St. Albans Fire by Archer Mayor Read Free Book Online Page A

left on it, and I was about to take out ten thousand more to plant this coming season, as usual.” He paused before adding, “Now, though…”
    In the silence, Joe repeated the question he’d asked of Calvin’s wife: “Insurance?”
    “Some,” he answered wearily. “Not enough.” He stopped again, this time clearly arrested by some pressing thought, and then he placed both palms against his forehead. “God.”
    “What?” Joe asked.
    “Sugaring time’s almost here,” Cutts said, not looking up. “Bobby, Jeff, and I were going to set the taps next week.”
    Gunther knew what this meant from having helped his own father years ago. Maple sugaring—far from the quaint hobby that many vacationers assume it to be—is a serious moneymaker for many farmers. Having been told of the farm’s physical assets by Jonathon, Joe calculated that Calvin could probably place about two thousand tree taps, generate some five hundred gallons of syrup, and maybe gross $10,000 a year selling wholesale—hard cash. No small change to someone netting only twice that much every twelve months. What Calvin Cutts had just heard was the metaphorical final coffin nail being driven home, assuming he hadn’t already reached that point. Part of the rationale behind sugaring was that you could do it with available resources: free scrap wood to run the evaporator, free sap, and free manpower, since it tended to be a family business. With his son dead and his spirit broken, however, Cutts was unlikely to have the heart to manage a sugar run, no matter how much money it might generate.
    Joe wouldn’t pursue how this news struck him here and now; callous as it seemed, he had his own immediate needs to address. But he made a mental note to see what could be done about gathering this man’s sap for him, at the very least.
    “Cal,” he said quietly, “I hate to keep at this, but I need to know something else. Assuming Bobby had nothing to do with the fire—that he was just an innocent victim—can you think of any reason why someone might want to put you out of business?”
    Cutts looked up at him. Gunther wasn’t sure he didn’t have tears in his eyes. “Enough to destroy a man’s family? No.”
    “Let me put it another way, then,” Joe persisted. “Have you done anything at all in the last several years that might’ve pissed somebody off?”
    Calvin ran his hand through his hair. “Jesus, who hasn’t? For one thing, I’m a registered Democrat. That pisses my wife off right there.”
    “Something you did,” Joe suggested. “Maybe involving a family member or a neighbor. A business deal.”
    Cutts sat back in his seat, suddenly staring at Gunther in wonder. “My God, you think it could’ve been?”
    “Anything’s possible,” Joe answered, not knowing where this was headed.
    “Christ,” the other man murmured. “Last year, Billy St. Cyr and I had another run-in, but it couldn’t have anything to do with all this. That’s just too crazy.”
    “Tell me about it anyway.”
    Cutts still looked incredulous. “It was stupid. He drained a small wetland into my cornfield, and I called him on it. Instead of damming the ditch he’d just dug, like I suggested, he called the local ag agent on something he thought I’d done. He claimed I’d planted illegally close to a streambed, which I hadn’t—he got the regulation wrong. Anyhow, he was fined for his violation almost as soon as the agent showed up. It was totally crazy. He should have kept his mouth shut. Instead, he ended up losing a bundle and blaming me.”
    “That was it?” Joe asked. “How big was the fine?”
    “Not huge, and Billy’s got the money. He’s doing well. He takes advantage of every subsidy, every handout, and every financial incentive that comes down the pike, plus he sells off overpriced parcels of land to flatlanders looking for a piece of God’s country. He’s not a bad farmer, truth be told, but he’s a little shy on scruples.”
    “He ever