by B. D. Smith
“Now you know what Nigel and my late husband were planning.”
23.
By the next morning Doug and Anne had finally absorbed the reality of the planned Borestone Club and how it would forever alter the lake and its community. But they still had trouble accepting that they had somehow failed to see what was right in front of them. It appeared that they had been lied to by more than a few people.
“Did you see who joined the widow Eastman after we talked to her at the marina?” Doug asked, “Her sister Mary, and Bob Lutz, and Ximena – all causally sitting at the picnic table and chatting like Club Borestone was no big surprise. They must have been in on it from the get-go, and all the time keeping it quiet.”
“It sure looks like it,” Anne replied. “And how did we miss it? All the pieces of the plan were there. I don’t know who came up with the idea of a resort development, but we knew John Eastman had a long career developing high end real estate. Nigel likely came up with the idea of the patio boat race as a way of advertising for the new ultra-rich private club. Don Robertson handled the money laundering- no doubt he was the conduit for oligarch investments. Bob Lutz was the inside man who handled the Kiwanis Club and organizing the race, and Ximena could have been instrumental in bringing the property acquisition possibility to their attention. She’s been doing real estate up here for years. And I think meek Elizabeth and her sister Mary enjoyed being along for the ride, or maybe they were just afraid to say anything.”
“And Eastman and the rest likely got inspiration for their Club Borestone scheme from the attempt by Plum Creek to build a huge vacation resort on Lily Bay up at Moosehead Lake,” Doug continued. “Those plans died due to the recession of 2008, but this time it looks like it’s going to happen. I looked up those two places Nigel mentioned. Both are private enclaves for the ultra-rich – condos at that Club Yellowstone in Montana cost maybe nine million dollars, and the homes start at twenty million or so. Nigel was certainly right that Sebec will be transformed forever, but not in a good way.”
The mood was somber at Merrill’s Marina when they arrived for the Saturday match races. Many of the race entrants who had failed to make the cut had departed the day before, no doubt because of the dramatic shift in mood after Nigel’s announcement about the Borestone Club. What had been a jolly, boisterous crowd, busy eating the brats and burgers sold at the Kiwanis Club food booths and enjoying the beautiful summer day, had abruptly turned quiet and taciturn, and increasingly less friendly to race entrants that weren’t locals – those ‘from away.’ People were angry. Their dog Jack, however, was having a wonderful time going from food booth to food booth, hustling for handouts.
The morning’s first race was the battle of the sexes match between Alice Delany and Dave Oliver. It turned out to be the most exciting contest of the day. The course started near the marina, and Alice and Dave were neck in neck as they roared through the narrows and then slalomed through a winding course of buoys west almost to Tim’s Cove. The wind had come up out of the northwest just before they started, and the two patio boats were plowing into two-foot-high waves with whitecaps. Dave’s airfoil seemed to give him an edge in the rough water. He was a good four or five boat lengths ahead when they finally reached the final buoy in the slalom portion of the course and turned south toward South Cove. He continued to maintain his lead around a final buoy near the beach at Peaks-Kenny State Park, but Alice slowly ate into his lead during the return leg of the race. She had almost caught up with him by the time they reached the narrows again, where all of Dave’s dreams of victory suddenly vanished. He had deployed his port outrigger when he rounded the buoy at Peeks-Kenny, and he couldn’t get it fully retracted after the turn. As Dave and Alice raced back toward the narrows his port outrigger remained stubbornly only a foot or so above the waves. It didn’t look like the stuck outrigger was going to cause any problems, only occasionally slapping the tops of waves, until the boats reached the midpoint of the narrows. The water here was quite choppy, and the damaged outrigger that Dave had been watching nervously suddenly drilled into a wave, pitching his patio boat into a chaotic cartwheel before it landed upside down in the shallows. Alice motored slowly up to Dave’s boat and hauled him out of the water. He was unhurt, except for his pride, and no doubt he was already thinking about next year.
