Nola Townsend met her near the paddock.
“They’ve been having a great day,” she said. She led the way to three painters who’d stepped away from their work to take a break. Felicity guessed they were getting tired and probably cold. They’d been standing and painting since she’d left in the morning.
“I thought it might rain a bit this morning. It looked a little gray, but I guess it moved north of us.” Felicity looked up at the blue sky.
“We were fine. The only interruption was some workers,” Nola said.
“Workers?”
Nola nodded. “A couple of men said the artists couldn’t paint where they were, so they had to move.”
Felicity frowned. “How far out did they go?”
Nola called to another woman. Cindy, as she introduced herself, walked over with her drying canvas and propped it on the ground near the fence. She’d focused on leaves and a particular tree, which Felicity recognized.
“You said someone told you to leave?” Felicity asked. Cindy nodded and explained that she had walked farther north, probably onto someone else’s property. “Did you see any Posted signs?”
Cindy shook her head. “I tried to stay out of range.”
“Out of range? Of what?”
“The men with the machinery.” Cindy looked from Felicity to Nola. “Were we not supposed to go up there?”
“I’m not sure where you went,” Felicity said.
“Where the tape is?”
“Tape?”
Cindy pulled out two short pieces of plastic tape. “I liked the colors so I pulled off a couple of snippets, to make sure I could match them. I have them in one of my pastels and I wanted to get it right.”
Felicity took the two pieces of tape, one orange and the other red. “You got these near where you did that painting?” Cindy nodded and Felicity felt a sense of dread flood through her. She thanked her and headed into the forest.
With Shadow bounding along beside her, Felicity took a path leading to the northeast section of her farm. She reached an old fire road that ran along the edge of the property, sometimes veering onto a neighbor’s land and sometimes into hers. The stone walls dipped and curved, in some sections falling apart after ice heaves had done their work. She hurried along the dirt road that even in her lifetime could turn into a barely discernible track if it continued to be neglected. Through the trees she could see Lance Gauthier’s equipment, but no men. Whoever had been working here had left. She followed the path of his intended cutting, but found no one.
Lance had never answered any of her emails or messages after she’d canceled the last cutting plan. She guessed he wanted to have a new plan to show her that absolved him of whatever she might accuse him of, something that would allow him to claim he’d been misguided, not dishonest. But she knew that was a pipe dream. Now that she’d connected him to Frank Gentile, the evidence of stumps and logs in front of her embodied a real threat.
There was nothing on the ground that shouldn’t have been there. And even though she’d rejected the plan, she couldn’t deny that this area would have been part of any new plan anyway. He knew that and had gambled by beginning to timber, regardless of her instructions. But it was the rest of the plan that upset her, and his apparent connection with Gentile and a new sawmill. He knew he had to use someone other than Dingel Mantell because Dingel would have recognized the significance of the timber and come straight to her.
Felicity walked on, following the path suggested by the cutting so far, and it led her directly to the central piece, that plot of land that had been so important to Zeke and her dad. She walked into the center of the plot, past the outcropping where the bobcat was thought to be denned, southeast of the spot where Sasha Glover’s body had been found. Into the center of what looked like any ordinary stand of trees.
This was where Lance was headed.
And this was where Zeke had fulfilled his lifelong mission and Walter O’Brien had found a legacy to give his daughter—old trees now aging into old growth, one hundred and fifty to two hundred years old now, but perhaps only one hundred years old when Zeke first noticed them. The hemlock and beech wouldn’t have impressed him, but he was smart enough to notice what wasn’t present—evidence of timbering. And he must have studied and thought and revisited over the years until he was certain. And Lance meant to timber them with his elusive partner.
Felicity stepped through the woods, reaching out a hand to touch and hold the trunks. Above her a low canopy, and above that another, all from tall straight trunks, most small and singular, no suckers, but some robust with branches spreading out over all. She walked and turned, her eyes on the sky glimpsed beyond the bare trees, their branches shimmering pink as they grew ready to leaf out. She’d loved the beauty of this area, but never before had she understood exactly what was here. No wonder her dad and Zeke had been so determined, and so devious, when they worked on a way to save this part of the forest. And no wonder Lance and Frank Gentile were determined to get in here.
West Woodbury could soon have its own old growth forest, but it could be gone forever in a matter of days.
All those problems with drawing up a cutting plan were stalls and obfuscations. Gentile had made Lance Gauthier an offer, and Lance had accepted. Lance only wanted a way to cut straight into the old-growth area and harvest as many of those beautiful straight hardwoods—real hardwoods—as he could without anyone stopping him. The market for real hardwood, not new growth or rapidly grown hardwoods, but real hardwood over one or two hundred years old was booming—overseas. Lance knew exactly what he was doing.
Felicity pulled out her cell phone and punched in Lance’s number. Nothing. Wherever Lance was, he wasn’t answering his cell. She sent another message, telling him to cease cutting. She cast around for one more way to block him. He might be in money trouble, suckered in by a con artist, but he was basically honest. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t cross a line. She went home to make a sign to stop his cutting. And then she called Chief Algren. Nothing wrong with giving the police a heads-up, she told Shadow.
