by B. T. Lord
Since making his startling announcement at Waban Pond, Bill had calmed down. He was now seated behind his humongous, oak desk that he’d had custom made years ago to make himself more intimidating to the average citizen.
Cammie didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was anything but intimidating. He’d been mayor for so long, he was more like that comfortable old shoe that you just hate to throw out because occasionally it serves its purpose. Bill was pretty much the same way. In a town that was remote and surrounded on all sides by dense wilderness, Bill liked to think of himself as mayor of a huge city like Chicago or New York. He acted it too, making sure he had the best of everything, from the furniture in his office, to the expensive suits he wore, to having one of the most beautiful homes in the county. People forgave his narcissism because when he was truly needed to do something in his job as mayor, Bill did it. They also knew that behind his sometimes condescending arrogance, he always had the best interests of Twin Ponds at heart. He was dependable, even if he never let you forget it.
Cammie had known him ever since she could remember. He’d always been a huge proponent of their town hockey team, the Night Hawks, going so far as to occasionally give them pep talks just before important games – talks the players usually ignored. Not because they didn’t want to win, but because Bill had a habit of equating every game with an historical battle. After being compared one too many times to the ill-fated three hundred Spartans led by King Leonidas who perished trying to keep the Persians from invading Athens, the team, not sure whether he wanted them to be the Spartans or the Persians, learned to politely tune him out.
She likened her relationship with Bill to the ocean tides; it ebbed and flowed. Sometimes they got along tremendously well, like a gentle ocean wave. Other times, like the roar of the sea during a hurricane, it took all she had not to strangle him. Yet despite their ups and down, one thing never changed. She would always be grateful for his suggestion and support that she run for County Sheriff when she returned to Twin Ponds almost two years before.
Cammie had walked away from Twin Ponds nearly sixteen years ago, vowing never to return. When her father died, leaving his small two room cabin on the shores of Mkazawi Pond to her, she’d come back with the intention of selling it and returning to her job as a private investigator in Boston. To her surprise, she unexpectedly found a peace and serenity there that she didn’t know she’d been seeking until she stood before the small pond and felt it wrap itself around her soul, welcoming her back through the quiet whisper of the trees and the gentle lapping of the water against the shoreline in front of the cabin.
She knew at that moment she wanted – needed to stay. But how was she going to support herself on the tiny inheritance her father had left her? It was then, much like a seagull diving at a fish, that Bill swooped in. For years, he’d wanted to open up Twin Ponds to the outside world. Surrounded by the beauty of Maine’s woods, he craved to bring in more outdoor enthusiasts to take advantage of its fishing, hunting, hiking, camping and photo opportunities. Cammie’s return to Twin Ponds fit in perfectly with his grand plan.
Unlike the majority of the county’s past sheriffs, Cammie actually had law enforcement experience. He was impressed that she’d won Two Medals of Honor in her time as a police officer in Seattle. What better enticement to the outside world than to boast such a fine officer of the law living and working in their own town?
With her wanting to stay and Bill hoping she’d stay, he convinced her to run for sheriff. She easily won with an overwhelming majority. His confidence in her was bolstered when, within months of each other, she solved two highly visible murder cases that had the potential of tearing the town apart.
Now, here she was, sitting in Bill’s office, trying to get to the bottom of his strange statement, made stranger by the minute by his sudden backpedaling.
“You misunderstood me,” he said smoothly. “I didn’t say I knew who the skeleton belonged to. I said I might know.”
“Then who do you think it might be?”
He spread his sausage like fingers on his green felted blotter. “As you know, this town was founded by loggers in the middle of the 19th century. It could very well belong to one of them. We actually found the remains of one such unfortunate lumberjack a few years back up near Crow Mountain. I just hope to God these bones don’t belong to a Native American. That will wreck everything.”
It was the law that whenever bones were found, the state archeologist had to be called in to ascertain whether they were native or not. In this case, a forensics archeologist had also been called in to make sure any potential crime scene wasn’t contaminated.
Many construction projects had been scuttled because they’d dug into ancient burial sites.
Cammie secretly hoped this was one of them. She’d played in that field as a youngster and hated the thought of it disappearing under concrete.
She’d tried her best over the years not to butt heads with Bill over his large expansion plans for the town. But she was torn. Part of her knew how much their small economy would be helped by the influx of business and tourism. Yet the other part hated the idea of more trees felled to make room for more hotels and more traffic and the potential for more crime.
In the name of progress, was Bill threatening that intangible that made Twin Ponds special?
Listening to him now, she tried not to get upset. But some of her anger still seeped into her words.
“I’m sure the person whose ancestor was unceremoniously dug up won’t be too happy either.”
He either ignored or didn’t hear the sarcasm of her statement. “Well, there’s nothing I can do until the state archeologist shows up to take a look at the bones.”
“He’ll be here tomorrow,” she told him. “Is that why you were late to Eli’s memorial?”
Bill nodded. “I was on my way out the door when the construction foreman called. We had to halt everything.”
Cammie stood up. “I’ll call you as soon as the archeologist shows up.”
“Please do. I’d like to be there when he visits the site.”
As Cammie left his office, she smiled at his secretary, who had her desk right outside his door.
Margo Peabody had worked for Bill since Cammie was in diapers. Although they thought they were being discreet, everyone knew they’d been sleeping together for years. Both were widowed; there was no need to hide. But the town assumed they just liked adding a clandestine flavor to their relationship.
Tall and thin, with dyed dark brown hair and heavy make-up, Margo was the consummate professional. No one got to Bill unless they went through her first. Even before they became lovers, she’d always been overprotective of him. It had only been reinforced over the years. Why they didn’t just get married was anybody’s guess. She’d certainly earned the right to become Mrs. Barnes by putting up with his tantrums and manipulations over the years. In the meantime, she was loyal and close mouthed, and Cammie wondered just how many secrets Margo kept close to her chest.
“I certainly hope that skeleton belong to a logger. Mayor Barnes has put too much time and effort into this project to have it destroyed by a set of bones being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Cammie mentally counted to ten. Although she knew Margo meant well, her fierce loyalty and love for Bill blinded her to the fact that the Native Abenaki tribes had been here long before Twin Ponds was ever founded. It was Bill and his construction crew who were in the wrong place and the wrong time, not the other way around.
“Bill’s plans don’t have to be totally destroyed. In a worst case scenario, he’ll just have to move his hotel to another spot. It isn’t as though we’re hurting for space around here.”
Her red lipsticked mouth settled into a thin line, showing how little she thought of Cammie’s statement. “Have yourself a good day, sheriff,” she replied in a brittle voice before turning her back to Cammie.
“You too, Margo.”
Walking down the corridor, sh
e felt a familiar tug in the pit of her stomach. Her instincts had saved her on more occasions than she could count, and she’d learned to rely heavily on them. This was one of those instances.
Exiting out into the blinding sun, she whipped on her sunglasses and climbed into the Explorer. She drove away, all the while thinking, knowing that for reasons yet unknown, Bill had completely and effortlessly lied to her.
