by Susan Conant
Occasionally, when voices rose in anger, the sounds of bickering and grumbling drifted down to me. “The proof is in the pudding! I have done very, very well!” Gabrielle exclaimed. Closer to me, Opal said, “We did get complete reports, you know, Wally. Tiffany is diligent about sending complete reports.” Later, from far ahead, I heard a man’s voice, perhaps Quint’s, saying, “… satisfied enough to reinvest…”
After what felt like hours, the group ahead finally veered left, and before terribly long, I heard my father announce something about having found the trail. I hoped that once having reached smooth ground, Buck or Fairley or someone else would declare a rest stop that would give me the chance to catch up. Evidently, no one did. When Rowdy, Kimi, and I finally stepped onto a blessedly smooth, open trail, Wally and Opal were visible far ahead of us. Since I now knew more or less where we were, I made no effort to hurry. My mental map of the area clearly displayed this trail as a line running horizontally across the east face of Dorr, parallel to the trail that skirted the bottom of the little mountain, thus also parallel to Route 3. Many of Acadia’s old trails, I remembered, had a variety of names used in a bewilderingly interchangeable fashion on maps, in guides, and on signposts. The trail that wound by The Tarn began as the Kane Path, I thought, or The Tarn Trail, but was sometimes marked as the Canon Brook Trail, also known as Canyon Brook, which ran past the beginning of the Ladder Trail. We were now on the Emery Path or Emery Trail, also called the Dorr Mountain Trail or Dorr Mountain East Face Trail, which would take us past the turn for Kurt Diederich’s Climb, then to the split near my Rock of Ages, where the right fork led to the top of Dorr, the left to the upper stretch of the Ladder Trail. The mental map was sharp. So were my memories of visiting the area this morning and of regaining consciousness there on the previous day. Of the events preceding my fall I still remembered nothing.
I spoke to Rowdy and Kimi. “So far. So far, I remember nothing. I can’t remember. I can’t yet remember. Not quite yet.”
The contrast between the nasty climb through the barricade of logs and this unimpeded hike along the trail and up the stone steps was so great that the distance to the crucial fork really felt like almost nothing. When the dogs and I arrived, the group had already gathered near the cedar signpost, which was prominently located right at the fork. The trail widened to become an open space with natural-looking, smooth rock flooring. Slabs of granite surrounded the base of the signpost. Even in fog, the signpost would have been all but impossible to miss. The three wooden arrows nailed to it pointed, respectively, toward the summit of Dorr, the Ladder Trail, and the Sieur de Monts Spring. No one could possibly have misinterpreted the arrows. Dorr was unambiguously to the right; the Ladder Trail, to the left. Before my fall, I must have passed these signs. I’d known where I was going. From my observations this morning, I knew we had started toward the ladders and that I’d hitched Rowdy and Kimi to the trees from which they had subsequently freed themselves. Norman Axelrod, I was convinced, hadn’t fallen down the stone steps. No, from the high cliff above the top of the Ladder Trail, Norman Axelrod had plunged to his death on the stone stairway. Bruised and unconscious, I had ended up only yards from where he had landed.
No one, however, was discussing Axelrod’s death or my own fall. Rather, I had walked into the midst of another outraged argument about the Pine Tree Foundation.
“If this were some scheme to bilk us,” Gabrielle was indignantly pointing out, “we’d have lost money. In fact, over the course of more than two years, we have consistently made money.”
Addressing herself to Buck, Opal said, “The point that’s escaping you is that this is a very personal arrangement. Not just anyone gets to participate. Take Zeke, for example. He didn’t show up today, but when he works on our crew, he works hard, and he’s a nice guy, but he isn’t really one of us.”
“If anything were amiss with the foundation,” Quint said, “we’d be the first to know. If there’d ever been a hint of anything not quite comme il faut, we’d hardly have reinvested.”
“And,” Opal told Buck, “you have to understand that although you are in the dark about the workings of the foundation, we receive regular quarterly reports, which are, you have to understand, to a very large extent, financial reports. The whole thing seems mysterious to you, and too good to be true, because you have no way of knowing what’s going on.”