Thirty
On Sunday morning Felicity draped cling wrap over a bowl and then stepped back to admire the color. She’d tried something new this time—orzo salad—partly because she’d discovered she had all the necessary ingredients in her cupboards. She had orzo pasta, sun-dried tomatoes, scallions, black olives, and feta cheese. Making a Greek vinaigrette was easy, and she was relieved not to have to take something Jeremy had already seen a dozen times. It was sometimes embarrassing to partner with a man who was a better cook than she was. She carried the bowl to the kitchen table and ran upstairs to get ready.
A half hour later, in her best casual slacks of navy blue Tencel and a white and blue sweater, she pulled on her jacket. Jeremy would be there any minute to pick her up for the afternoon. She had reluctantly agreed not to drive her pickup again until she and Bruce had time to check it over thoroughly. She’d gotten the truck into the barn the night before and closed and locked the doors, making the farm appear abandoned. She looked out the window, but saw no sign yet of her ride.
“Just enough time to give Minnie and the gals a treat,” Felicity said to Shadow. Really, she thought, not only am I talking to the dog, I’m starting to treat the sheep like pets. Still, she reached for the treats she’d bought for the sheep and slipped a few into her pocket. They looked like dog kibble to her, but the package assured her they were full of the good things sheep love, including carrots and maple syrup. And, of course, she gave Shadow a treat for himself. He followed her to the paddock hoping for more and watched longingly while she offered Minnie and the other two sheep their new favorite morsels.
And then she heard it. Someone was starting up a chain saw. It could easily be someone farther down the road. After all, it was a nice afternoon—dry, no wind, mild temperatures. But she knew this land, and she knew that sound wasn’t comin
g from down the road. That was coming from somewhere in her woods. And that meant Lance—or someone else—was ignoring her sign. She shoved the gate shut and began to trot toward the path into the woods. And then she remembered Clarissa and Sasha and Kyle. She ran back to the house for her shotgun.
She hurried through the underbrush. Shadow nipped past her, an eager companion once again. He leapt up the hill, sliding through rotting leaves and squirreling into small caves chasing only he knew what. Felicity tried to keep up, but her eye was on the hill, and then the next one, and then the stone wall. She should have changed her shoes, but all she could think of was that chain saw cutting into a two-hundred-year-old yellow birch. When she reached the old fire road, she brushed herself off and ran to the site where she’d seen evidence of Lance’s work the day before. Shadow bounded along nearby.
The chain saw sputtered and died.
She stopped, balanced on a rock outcropping while she listened. Birds had disappeared into their branches. But it wasn’t silence filling the space. The longer she stood there, the more certain she was of hearing voices. She climbed down from the boulder, sliding on the loose dirt, and moved laterally. She’d been heading straight into the center of her dad’s special plot, but now she moved to the side, trying to approach from an angle that would allow her some concealment.
Shadow sensed her caution and followed closely at her heels, watching her, each paw placed on the ground only after she moved forward. After a while she could see through the trees into the center of the plot. Two men were talking. Or arguing. She wished she’d brought a rifle instead of a shotgun.
“Lance?” Felicity pushed through the underbrush into the clearing.
“He’s cutting old trees,” the other man said.
“Mr. Gentile? Frank?” He looked embarrassed when Felicity identified him. But why were Frank Gentile and Lance arguing? She thought they were working together. But now they were shouting at each other. Was this a matter of thieves falling out?
“I was out walking and I heard his chain saw, so of course I came in to see who was cutting on a Sunday.” Gentile waved a hand at Lance. “He’s in here timbering. In here! It’s outrageous.”
“I was just checking the equipment, Felicity. I saw your sign—I did—I was just going to take my stuff. This man barged down the hill yelling at me. He’s a crackpot. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Lance balled his fists and lifted his chin a few times at Frank as he spoke, and he bounced on his toes. They were like two dogs trying to intimidate each other. Felicity was afraid they’d come to blows.
“I thought you two knew each other,” she said, looking from one to the other.
“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” Lance said.
“Felicity, if I may, you need to give your attention to this man.” Frank seemed determined to remain calm and sound official as he pointed his thumb at Lance. “He was getting ready to cut down all the trees in this area. He dropped this.” Frank tossed a small handheld device to her. She caught it with her left hand and held the device against her chest.
“This is a clinometer, Lance. Are you out here measuring trees with this after I canceled?”
“It doesn’t mean anything, Felicity. I always carry one.”
“But why were you using it here? I told you to cease.”
“I was just doing a walk-through, Felicity. So you’d have good information.”
“He was timber cruising.” Frank shifted on the uneven ground, a man ready to lash out.
“Are you sure you don’t know each other?” Felicity waited.
“I don’t know this man,” Frank said. “Why would I know him?”