The other races were not as close, or as exciting, and went off uneventfully until the last match race of the day, which pitted Nigel Underwood against another entry from Indiana – another triple hull Manitou designed for high speed and costing north of a hundred grand. Nigel’s professional driver surged off the starting line and had opened up a two-boat lead before they even reached the narrows. By the time the two boats had traversed most of the course and reappeared back through the narrows his lead had grown to more than six boat lengths. Nigel appeared to be cruising to an easy victory. He began waving to the crowd in triumph. His driver put the hammer down, wanting to wow the crowd with the boat’s acceleration, and Doug heard gasps of awe from people close to him. Doug also heard someone near him quietly chanting a strange mantra in a sing-song manner – “Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it.”
Seemingly in response to the mantra, Nigel’s boat suddenly lost power and slowly drifted to a stop. The other Manitou quickly caught up and passed Nigel and roared across the finish line, only fifty yards or so from where Nigel’s boat sat dead in the water. Doug looked around for the source of the magical mantra he had heard and noticed Bob Lutz and Mary Payne standing behind him, smiling at each other and sharing a high-five. Doug thought he saw Bob slip what looked to be a garage door opener into his pocket. Bob saw Doug looking at him and pulled the remote out of his pocket again. Holding it up so Doug could get a good look at it, Bob explained.
“You can turn lots of things on, or off, with one of these, Doug. I got this one off of Amazon. Adding the cutoff control device to Nigel’s boat was a bit of a challenge, but the Water Rats got it done.”
The assembled crowd jeered as two Water Rats in their small outboards towed Nigel’s disabled patio boat to the boat ramp. They apparently had been standing by in anticipation of Nigel’s engine problem. Grabbing his crutches and clearly enraged, Nigel was helped off the boat. He started swinging his green leg cast and hobbling toward the roller rink and the microphone that waited for him. He had almost reached the steps to the roller rink when one of his bodyguards stopped him and whispered in his ear. All the color drained from Nigel’s face, and he sagged on his crutches. His bodyguard put his arm around Nigel, supporting him and leading him quickly away from the roller rink and toward the parking lot. Nigel and his bodyguard got into a black SUV, which quickly left the lot and headed east back toward town.
Watching the SUV depart, Anne wondered if Nigel would end up like the weather balloon that had floated above Pine Island – cut loose and drifting off east, never to be seen again. Nigel did in fact resurface, however, late that year. His body was found floating in a sewage lagoon in New Jersey. The corpse was badly decomposed but still showed signs of torture, including missing digits and teeth. Someone apparently was not swayed by any explanation Nigel had offered for how the plans for Club Borestone collapsed that beautiful Saturday afternoon in central Maine.
Puzzled by Nigel’s abrupt departure, Doug turned to ask what Anne thought was going on. As he did so he was further surprised to catch sight of Mary Payne standing over by the roller rink talking to Bob Lutz and Ximena. There was no sign of Liz Eastman. She must have had to head back down to Augusta to sort out estate stuff, he thought. Mary was wearing a one-piece purple bathing suit and had her back to him. A tattoo of a pale green Luna moth covered most of her upper back, it’s twin antenna extending up the nape of her neck. Stunned, he leaned over and whispered in Anne’s ear as he pointed to Mary.
“Mother Moth is revealed.”
This third surprise of the
morning, following Nigel’s defeat and abrupt departure and Mary’s moth tattoo, came a few minutes later during the award ceremony. Bob Lutz was congratulating Alice Delany and handing her the twenty-two feet and under winner’s trophy when Rebecca Hull came tearing out of the roller rink where she had been orchestrating the drone coverage of the races. She yelled excitedly to the crowd.
“Ya gotta see this. Ya gotta see this.”
Waving her arms and dancing a little dance, she disappeared back into the roller rink.