“If we were in your position,” Effie said gently, “we’d probably feel the same way.”
I assumed that she meant financial position. Although she was trying to be tactful, her condescension irked me. Buck, however, responded with a sort of sinister joviality. “No question about it!” he boomed. “I’m in no position to be fleeced in a Ponzi scheme.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, let’s stop it!” Gabrielle urged. Catching sight of a family of hikers emerging from the trail to the top of Dorr, she paused. Everyone remained silent until the people had moved off. “Among other things,” Gabrielle resumed, “I’m not even sure I know what a Ponzi scheme is.”
Steve Delaney broke his long silence. “There’s an easy way to see the basics of how that kind of thing works.” He bent down and filled both hands with fistfuls of the pine needles that formed a natural mulch at the edge of the granite-paved clearing. In the tone he’d have used to explain a veterinary condition to a pet owner, he said, “Now, we’re going to let this be money. Gabrielle, you have some to begin with.” He placed a small pile of pine needles in front of her. “And you, Effie. And you, Quint.” He doled out two more mock supplies of cash. Then he gathered some small stones, lined them up, and gave each of them a supply of pine needles. “And these people have some ready cash, too.” His hands were now empty. He brushed them off. “To start with, I’ve got nothing.”
“And who are you?” Gabrielle asked. “In this game, I mean.”
“Ponzi,” Steve said. “I’m Mr. Ponzi. And have I got a deal for you! Gabrielle, Quint, Effie, I’m offering you a special investment opportunity. The three of you give me some money, and I’m going to double it for you.”
“Why should we trust you?” Quint asked.
“Because you know me. And I’ve explained what a great deal this is. It’s special. It’s not open to just anyone. All the same, because you’re cautious, you want to test the waters. So, you don’t invest everything. Not to begin with. You try this deal out. You invest a little.”
“Why not?” Gabrielle gestured to her pile of pine needles. “I’ll start.”
Steve took her up on the offer by removing about a fourth of her capital and placing it on the ground in front of him. “Quint and Effie, you can pass up the opportunity for now, but all these other investors”—he pointed to the stones—“are going to take advantage of it.” He removed greater and lesser amounts of play money from the stones, and added it to his own pile. Then he gathered and lined up more stones and supplied them with fresh pine needles from the nearby woods. “Now these people are investing, too.” He took some of the fresh investment material and added it to his own pile, which was now quite large. “Now, Gabrielle, it’s time for you to get the return on your investment.” He paid her from the big pile. “Double your money?” he asked. “Satisfied?”
“Yes,” she said, “except that…”
“Exactly,” Steve said. “Except that I paid you with the money I took from these other people.” He pointed to the new row of stones. “But what do I care? There are more stones where they came from. More investors. Take Effie and Quint. You two were careful before. But now you’ve seen the results. Gabrielle invested. She doubled her money. So, why not you, too?” He removed half of Effie’s pine needles and half of Quint’s. His own pile was now big again. “What about you, Gabrielle? The investment opportunity is still open. What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to ask where all this money is coming from,” she said.
“And Mr. Ponzi is going to tell you,” Steve said. “It’s all invested in this special deal. Eve
rything’s going great. You’ve seen for yourself, haven’t you? You doubled your investment in no time. Why not do it again? Where else can you get that rate of return? And are you going to leave your friends out? Opal is an old friend of yours, isn’t she?”
“Of course,” Gabrielle said.
“So, let’s share a good thing with her. And with Wally, too.” He removed some of their pine needles. “Let’s not forget the other initial investors!” He distributed some of the growing hoard of pine needles in front of the first row of stones. “And you, Gabrielle, are going to reinvest.” He removed most of her stash.
“But there’s no actual investment!” Gabrielle protested. “It’s just other people’s money.”
Steve wore the satisfied smile of a teacher who has gotten the point across. “You said you weren’t sure what a Ponzi scheme was. Now you understand it.”
“But it can’t go on forever,” Gabrielle objected. “Yes, I got paid, but…”
“Initial investors do,” Steve agreed. “If they don’t, it’s not a Ponzi scheme. Or it’s one that never got off the ground.”
