by B. D. Smith
Doug paused to take a sip of coffee and then continued.
“Whoever this Luna character is, the Moth Mother, it sounds like she’s come up with a compelling story line for the Water Rats. And I think your interaction with the fledgling on your morning paddle brings it into better focus. This Moth Mother is smart. She’s taken the preexisting informal attitude of Water Rats - their pranking of people, and recast it as enlightened stewardship. This Water Rat stewardship encompasses protecting the lake and its ecological community from bad behavior and embraces a more sophisticated worldview that integrates humans more closely and more responsibly in the natural world.”
Anne slipped Jack a piece of bacon under the table, and ignoring Doug’s frown, continued with his line of speculation.
“You suspect the Water Rats are like child eco-soldiers – enlisted now in the perennial struggle in Maine between protecting the natural world and the constant pressure for development.”
“That’s basically it, but Luna’s spiritual enhancements are a powerful addition. She’s borrowed a lot, I think, from the world view of indigenous groups in Maine – reverence for the natural world and recognition of the important role that humans should play in protecting it.”
They headed into work, and by the time they had joined the sheriff and Jack Walker for their morning progress meeting, Anne’s internet search during their commute had yielded a pretty good picture of the key role of the Luna moth in transforming the Water Rats into eco-activists.
“I think the Luna moth is their totem, their spirit emblem. It’s a quite large and stunningly beautiful insect, but like the Water Rats, it’s rarely seen. Lunas are a pale lime green and have distinctive purple edging on their wings, which the fledgling mimicked with her nail polish and hoodie edging. Like Luna moths, Water Rats are also mostly nocturnal. Both deflect unwanted notice– the moths employ eye spots on their wings as well as hindwing tails to distract predators, and the Water Rats use the simple camouflage of blending into the background. The small outboards they move around in are ubiquitous on the lake, and don’t draw much attention.”
Anne paused to grab a donut from the box on the table and motioned with it as she continued.
“It might be pushing the metaphor too far, but Luna moths and Water Rats also appear for just a short time and then disappear. From what I’ve read, adult Luna moths only live a week or so, and then disappear for another year. Water Rats only come out on occasion, for short periods, and then disappear back into the background of everyday life.”
Jack Walker added to Anne’s speculation.
“Maybe that’s what was so upsetting to the fledgling – you were disrupting the natural order of things – keeping the moths from disappearing back into the sacred lake, and in doing so somehow interfering with the Water Rats’ ability to stay undetected.”
Tapping on the table to get their attention, Jim Torben, the sheriff of Piscataquis County, summarized their predicament. His slow measured delivery made it clear to the other three people around the table, who knew him well, that he was not happy.
“This is great news. Really great. Let’s see – we have two unsolved murders that may or may not be related to each other. A real estate agent has been run down by a boat. A prominent businessman bringing much needed visitors to our town has been lured into totaling his expensive boat and has ended up in a coma. All of our initial suspects for these crimes appear to have turned out to be dead ends. Our colleague Tom Richard is falling in love with one of our suspects and wasting his time sneaking around another suspect’s garage. We have five thousand people coming into town this weekend for the Whoopie Pie Festival, and two hundred or so patio boats will soon start descending on us for the race scheduled just a week later. And now, our latest breakthrough in the case appears to involve a big green moth and a mysterious leader of an eco-terrorist cult. Sounds to me like we are well fucked.”
17.
The silence in the room after Jim Torben’s summation was finally broken as Jack Walker leaned forward and lifted the lid on the donut box, selecting a traditional cake donut as he added to the sheriff’s perspective.
“That pretty much sums things up, boss. Just about everybody will be busy with traffic flow, setting up street closures, and monitoring the crowds and the cash boxes at the Whoopie Pie Festival this weekend. That won’t leave a lot of manpower for our murder investigations. But then we don’t have all that many leads to follow up on anyway. I think we can parcel up the workload between us and still make some progress.”
Doug nodded in agreement.
“Tom can continue drilling down on Nigel’s background. If Jack will keep on with the monitoring of Lou Binford, Anne and I can focus on the Water Rats. I have a few pretty good contacts with people who used to be involved in their pranks back when I was a teenager, and I am sure Jim and Jack do too. We should be able to make some headway with the Water Rat alumni. For the younger folks we can start by talking to the Foxcroft Academy students involved in the summer monitoring for invasive aquatic plants. They might have some leads if we can get them to talk. We also need to circle around and have a long talk with Ted Height. Anne and I ran into him in the parking lot at Will’s the other day, and he seemed quite worked up about the patio boat race.”
Looking around the table, Anne added to Doug’s assessment.
“I’ve been thinking about the Water Rats. They have got to be a quite diverse group of individuals with different degrees of understanding and commitment to what they’re involved in. I bet a lot of the younger Water Rats, like the fledgling I encountered, see their little pranks as noble and exciting contributions to the effort to preserve their lake environment and their way of life from harm, from unwanted change. But the pranks are different now. Up until recently their mischief has taken the form of individual isolated acts unrelated to each other except in the most general way – educating people regarding the mores – the customs and conventions, of the local community - teaching people the right way to act.