Lutz stepped aside as people pushed past him and followed Rebecca back into the patio boat race command center. Becca and her interns were sitting on the floor, glued to the large flat screen monitor used for drone videos, which was now showing the feed from one of the local TV stations out of Bangor. As Anne came up behind her, Betsy looked back at her.
“We were watching the Red Sox game, Anne, but the broadcast was interrupted for this.
It wasn’t immediately clear what was being shown on the screen. Doug recognized the Maine State Capitol building in the background and a lectern carrying the state seal was centered in the foreground. As if on cue, the governor of the state of Maine stepped up to the podium, arranged a few papers in front of her, and began to address the assembled crowd and the TV audience. She was clearly in a good mood.
“Good afternoon. First let me apologize for the lack of advance warning about today’s event. This all came together just over the last few days and I didn’t want to delay the remarkable good news even another day. Particularly given the recent unfounded rumors that have been swirling around.”
Pausing briefly, gathering her thoughts, she continued.
“Today I am pleased to announce a landmark three-way agreement between the Weyerhaeuser company, the Eastman Foundation, and the state of Maine. A few days ago, Weyerhaeuser transferred over twenty thousand acres along the north shore of Sebec Lake to the Eastman Foundation.”
Pausing to allow the news to sink in, the governor continued.
“The Eastman Foundation yesterday in turn donated the entire parcel of land they acquired from Weyerhaeuser to the state of Maine, to be added to our public reserved lands as a nature preserve. This donation of land by the Eastman foundation continues a very hopeful trend in central Maine, exemplified by Roxanne Quimby of Burt’s Bees fame, of setting aside privately-owned lands for the public good.”
Pausing again, the governor turned to look at several people standing behind her before continuing. The small group crowded around the screen in the roller rink took the opportunity to exchange excited glances and high fives.
“At this time, I would like to introduce Elizabeth Eastman, President of the Eastman Foundation, who has asked to say a few words.”
Elizabeth moved to the lectern and joined the governor, her loon cane thumping with each step. She looked nervous as she started to speak.
“I just wanted to thank the governor and her team for all of their efforts to make sure that our negotiations with Weyerhaeuser reached a successful conclusion. And I also wanted to say a few words about my late husband John Eastman, who was the inspiration and the driving force behind this initiative. I wish John was alive today to share this moment with us. John was a lovely man and he cared very much for Maine’s environment and its beautiful inland lakes. In particular, John fell in love with Sebec Lake and its people, and I am very pleased that the newly established nature preserve will carry his name. Without John, none of this would have happened. I know he would be thrilled with what we are celebrating today.”
Liz turned the microphone back over to the governor, and the broadcast concluded a few minutes later.
Mary Payne had moved up beside Doug as Elizabeth was speaking on the TV and now spoke to him in a low voice.
“Now that’s one of Liz’s better whoppers. And she has had some good ones. John couldn’t wait to rip up that forest, build huge homes for the ultra-rich, and make lots of money for himself. Liz has done just the opposite of what he was working toward. If John was here today, he would no doubt have a stroke. Liz tried for months to get him to drop the Club Borestone development scheme that Nigel and Don Robertson pitched to him. But he wouldn’t budge. John got what he deserved.”
Doug’s reply was succinct as he stared at Mary.
“Looks like lots of people around here have been telling whoppers, Mary.”
Bob Lutz managed to hand out the rest of the race awards against a rising background noise of celebration over the dramatic turn of events. A keg of beer mysteriously appeared adjacent to one of the Kiwanis food booths, and for the rest of the afternoon no one made any effort to enforce, or even acknowledge, the state law against drinking in public. Only a few people got fall down drunk. Dan Grant, the biology teacher at Foxcroft Academy who ran the summer program for high school students monitoring Sebec Lake for invasive aquatic plants, was one of them. Late in the afternoon he staggered over to where Doug and Anne were sitting at a picnic table learning more from Mary Payne, Bob Lutz, and Ximena Lapointe about the plan to scuttle the Club Borestone scheme.