Gabrielle was still concentrating on Steve’s demonstration. With the exception of my father and Malcolm Fairley, everyone else, however, was shifting around uncomfortably.
Waving a hand over the display of stones and pine needles, Gabrielle said, “Fine! I understand. It’s all a house of cards. But this has nothing to do with anything…” She hunted for a word. “With anything real. With anything relevant! This kind of thing couldn’t go on for long. You can fool some of the people some of the time, or whatever it is, but eventually, the whole thing would collapse.” Her voice now carried a hint of desperation. Steve nodded.
“So, what happens then?” Gabrielle demanded. “When it collapses?”
Steve bent down, swooped up as much as he could hold of the big pile of pine needles, and made a show of striding off.
Gabrielle was suddenly angry. “Stop that! This is ridiculous!”
Steve let the pine needles fall to the path. As he did, Malcolm Fairley broke into appreciative laughter. “Well done, Steve! You really had Gabbi going there for a while. Excellent! Never let it be said that we can’t take a joke at our own expense. Right, Anita?”
Anita had taken a seat on the big rocks around the base of the cedar signpost. She could have been posing for a photograph intended to illustrate the joys of hiking in Acadia National Park, except that her expression was more placid than joyful. In response to her father’s bid for support, she did nothing but dip her chin.
Looking confused, Gabrielle produced a token, mirthless smile. Wally, however, was furious. “What’s this we?” he demanded. “I don’t hear anyone laughing but you, Malcolm, because the rest of us don’t see the joke.”
“Of course you do, Wally,” Malcolm said amiably. “Steve has picked out a few points of superficial similarity to have a little fun with us. The pine needles were a nice touch, Steve.” Malcolm chuckled. No one else did. Malcolm resumed. “The rest of you aren’t taking this seriously, are you? There’s no real comparison, you know. Ours is, among other things, a charitable undertaking. The Pine Tree Foundation for Conservation Philanthropy. And the Pine Tree Foundation is as solid as…” He paused. “It’s as solid as…” With relief, he finally said, “As solid as where we stand right now! It’s as solid as Dorr Mountain!”
“Malcolm,” Gabrielle observed, “below where we’re standing right now? From here down, it’s all rock slides. All the way across, and all the way down to The Tarn.”
Buck produced one of his moose noises: “Arrggh!” It took even me a second to realize that he was laughing appreciatively. When he looked at Gabrielle, his whole craggy face crinkled into hundreds of separate little smiles.
“A poor choice of image,” Malcolm Fairley conceded. “But you know what I mean! The foundation is as solidly constructed as the carriage roads! There! Haven’t we been overlooking a crucial point?”
The famous roads are, in fact, well constructed. Besides paying for the project, John D. Rockefeller, Jr., supervised the construction himself. The carriage roads are synonymous with Rockefeller. Malcolm had no need to refer explicitly to the foundation’s anonymous benefactors. If I caught the allusion, everyone else must have, too.
Catch it I did: Wham! Another jarring collision with a rock-hard memory. My whole body jerked, and my head recoiled as suddenly and sharply as if I’d slammed full speed into a high rock wall. When I’d been following Malcolm Fairley and Norman Axelrod, I’d overheard Axelrod complaining about the steep ascent. He’d sounded out of breath. “Why the hell here?” he’d wanted to know. “Why the hell here? When the carriage roads would’ve made more goddamned sense?”
I repeat: On Mount Desert Island, the carriage roads are synonymous with Rockefeller.
“Carriage roads!” Wally shouted at Malcolm Fairley. “Carriage roads! For all we know, you’ve bamboozled the Rockefellers, too!”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“NO NAMES!” Malcolm Fairley was adamant. “The strictest anonymity is one of the conditions, and I fully intend to see that it’s respected.”
“I heard you say that,” I told him. “After I fell. You were talking to someone, and that’s what you said.”