But now the pranks are coordinated and focused, although the pranksters probably don’t perceive much of a change. They are getting guidance from others, and quite probably don’t know the identity of the individuals instructing them, other than under the guise of the Luna moth totem.”
“And it’s the youngsters, the fledglings and recently tattooed,” Doug added, “doing all the small stuff, similar to what they’ve always done – flagpole mischief, unmooring of boats, that sort of thing. Sometimes those fairly innocent pranks are tied to more serious acts, but mostly the other group, the adults, I would bet, are using this background of petty pranks as a cover to carry out more serious stuff – dumping logs in the lake, setting fire to boathouses, luring a fool to crash his expensive patio boat.”
“Sounds possible,” added Sheriff Torben, “but what does all this pranking, naively innocent and otherwise, have to do with our two murders?”
“Oh, I bet it’s all connected,” Anne replied. We don’t have a clear picture yet, but I think this is all tied into the boat race somehow.”
When the meeting concluded Doug called the Foxcroft Academy and got the contact information for the staff member who was directing the summer aquatic plant survey. A dozen students, along with a few older volunteers, had been working the lakeshore habitats in the South Cove that morning, and Doug arranged a lunchtime meeting with them at the beach at the Peaks-Kenny State Park.
They had no difficulty finding the Foxcroft Academy group, who were lounging in the shade, just finishing up their bag lunches. Doug shook hands with Dan Grant, their faculty advisor, and he and Anne both joined the circle of students sitting on the grass. They had agreed to approach the topic of Water Rat pranking indirectly with the students, while at the same time underscoring the seriousness of some o
f the recent escalations. Doug did the talking.
“I’m Doug Bateman, and this is Anne Lapointe. The state police and the sheriff’s office are looking into the recent serious turn vandalism on the lake has taken, and we wanted to ask for your help.”
Doug looked around the circle of curious faces, making sure he had their attention.
“I’m passing out business cards with my cell phone number. We’re hoping you’ll think about contacting us with any leads or ideas you might have about the recent incidents of a serious nature. These incidents are not like the pranks that occasionally occur. I was born and raised on the lake, and I’ve seen and heard about lots of pretty good pranks that have been pulled off over the years.”
Doug recounted a number of his favorite pranks, emphasizing that the perpetrators were never identified: there was the monstrously large inflatable pink swan, an eyesore visible for miles, that had been coated with grease, making it impossible to climb on; the loud late night partiers whose found their lawn chairs high up in the trees the next morning; and his personal favorite – the obnoxious hotdogger who woke one morning to find his jet ski perched precariously on top of his garage. Doug’s recounting of past pranks accomplished his goal of relaxing the circle of teens a bit before he turned serious.
“But those pranks, and Water Rat activities in general, are entirely different from some of the recent events that have occurred. Burning down a boat house with classic boats inside is not a prank – it’s a felony with jail time attached. A few days ago, a swimmer was deliberately run down with a stolen boat. That’s attempted murder, not a prank. And the patio boat crash up at Buck’s Cove is also being investigated as an attempted murder. These are not pranking. They’re not funny.”
Doug paused, saw that most of his audience was no longer smiling, and continued.
“We’re also investigating two homicides and are not yet sure how they may fit in with the recently escalating incidents. But we need to talk to anyone who might be able to tell us anything. And just as importantly, we need to get the warning out to the Water Rats to not get drawn into doing things that are suggested by others, even if they seem innocent enough.”
While Doug was talking, Anne looked around the circle. She identified the fledgling immediately. She was an attractive girl with short blond hair, blue eyes, and a nervous expression. The girl had buried her hands in the folds of her sweatshirt, but not before Anne had glimpsed her distinctive green nail polish and noticed the purple trim on her hoodie. Anne decided to keep the fledgling’s identity to herself. No point in embarrassing her. The girl risked a quick glance at Anne, who smiled back at her and gave her an exaggerated wink.
Anne also noticed that several of the young men in the circle were displaying lake tattoos on their forearms similar to the one that Ted Height had shown them. The teens with lake tattoos didn’t seem all that concerned by Doug’s admonitions, and were the first to jump up, casually dropping Doug’s business cards on the ground as they walked away. Anne also saw a few Luna moth tattoos – a small one on a girl’s ankle, and a larger one on another girl’s shoulder.
Driving back into town, Anne and Doug stopped at the Bear’s Den for lunch and considered their next moves over burgers and beers.
“We’re not going to get much out of that group,” Doug observed. “They seem pretty set on keeping quiet, even your fledgling had the zipped lip.”
Seeing Anne’s surprised expression, Doug laughed.
“What? Didn’t you think I would notice her hidden hands and the purple trim on her hoodie? Jeez Anne, I am a detective. Good move not calling her out, by the way. She might be able to help us out down the road.”
