like—”
“—fish? Yeah. She didn’t want to do it, actually. It was the owner’s idea, and the money they were willing to pay was too good.”
“And the house? That’s your place.”
“Yes.”
“And the lady looking out to the ocean with the storm coming?”
“Typical New England scene. We probably had ancestors who did that very thing. Alex has a great imagination, but for her paying customers she sticks to more traditional themes.”
Dak led Devine over to an empty table with a RESERVED sign on it. They sat down, and a waitress immediately came over with water and menus.
“Evening, Mr. Silkwell,” she said.
“Beth, this is Travis Devine. A friend of mine, so let’s treat him real good, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Big fish in a teeny pond, thought Devine. This also probably explained the suit.
Silkwell ordered a glass of cabernet, while Devine opted for an IPA on draft.
“Busy place,” said Devine.
“Oh yeah, they do a great business.”
Devine looked at the menu and noted the prices.
“No offense, but for a sleepy little town with the kids getting free school lunches, how does the place charge these prices and sell out?”
“You’ve been talking to my sister about that, right? The 130 percenters?”
“Yes. She didn’t paint a really rosy picture of the economic climate here.”
“She’s always been a Debbie Downer. The fact is, COVID changed everything. We got nearly a thousand families who moved to the area from Boston, New York, Miami, Seattle, Chicago, LA, San Francisco, and other metro areas where the cost of living is through the roof. They can work remotely, still pull in an income that is many times what most Mainers make, and build or buy homes for peanuts. Cheapest oceanfront in the country, or at least that’s what one Realtor told me.”
“I didn’t see much construction going on along the coast here.”
“It started about a mile down but it’ll get here, and some of it is inland, too.” He looked around. “Most of the customers in here tonight are the ‘remoters,’ as I like to call them. State used federal dollars to bring superfast broadband here. That was key to getting these highly educated and highly compensated folks to come. And they’re putting down roots. And all of the people working at this restaurant are locals. But Real Food pays a living wage, and the employees get health insurance and a 401(k).”
“That’s great. And the weather?”
“Hell, you think Chicago, Boston, and New York don’t get cold? And you want to be in Miami, Phoenix, or Houston in the summer? Sure, it gets warm here, but nothing like that, and the proximity to the ocean actually keeps the winters bearable. And if folks can save a ton of money? It’s not rocket science. And there are developers coming in who want to build an oceanfront hotel, a spa resort, and new residential communities. If that happens, this place is going to boom, and the people who bought here before that are going to make a fortune. And instead of eroding sand, we have sturdy, rocky shorelines, so houses aren’t going to topple into the sea as the water levels rise, at least not for a long time. So you get ocean views without that worry for rock-bottom prices. And there’s plans to build new elementary and high schools. And businesses are starting up all the time, and I invest in the ones that I believe in, like this place. I’ve already made back ten times what I put in. Only good thing that came out of COVID, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Was Jenny involved in any of this?”
“No. I talked to her about it, but she was government. And some of the monies coming our way are tied to federal dollars. She couldn’t risk the conflict.”
“Okay, I can understand that.”
“And that oceanfront hotel? Guess where they’re thinking of building it?”
“Jocelyn Point?”
Dak nodded with a self-satisfied smile. “I’ve had preliminary talks with them. The house is a knockdown but we have tons of acreage right on the water, plenty of room to put in a nice facility and amenities. Hell, it could accommodate a residential development and retail businesses, too. And the dollars they’re talking? Well, I might leave old Hiram Silkwell in the dust.”
“Congrats. So with Jenny gone I guess it’ll just be you and Alex splitting the fortune?”
Dak looked at him sharply. “What the hell are you implying?”
“I’m implying nothing. Just trying to thoroughly understand the situation.”