Wally started to reply to Fairley, but his wife cut him off. “Wally, please! These people operate on another level! They obviously have a whole staff of accountants and financial advisors and so forth who do nothing but check these things out. For that matter, so does Gabbi, more or less. Not on that scale, but she has people in Boston who—”
Quint was, for once, less than the little gentleman. He interrupted Opal to address his aunt. “Gabbi, you did run all this by your people, didn’t you?”
The appearance of more park visitors gave Gabrielle a good excuse not to answer. Even after the hikers had passed by, however, she evaded the question. Tenderly stroking the bichon in her arms, Gabrielle said, “Molly is thirsty, and Rowdy and Kimi must be, too. I don’t have any water with me, and Holly doesn’t, either. And does someone have something we could use for a bowl?”
Her observation was accurate; all three dogs did need water. Still, Quint wasn’t fooled. “Gabbi!”
“Quint, family matters are something we discuss in private. I’m surprised to have to remind you of that. Enough said! Holly, do you have a folding bowl with you? Because I don’t. This was quite careless of us.”
“Pardon me, Gabbi,” Opal said sternly, “but this is not just a family matter. Wally and I took your word—”
“I personally assure you,” said Malcolm Fairley, “that—”
“You personally assure us?” Wally cut in. “Let me tell you that I for one don’t give a sweet shit about personal assurance. What we assumed we had was impersonal assurance, and we assumed that Gabbi had gotten it. Now, did you or didn’t you, Gabbi?”
My father did not seize the opportunity to shoot a developer. Wally’s profession had nothing to do with it. As Buck later told me, Wally could’ve been “a seaweed-gumming ecologist, for Christ’s sake.” Furthermore, Buck didn’t shoot anyone, even—here I quote—“the stinking son of a bitch who had the fucking balls to talk to Gabrielle like that. Did the little bastard think I was going to stand there and listen to that horseshit?”
In brief, with no warning, Buck lunged toward Wally and delivered one ferocious blow to the solar plexus. My father is violent, but not stupid. If he’d allowed gravity to drop Wally to the granite, the result might have been a serious injury. As it was, Buck caught Wally on his way down and, with remarkable gentleness, lowered him to the ground. Meanwhile, Effie descended, or maybe ascended, into frenzied ecstasy. “He hit him!” she cried out. “He hit Wally! He hit him, he hit him, he hit him!”
Hysterics is bad enough in a man. In a woman, it’s intolerable. Ugh. Still, I couldn’t help wondering whether Effie’s husband ever made her feel that good.
“Effie, we saw what happened,” Gabrielle told her, “although I th
ink Wally’s just had the wind knocked out of him. That’s right, isn’t it, Steve?”
With the prone Wally glaring up at him, Steve was checking the man’s pulse and palpating his rib cage. In almost no time, however, Wally caught his breath, sat up, and declared that there was nothing wrong with him. Furthermore, he insisted with shameful ingratitude and blatant inaccuracy that he didn’t want to be examined by a horse doctor. Steve is a small-animal vet: dogs, cats, birds, and, of course, lizards and other household pets, not horses. Rudely dismissed by his human patient, Steve rummaged in his fanny pack, produced a fabric dog bowl, and handed it to Gabrielle, together with a bottle of water that he had removed from the waistband of the pack. Driven by the absence of a third arm, Gabrielle put Molly on the ground and watered her. Then, as I watered Rowdy and Kimi, who exchanged rivalrous growls about having to share a single bowl, the human bickering threatened to resume.
“So the truth is,” Quint said to Gabrielle, “you didn’t have your people check it out.”
“They aren’t my people, Quint. I don’t own them! Their services are not free. And I saw no need.”
Buck intervened. “Here’s the situation. Fairley here offers Gabrielle the chance to invest in this foundation. They’re both involved in conservation on the island. Here’s a way Gabrielle can support a cause she’s committed to anyway, and make money at the same time. The foundation’s lawyer is Anita here, and Gabrielle knows her. Gabrielle hears about these philanthropists. No names! Just hints. The carriage roads. So Gabrielle doesn’t do the usual research. She assumes it’s been done. By someone else. By the carriage roads, let’s say. Out of the kindness of her heart, she lets her friends and relatives in on the deal. Wally and Opal. Quint and Effie. Lots of other people?”