by B R Snow
“He wanted to acquire fracking rights to some of our property,” my mother said.
“But that makes no sense,” I said, frowning.
“Yes, that’s what we thought,” my mother said, glancing at Rooster who nodded back at her.
“I’ve never heard of any natural gas deposits around here,” I said. “And New York banned fracking a couple of years ago.”
“Bingo,” my mother said, beaming at me. “And now you understand our initial confusion, darling.”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to the story?”
“Well, after Rooster and I sent Mr. Billows on his merry way, I decided to call one of my friends in Albany.”
“A friend in Albany?” I said, shaking my head. “Let me guess. The Governor?”
“I’d rather not comment on that,” she said, turning coy. “Let’s just say he’s well-placed in the state government and leave it at that.”
“So, what did this high-placed official have to say?”
“Apparently, there’s been a recent geological find of a natural gas vein that comes out of the Marcellus Shale Formation downstate and runs north.”
“As far north as your property?” I said, glancing back and forth at them.
“Some of it, yes,” Rooster said.
“But not any of the Riverfront property, right?” I said, my neurons flaring.
“Just a little of it,” my mother said, staring at me.
“I’m going to need a little clarification, Mom.”
“Apparently, the natural gas vein does extend to the acreage I own that runs along the back of the Inn,” she said.
“What?” I said, stunned. “Are you telling me that we could be living next door to a bunch of natural gas wells at some point in the future?”
“No, there’s no way I’d let that happen,” my mother said. “But Mr. Billows is trying to buy up lease rights on as much land as he can.”
“But why?” I said, confused. “The state has banned fracking.”
“According to my friend in Albany, several companies, notably 3E, are betting that the state won’t be able to sustain its ban for economic and political reasons and will eventually cave. And those companies that have already secured drilling leases will have a major leg up on its competition if that happens.”
“That sucks,” I said, glaring at Billows’ back. “Where’s the rest of the property he wants to get his hands on?”
“It’s all inland and east from the River,” Rooster said. “Mostly wooded areas. But any runoff could potentially damage the groundwater table and maybe end up in the River at some point.”
“How much land are we talking about?” I said.
They looked at each other then shrugged.
“It’s probably around a couple thousand acres,” my mother said, then glanced at Rooster. “That sounds about right, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, probably,” he said, nodding. “I really haven’t kept close track of it over the years.”
“I haven’t either,” my mother said, then looked at me. “It was pretty much your father’s deal.”
“Dad bought land in the woods?” I said, frowning.
“Yeah, tons of it,” Rooster said. “And he asked me to go in with him and your mom on a few deals. It was a good way to hide some money.”
“Hide money?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Long story,” my mother said, glaring at Rooster.
“Yeah, long story,” Rooster said, deflecting. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about it. At least, on our land. We’d never agree to lease it. And since it’s going to be yours someday, we know you wouldn’t either.”
“Why would Dad buy all that land?” I said.
“He liked to walk in the woods,” my mother said, shrugging.
“But there could be some people who would agree to lease their property,” I said.
“Of course,” my mother said. “If they’re offered enough money, I’m sure they will.”
“But the chances are low that the state will change its mind and make it legal again, right?”
“We’re talking about politicians, darling. Certainly, you know by now that anything is possible when it comes to that lot.”
We glanced up when Herman Billows approached.
“What did I miss?” he said.
“We were just singing your praises, Mr. Billows,” my mother said, smiling up at him.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” Billows said. “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about my offer?”
“Not a chance,” my mother said, maintaining her smile.
“Well, if you do come to your senses, you know where to find me. I’m sure 3E can make it worth your while,” he said, draining his drink and giving us a small salute. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
We watched him depart then settled back on the couch and sipped our drinks.
“And where exactly would you find him, Mom?”
“Well, let’s see,” she said, reaching into her purse and reading from the business card. “Houston.”
“Or the bottom of the River,” Rooster said, laughing.
“Now there’s an idea,” my mother said as she crumpled up the card and tossed it into the fireplace. “Don’t give him another thought, darling. I’m sure the cold weather will be enough to drive him away in the very near future.”
I spotted Chief Abrams poking his head into the lounge from the dining room and waved. He wandered across the room and stood with his back close to the fire.
“I thought we’d head out to the Friendly’s place in the morning,” the Chief said. “They’re predicting snow in the afternoon.”
“That’s fine,” Rooster said. “What time?”
“Is eight too early?”
“No, that works,” Rooster said, glancing over at me. “How about you? Too early?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Say, why don’t you swing by around seven? I’ll make breakfast.”
“What are we having?” Josie said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
“Somebody’s radar is working tonight,” I said, laughing.
“Funny,” she said, making a face at me. “And I believe you’re actually referring to sonar.”
“Please promise me you’ll be on your best behavior,” my mother said.
“Relax, Mom,” I said, shaking my head at her. “I’m just tagging along to give them an update on their dog and find out how they’d like to handle a few things.”