“OK Doug, Mr. All-seeing. How many tattoos were there?”
‘That’s an easy one, Anne- two lakes on the surly young men, one moth on the short brunette.”
“Not bad – you missed a second Luna moth tattoo, but it was a small one and you were pretty busy trying to scare them straight.”
Doug took a sip of his Allagash White and replied.
“Tattoos. That’s what we’re missing. We need to canvas all the tattoo parlors from here to Bangor at least – see if they have any sort of list of customers who got Sebec Lake or Luna moth tats. It might give us a membership list of sorts for the Water Rats.”
“Sounds like a plan, Doug. If we get lucky the tat lists might include some of the Water Rat alums – the older ones like Ted Height who would more likely be into the serious stuff.”
They stopped at Will’s Shop ‘n Save to see if Height was working, only to learn that he had decided to take the week off to go canoeing up north of Baxter State Park. Doug got Height’s contact phone number from the manager at Will’s and tried it several times, but his calls went straight to voice mail.
Jack Walker was waiting for them when they arrived back at the sheriff’s office.
“I think I have something for you on the Eastman killing. I know his widow said that he didn’t have any problems or run-ins locally, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to check our county court records, and it turns out someone filed a civil suit against him a while back. It was apparently settled out of court a few weeks after his death, but might still be worth a look. The company that brought the suit against Eastman was Ostrum Enterprises.”
“That would be Gary Ostrum,” Doug replied. “He runs a small construction company out of his home over on Boyd’s Lake. I’ll bet Gary built the boathouse.”
Doug called Ostrum, who chuckled when Doug identified himself. He confirmed the civil suit had to do with construction of the boathouse and wanted to know what had taken them so long to contact him. Ostrum didn’t sound at all concerned about their interest. He and his crew were putting an addition on the Hollister place on the south shore of Sebec Lake, close to Parson’s Landing. It took twenty minutes for them to drive out to Hollister’s camp, and when they arrived Ostrum shook hands and led them over to a picnic table in the shade of several white birches. Ostrum started talking as soon as they sat down.
‘Can’t say as I’m sorry that the man’s dead. He was a real prick. A penny-pinching prick, and a cheat.”
“How so?” asked Anne.
Doug broke in before Ostrum could reply to Anne’s question.
“How about we start at the beginning. How did you first hear about the job?”
“It was Bob Lutz. He works at Dave’s World. I was in there looking at their refrigerators, and he had heard from Mary Payne - she’s the sister of Eastman’s wife, that the Eastmans were looking for a local contractor to build a boathouse. That sounded like my kind of construction, so I called him up, and he invited me over to look at his plans and discuss the project.”
“When did the problems start?” Doug asked.
“Almost immediately. I knew pretty quick that I should just walk away, but he had a big budget, and I needed the work. So I talked myself into believing I could control things once we got into it.”
Shaking his head ruefully, Ostrum continued.
“The first disagreement was over the footprint. In his plans, which he had drawn up, the new boathouse was almost twice the size of the original. I told him it had to stay within the original dimensions of the old structure. It could go up. I could build the second story he wanted but couldn’t expand the horizontal footprint of the boathouse. He said he was confident he could work something out on the bigger size with Bowerbank officials, maybe after the fact.”
Ostrum smiled and continued.
“I laughed out loud at that, which he didn’t like, and I pointed out that probably most of the people living in the thousand or so cabins on Sebec Lake would like a nice boathouse too, but they couldn’t have one – it’s against statewide shoreline building regulati
ons. The only reason he could build one was because there was already one there – he could rebuild, but it had to stay the same size. If he built larger, other people living on the lake would be falling all over each other rushing to complain about his project to not only Bowerbank but to county and state officials. It wouldn’t end well for him. He thought I was wrong, but he must have checked with some of his influential buddies after our meeting because he called back a few days later and hired us to do a two-story structure that stayed within the boathouse’s original footprint.”
One of the men fastening a new red metal roof on the cabin addition called over to Ostrum, who excused himself and walked over to confer with him briefly before returning to the picnic table.
“They gave us the wrong screws for the roof. It’s been that kind of a week. Where was I?”
“Boathouse footprint,” Anne offered.
“Oh yeah. Things went smoothly at first. Eastman seemed to be always hanging around, checking our work. He was mostly satisfied, I would say. But after the old structure was cleared away and the foundation was in and we started framing, he started doing a constant stream of change orders – adding considerable time and expense to what should have been a straightforward project.”
“Let me guess,” Doug offered. “Then he refused to pay for all the overruns.”
“That’s exactly what he did,” Ostrum replied. “When it came time for the final payment, which was a big one – almost forty thousand dollars, he stiffed me – refused to pay any of it. I guess that qualifies as a pretty good motive for murder, so I was expecting a visit from you guys. But I wouldn’t kill a man for being an asshole – otherwise I’d end up being a serious serial killer, given the number of assholes around these days.”