“I must be dreamin,” Dan Grant managed to blurt out, sloshing beer from his plastic cup on their table. Realizing who was sitting at the table, Grant made a supreme effort to appear sober, and did a pretty good job as he continued.
“We just got a huge chunk of money from that Eastman Foundation to expand our study of Sebec Lake. We’ll be establishing new labs, new ecology courses, and new grant programs to attract university researchers to come to Sebec Lake, bring their students, and involve our youth in their work.”
Another well lubricated teacher from Foxcroft Academy materialized next to Dan and started pulling him away. Grinning now, sloppy drunk, Dan yelled back at the table as he disappeared into the crowd.
“We’re gonna call it the Luna Labs.”
Doug was relieved when Dan staggered off. He and Anne had been trying to pry information out of Ximena, Bob, and Mary for several hours and were just starting to get to the good stuff. After the third beer Bob started loosening up, and Mary and Ximena soon were adding their own comments, amid much laughter and high spirits. Doug and Anne had been nursing their own beers and quietly topping off their companion’s glasses, and as the afternoon wore on, and the beer kept flowing, they managed to get most of the story.
Nigel had been up spending a weekend with the Eastmans a few summers ago, Bob explained, and one afternoon he and John had taken out one of John’s vintage boats for a ride around the lake. Nigel’s eyes lit up when he and John cruised past the undeveloped north shore just east of Buck’s Cove, and he floated the idea of a mega resort. John Eastman, bored without a project, immediately signed on, and Nigel suggested they approach Don Robertson. Nigel had used Don in previous schemes and knew that he had connections that could provide overseas investment cash for real estate acquisition. The overseas investment, of course, was dark money in need of laundering through real estate ventures like theirs, which didn’t bother the three plotters.
Ximena picked up the story from there. The three plotters – Eastman, Robertson, and Underwood, were careful to keep their plans quiet, but Nigel in his enthusiasm would get careless during the long and alcohol-fueled dinners that John Eastman hosted that summer. Both Elizabeth Eastman and Ximena soon suspected what they were up to. Both women were appalled, and after exchanging shocked glances across the dinner table on several occasions, they shared their concerns with each other. Ximena and Elizabeth then hatched a plan of their own, hoping they could talk some sense into their partners. Ximena thought she had been making some progress with Don when Louise Binford complicated things by inadvertently killing him in her effort to do away with Ximena.
“Unfortunately,” Ximena continued, “John Eastman was able to access the dark funds from the
overseas accounts Don had set up, and he successfully transferred them to his own accounts. Club Borestone was back on track once Eastman had the needed funds in his own accounts. But with his death, his estate, and his accounts, passed to his window, Elizabeth.”
Mary took up the story then. She knew someone who could put Liz and the foundation in touch with the right people at Weyerhaeuser, and when they immediately warmed to the three-way deal, state officials quickly signed on. It was a three -way win, all parties agreed.
When Mary finished the story Anne and Doug asked a few questions to resolve some minor loose ends, and then Doug looked around the table and raised the final loose end, which was a big one.
“So, the only unanswered question then, is who killed John Eastman?”
No one spoke until Ximena broke the silence.
“One of the Water Rats told me she thought he was killed by a loon. That’s pretty silly.”
“Maybe not,” Anne said, looking around the table.
She was about to say more, but Doug placed his hand on top of Anne’s on the table and interrupted.
“Probably not such a good idea to talk about a still open homicide investigation in public. I should not have brought it up.”
Smiling broadly now, Doug started to get up from the table and Anne followed, quickly coming up with an excuse for their sudden departure.
“You’re right Doug. And we need to get home and feed our dog.”
24.
Anne had realized her mistake as soon as Doug interrupted her. They still didn’t know who was involved in John Eastman’s killing, and it could have included one or more of the people who were sitting with her at the picnic table. She started to apologize as soon as they had rounded up their dog and climbed into her truck, but Doug interrupted her again.