“Just let the Chief do his thing, and try to remember that the mother has just lost her husband and the kids’ father.”
“Geez, Mom. I’m not an insensitive idiot.”
“I know that, darling. But even you must admit that sometimes you do tend to get carried away.”
“Sure, sure.”
Chapter 6
I scarfed down my breakfast then left Rooster and Chief Abrams chatting in the kitchen with Chef Claire while I headed down to the Inn to check in with Josie on the status of the Otterhound. I found her in back inside the dog’s condo with the Otterhound stretched out across her lap. Josie had a coffee mug in one hand and was using her free one to gently rub the dog’s belly.
“How’s she doing?” I said, sitting down on the floor next to her.
“She’s a tough girl,” Josie said, scratching one of the Otterhound’s ears. “Her leg is definitely still hurting, and I wish I could give her something stronger for the pain. But I’m worried about what it might do to the pups.”
“You’re still getting heartbeats, right?” I said, gently running a hand over the dog’s extended stomach.
“I could only hear five this morning,” she said, frowning.
“She lost one?” I said, my voice catching in my throat.
“Try not to read too much into it,” Josie said. “The pup could have shifted around. Or maybe it’s just beating in sync with one of the others.”
“But one of them might have died?” I said, tearing up.
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“Suzy, it’s a miracle the dog survived that ordeal,” Josie said, firmly. “But you and Rooster saved her, and now she’s resting comfortably with a litter that’s getting ready to make their way out into the world. And we’ll deal with whatever happens when she delivers. Okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, exhaling. “Sorry.”
“That’s better,” she said, sliding out from underneath the dog and gently setting her head down. “While you’re out there today, see if you can get her name.”
“That I can do.”
“Thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for Claudius.”
I laughed as I stood up. Claudius was a Doberman owned by one of our friends who was due for his annual checkup. And if there was one thing Claudius hated more than getting his shots, it was going to the vet to get them. I followed Josie into the registration area where the very grumpy Doberman had all four legs splayed across the tile floor as his owner tugged the leash and tried to coax the dog to its feet. When he saw Josie in her scrubs, the dog scrambled to his feet and made a dash for the front door.
“It’s nice to see you too, Claudius,” Josie said, laughing.
“The dog is obviously a good judge of character,” I said. “How are you doing, Tess?”
“I’m good,” Tess said, struggling to hold onto the leash. “At least I was.”
“You all set for Christmas?” I said.
“I think so,” Tess said. “Come on, Claudius. Give it a rest,” the owner said, shaking her head. “You mind giving me a hand with him, Josie?”
I headed outside to the sound of toenails clicking on tile and low guttural growls. Rooster and the Chief were already waiting for me in the driveway.
“You want me to drive?” I said.
“No, since it’s official business, we should probably take mine,” the Chief said.
“Bad idea, Chief,” Rooster said, shaking his head. “I doubt if they’d do anything stupid, but let’s take my truck.”
“Something stupid like taking a shot at us?” the Chief said.
“No, they wouldn’t do that,” Rooster said. “But if they see a police car, they might get spooked and decide to take off and hide in the woods for a while. They know my truck, so that might make it easier.”
“Okay,” the Chief said, shrugging as he opened the passenger door for me. “Hop in.”
“I’ll sit in the back,” I said, opening the door and climbing in.
Rooster backed down the driveway and headed out of town then charted a route to the Friendly’s place using a set of back roads I was vaguely familiar with. I tried to follow along for fifteen minutes, then gave up.
“I can’t believe Christmas is in two days,” the Chief said. “Where did the year go?”
“What are you getting your wife, Chief?” I said, leaning forward.
“Lots of the usual small stuff she likes,” the Chief said, glancing over his shoulder. “But the big one is two tickets to the Cayman Islands.”
“You guys decided to come down?” I said. “That’s great.”
“She doesn’t know,” the Chief said. “I thought it would be a nice surprise. Are you sure you guys have room for us?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we can squeeze you in,” I said, laughing. “When are you coming?”
“Probably late January,” he said.
“That’s when I’m going,” Rooster said. “Maybe we can all go deep sea fishing.”
“Count on it,” I said. “Rooster is going to stay with my mom.”
“You’re a brave man,” the Chief said, glancing over at Rooster. “How should we play it with these folks?”
“Casual but somber would be my recommendation,” Rooster said, turning off the paved road onto a snowy, dirt track that led into the woods. “And try not to use any sudden movements around the son. He can be a little skittish.”
“Skittish? Like a horse?” the Chief said.
“Yeah, that’s close enough,” Rooster said. “Assuming the horse has never been around people before.”
The Chief shook his head as he glanced out the window at the woods that were beginning to close in around us. A thick blanket of snow covered the ground, and Rooster’s truck bounced along the uneven dirt road. The sunlight disappeared as we got further into the pines and cedars, and I stared out the window at the deep-green trees dappled with white and wondered what would make someone decide to live in the wilderness without any of the modern amenities and creature comforts I took for granted.
