Below the Tree Line Read online

  “He’s very popular with the students,” she said over her shoulder. “He has parents visiting all the time. You’ll be a nice change of pace this morning.” Felicity glanced up at the clock at the end of the hall. It was just closing in on eleven. The secretary knocked on the door, and the man Felicity had only seen wearing a helmet in photographs opened the door and smiled at her, a broad, cheerful, unself-conscious greeting.

  Felicity introduced herself and apologized for showing up unexpectedly, and then explained herself.

  “Hmm. Someone with my name?” He ushered her to a seat and took another at the desk.

  Just as she expected, this man was not the one Marilyn was driving around the county looking at property. This Frank Gentile stood a few inches shorter than Felicity’s five foot eight inches, and considerably wider. He wore plain gray slacks belted tightly at his waist, the belt pushing his pudgy body into soft bulges above and below. His gray sweater was buttoned to the waist and strained against his torso. The tails flared out over the pleats in his pants. He wore no tie but buttoned the top button on his gray shirt.

  Determined not to make a terrible mistake, Felicity forced herself to speak slowly and calmly. When she was finished, she stopped. And waited.

  “Hmm,” Mr. Gentile said. “That’s quite a story, Miss O’Brien.” She showed him her driver’s license, which he inspected, staring at it over his nose. Then she invited him to address her as Felicity. He didn’t immediately return the courtesy.

  “Well,” he began, drawing out each sound as though she were hard of hearing, “I can assure you I’ve never been in your neck of the woods. I’m not tall with a mustache, as you can see.” He patted his midriff and then resettled himself in his chair. “I’m also not youngish, as you can see, and I’m definitely not a man any woman would look at twice.” He gave a wistful sigh. And then he laughed. “I’ve always wanted to be tall and handsome.”

  “I had to make sure.”

  “Quite right. I’m glad you did. Your story is not unexpected.” He began stacking papers on his desk and moving them to the side.

  “Not unexpected?” Felicity leaned forward. “Is there something you can tell me about this man? I Googled your name and found only three people with it, and of course you were one of them.”

  “You’d think there’d be hundreds, wouldn’t you?” He cleared his throat, as though about to begin a lecture. “It doesn’t seem so unusual, and each name by itself isn’t rare, but together they seem to make an unusual combination.” She could hear in his voice the teacher taking hold of the man, but then his tone of voice changed, and with it the volume. His speech returned to normal, that of casual conversation. “Well, that’s another matter. In answer to your question, no, I can’t tell you anything about this man in particular. But I can add to your mystery. As I believe I said, your story is not unexpected.”

  “Oh, dear,” Felicity said. “Go ahead.”

  “It may be nothing, but then again, it may be something.” He took a deep breath and began. “About a year ago I received a call from a man in Maryland asking me if I still wanted to purchase the painting I’d left a deposit on.”

  “Maryland?”

  “Yes, Maryland. Oakland, Maryland, to be precise. I’m sure it’s a lovely place, but I’ve never been there.”

  “I’ve never heard of it. Should I have?” Felicity pulled out a small notebook and wrote down the name. She knew that in the heat of the moment she was liable to forget something important, a detail that meant nothing to her on first hearing but could turn out to be significant later.

  “Not really, unless you’re a particular kind of tourist.”

  “What kind of tourist?”

  “Nature tourist. That’s where Swallow Falls State Park is. Anyway, the painting was of a particular part of the state park, an area not as much visited. The gallery owner described it to me. He said he’d been holding my deposit check for three months and keeping the painting off the market until I decided, and now he wanted to deposit the check for his services.”

  “And you had no idea what he was talking about.”

  “Precisely.” He took another deep breath. “I told him I was the wrong Frank Gentile, and he said the same thing you said. There are only two or three of you according to the internet, he told me, so I had to be the one he was looking for. So we went back and forth a few times, and I told him what I looked like, and he gave me the same description you did.”

  “Did he believe you?”

  “He didn’t have any choice, because I also told him that at the time of my supposed visit I was in the hospital having cataract surgery. You spend your life teaching under fluorescent lights or staring at a computer and you’re guaranteed to have cataracts.” He glanced at the laptop sitting open on his desk.

  “What did he do about the check?”

  “He said he was going to deposit it anyway and see what happened.”

  “Did you ever hear from him again?”

  “Oh, yes, he called me a couple of months later to tell me the check had bounced. He was quite upset, and I commiserated, but that’s not what he called to tell me. He said he’d been at a conference soon afterward and complained to a colleague about those sorts of problems, and damned if his colleague hadn’t had an encounter with the same fellow. He didn’t ask him to hold a painting or give him any money, but he was there, visiting Crab Tree Woods.”

  “I’ve never heard of that either.” Felicity scribbled the name in her notebook.

  “But you strike me as an intelligent young woman.” Mr. Gentile was sounding more and more like the teacher he’d been for his entire career. “And I bet you can guess what the areas have in common. Would you care to give it a try?”

  Felicity didn’t try to conceal her laughter. “I’ll take that bet. They both have old-growth forests.”