Felicity glanced at each one. She’d landed in something different from what she’d expected, but perhaps it was starting to make sense. Just because two criminals showed up in the same place didn’t mean they were on the same job. “Lance, were you assessing the value of the trees here? You were hoping to timber in here, weren’t you? And after I told you to stop?”
“Come on, Felicity. You know me. We’ve worked together for years.” Lance breathed heavily, backing up with every word.
“You know all about this stand, don’t you?” Felicity said.
“What’re you talking about?” Frank said, but the other two ignored him.
When Lance turned to Felicity, his brown eyes softening and his stocky frame once again that of the boy she’d known in school, she felt her heart sink. How had he changed in front of her eyes without her even understanding? The sign and orders to cease meant nothing to him. He’d crossed a line a long time ago.
“I came through here a few years ago.” Lance looked up, turning as he scanned the canopy above. “Think of what this means. This is real hardwood, Felicity. Not in name but in reality. These trees have been here almost two hundred years. There are no suckers, no new growth. It’s all old. Think what you could make with this.”
Felicity could barely tolerate listening to him, but she knew she had to speak now, while she could. There were two of them and only one of her. They weren’t the team she’d imagined, but she was standing between them, alone. One of them had to go.
“How can you talk like that after Clarissa and Sasha?” she said to Lance.
He looked at her, his face a blank. But he blinked and recovered himself. “Listen to me, Felicity. The land produces something wonderful. We’re meant to use it. We’re part of nature too.” He said the last to her alone, and his brown eyes hardened. “You don’t appreciate it. You want to just leave it here to rot. Look at that.” He waved at a dead tree that had fallen against a living one. “And that.” Again, he waved at a rotting tree trunk.
She looked across to the other side of the clearing, at the fallen tree covered in moss, rotting from the inside out. It had once been, perhaps a few years ago, a stately oak. And now it was insect food. The ground was torn up at its root ball, as though it being wrenched from the earth wasn’t enough.
“You wouldn’t have missed any of it,” he said. “You weren’t supposed to be here today.”
“But I am here. Lance, is this what Clarissa and Sasha died for?”
“What? What are you talking about? I had nothing to do with those two dying,” Lance said. “They didn’t know about the old growth, and they probably wouldn’t have cared if they did.”
“But they did know, Lance.” Felicity took a step back, slid on the leaves, and recovered her balance. “And you killed them to make sure they told no one, especially me.” She wasn’t surprised at the look on his face, a mass of confusion and mounting hysteria.
“No, no. I never did anything to them.”
“It was you, Lance. And I’m going to go back to my farm and call Chief Algren and Jeremy. I’m going to get them up here to arrest you.” She lifted her shotgun. “You won’t get away, Lance.”
“No, no, I didn’t, Felicity. I never … ” He stared up at the trees, at Felicity, at the shotgun. He had so much trouble breathing he began to choke and cough. With one last look at her, he turned and bolted up the slope, sliding on the damp leaves, a rotting branch skidding out beneath his feet. She watched him as he scrambled with his bare hands up the hill, slipping and crabbing upwards till he was out of sight.
Felicity looked up at the canopy, at the tall straight hemlock, at the early spring light filtering through. By the outcropping where she’d slid down, the ground had been churned up. At the far end of the clearing, leaves had been swept aside. Unconsciously she reached into her pocket for her cell phone, but it wasn’t there.
“Damn. I don’t have my cell.” She stepped farther down the slope.
“You should go after him.” Frank began to move to her left, a small step and then another. “You don’t want him to get away.”
“He won’t get far. He can’t do any cutting in here now, and he can’t run away.” She shifted the shotgun. Kevin
was right, she thought. I don’t think things through far enough.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Frank sounded as if the previous conversation had never happened as he pointed deeper into the woods, to the edge of the old-growth area. “Over there, those are black birch, and farther out are a number of old sugar maples. You’ve got yellow birch and sweet birch, and none of these are young. Lance had a good eye. Look over here.” He led her away from the center of the plot, pointing out trees with signs of extreme age, two hundred years, he thought. “The rocky terrain has protected them.”
Felicity agreed. “No one could farm in here. They couldn’t even pasture here.”
“The old-growth part is probably not more than twenty acres, but it’s special territory.”
He led her in a southerly direction, away from the area where Lance had begun timbering. She looked back up the slope where Lance had gone. She couldn’t hear him crashing through the trees anymore.
“Shouldn’t you go after him?” Frank Gentile relaxed, his hands open at his side. He ran his right hand through his hair and smiled. “I mean, you’re lucky you caught him, but really, you don’t want him to get away.”
“He won’t get away. If I hadn’t been feeding the sheep treats while waiting for my ride, I might never have known what was happening until it was too late.” She forced herself to smile. “It was lucky you heard him too.”
“I happened to be out for a walk and just came down here out of curiosity.” He shrugged, lifting his hands as if it was nothing at all.
“Still, I’m so grateful to have saved my trees.”
“Not at all. A deed well done today. And you still have time to enjoy your friends.”
Below the Tree Line Page 25