On purpose.
The dirt road ended, and Rooster came to a stop in front of a stand of tall pines. I climbed out and looked around at the thick forest that surrounded us on three sides.
“I don’t see a house,” I said.
“It’s a bit of hike from here,” Rooster said.
“Great,” I said, frowning. “But it is beautiful out here.”
“And quiet,” the Chief said.
“Good point,” Rooster said, motioning at what appeared to be a trail buried in the snow. “We should make some noise going in so they know we’re here. It’s probably not a good idea to surprise them.”
I glanced at the Chief who shrugged as we followed Rooster onto the trail. We walked for what felt like half an hour, then Rooster, noticing the sweat dripping down my face, came to a stop and handed me a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” I said, greedily sucking down half the bottle. I handed the rest to Chief Abrams who quickly polished it off.
“Are you okay?” Rooster said, grinning at me.
“This is how these people come and go from home?” I said, breathing heavily.
“Now you understand why they rarely leave,” Rooster said, removing another bottle of water from his backpack and taking a long swallow. “Skitch always said his biggest goal in life was just to be left alone.”
“Well, mission accomplished,” I said, shaking my head. “How much further is it?”
“Just another quarter-mile or so,” Rooster said. “By the way, how’s your hand?”
“At the moment, it’s the least of my concerns.”
“We better get going,” Rooster said, draining the rest of his water.
He led the way, and we closely followed behind. But after getting smacked in the face a couple of times by pine branches Rooster had pushed his way through, I slipped back and followed at a safe distance. Fifteen minutes later, we came to a stop on the edge of a property that was nothing like I’d expected to see.
A large wooden cabin sat in the middle of what appeared to be about an acre of cleared, fenced land. A barn constructed of the same wood as the cabin and two smaller, stone structures sat nearby. Smoke drifted from two chimneys that were attached at opposite ends of the cabin, and I heard the sounds of a rooster and dozens of chickens that were meandering around inside a fenced pen near the cabin. Inside the pen was an elaborate wooden structure I assumed was a chicken coop.
“It’s really nice,” I said, stunned.
“Yeah, it certainly is,” the Chief said, glancing around. “How much of the land do they own around here?”
“Pretty much all of it,” Rooster said, walking toward the cabin.
He stopped when the front door opened and a woman appeared on the porch. She was somewhere in her fifties and hugging a shotgun to her chest with both hands.
“Who goes there?” she called out.
“It’s me, Jessie,” Rooster said. “Rooster Jennings.”
“Hey, Rooster,” she said, lowering the gun but continuing to watch us closely. “Come on up.”
We followed Rooster up onto the porch, and the woman shook his hand then glanced back and forth at us a few times before leaning the shotgun against the outside wall next to the door.
“Jessie,” Rooster said. “This is Chief Abrams from Clay Bay, and this is Suzy Chandler.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Nice to meet you. Have a seat.” She gestured to a picnic table a few feet away and waited for us to sit down.
Then she sat down on the edge of the bench within easy reach of the shotgun. “What are you doing bringing the cops out here, Rooster?”
“We need to talk to you about Skitch,” Rooster said.
“What did he do now?” Jessie said.
“He didn’t do anything, Jessie,” Rooster said as he glanced at the Chief and nodded for him to proceed.
“I’m afraid we have some bad news about your husband, Mrs. Friendly,” the Chief said. “He’s had an accident.”
“An accident?” she said, frowning. “In his truck?”
“No, he had an accident while he was checking his traps yesterday,” the Chief said. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you that he’s dead.”
Jessie sat straight up and stared off into the distance. She was obviously stunned by the news, and I picked up on the expected despair and sadness as well as a healthy dose of confusion. Maybe her thoughts were already on the prospect of having to live out here on her own without her husband’s help and companionship. Then, just for an instant, I thought I caught a hint of a smile, and I kicked myself under the table when the thought popped into my head that she might be thinking this was her chance to return to civilization.
It wasn’t one of my finest moments, and I continued to chastise myself as I waited for her to respond.
“What happened?” she said after a long silence.
“It looks like he was struck by a stray bullet from a hunter,” the Chief said.
“He got shot?” she said, baffled. “That seems pretty unlikely. There couldn’t have been more than a handful of people out on the River yesterday.”
“The shot came from somewhere off in the distance, and your husband just happened to somehow end up in its path,” the Chief said. “He got hit in the shoulder.”
“There’s no way Skitch was killed by getting shot in the shoulder,” Jessie said, shaking her head.
“No, you’re right,” the Chief said. “But it appears the impact knocked him into the water, and he drowned.”
“He drowned?” she said, lowering her head. “I always told him he was crazy spending all that time out there on the River not knowing how to swim.”
I sat there pondering the idea that a non-swimmer would spend time on the River by himself but was interrupted when the front door opened and a man and a woman, both around thirty, stepped out onto the porch.