  “A+, Felicity, A+.”

  “And they both have good security, so no one can get in there and harvest any of it without someone noticing or stopping them.” Even as she said this, images of Lance, her once-trusted logger, flashed across her mind.

  “A++, Felicity, A++.” He paused and fingered the stack of papers on his desk. “I suspect that others, less alert than you and the fellow in Maryland, have met my namesake. I shudder to think what damage he’s done.” He swung his chair to face her. “How did you come across him, if I may ask again?”

  Felicity added more details. “The real estate agent who was showing him around is a friend, and she’s been following up on his offers to local farmers. He says he wants something quiet and peaceful and out of the way.” She felt an unexpected animosity for Marilyn as she wondered just how much the real estate agent knew.

  “And? I can tell there’s something more.”

  “He told Marilyn, the agent, that he had plenty of money to spend, and she said she checked and he did. He also seems to be part of something called Treeline Properties.”

  She waited as Frank Gentile repeated the name.

  “Never heard of it,” he said. “But a smart operator could figure out how to make it look like he had plenty of money.”

  Felicity had no idea how anyone would do that, but she figured he was right. “So he’s going through all this to buy old forests in several states, from what you’ve told me?”

  “Sounds like it,” Frank said.

  “How does this affect you?”

  “It doesn’t,” he said. “Unless he tells people he’s Franklin Marshall Gentile of Bangor, Maine, I have no reason to complain just because he has the same name.” He coughed, as though preparing to make an important statement. “But I think I’ll just let our local police department know this is going on. I’ll feel better if someone in authority knows. I don’t expect anything to come of this as far as I’m concerned, but it’s better to have the information recorded somewhere.”

  Felicity agre
ed that it was a good idea. They chatted a little longer and then Felicity stood up. Frank stood as well.

  “You came all this way to make sure I wasn’t the man searching your area? That’s a long drive.”

  Felicity agreed as she slipped on her coat. “But people can say anything over the telephone, and we’d have to Skype for me to be confident about your appearance, and that’s more computer skill than I have. I’ve only seen the man twice, and not up close. I had to be sure you weren’t hiding out.”

  He laughed. “I know it’s not funny. What you’re up against is serious, but the idea of my being a criminal … ” He grew wistful. “I live a very tame existence.”

  All the way back to West Woodbury, Felicity replayed the conversation she’d had with Frank Gentile. The Frank Gentile of Treeline Properties was going to an awful lot of trouble to get at forests he might not even be able to harvest—unless he could get in with a logger or a forester. That was the part she found most disturbing: the change in Lance Gauthier from long-time friend to someone who was a partner in a very bold theft. If anyone had asked her if Lance would do such a thing, she would have said no, no way. But then, it seemed there were a lot of things she hadn’t known about Lance. Like his gambling.

  Twenty-Seven

  By 9:30 on Saturday morning, the quadrupeds were munching happily beneath the old apple trees, barely giving a glance to the bipeds passing among them, their arms grappling with easels and canvases, drawing pads, and lunch bags. As soon as she’d returned from Bangor the day before, Felicity had called Jeremy to let him know what she’d learned from the other Franklin M. Gentile. Within a few minutes, she and Jeremy had settled on a plan for Saturday.

  Now, as the morning sun warmed the field, she set aside her anxiety, left the sheep and artists in Nola Townsend’s capable hands, and drove to Jeremy’s farm. She reached it well ahead of Marilyn’s expected arrival, which gave her plenty of time to tell Loretta about her visit with Frank Gentile of Bangor, Maine.

  “So, you mean the buyer is walking around the country looking for old-growth forests to steal?” Loretta poured herself a second cup of coffee and refilled Felicity’s mug. The kitchen in Jeremy’s farmhouse had been renovated almost thirty years ago and had the feeling of a comfortable old home.

  “That’s what it sounds like.”

  “And Lance is helping him? It sounds crazy.” Loretta looked at Jeremy, who shrugged. “Why would he do that? Lance is local.”

  “You know he gambles a lot,” Felicity said. “And I didn’t really think about it, but he has a seasonal rental out on a lake and he lives in a campground in the summer. Maybe the reason he lives outside is financial, not because he loves it.”

  “Jeez,” Loretta said, staring at her.

  Felicity wrapped her hands around the hot mug. “It explains all that traveling Sasha’s mother was telling me about.”

  “What traveling?” Loretta said.

  “After Zeke retired, Helena said he apparently got the traveling bug, and her mother, Zenia, said the same. Zeke and his wife went all over the place, but I looked at the places Zenia talked about and they were all states with old-growth forests.”

  “So? The man liked to be around trees,” Loretta said.

  “He didn’t have to travel for that,” Felicity said. “I think he was getting a look at old-growth forests because he thought that’s what he could see growing on Tall Tree Farm. He and my dad suspected that untimbered plot of land was going to be valuable in a historical way if left alone to grow unmolested, and in his retirement Zeke went around to other forests to confirm what he suspected. I thought those trees were old but not true old growth, not yet anyway. Now I know better.”

  “So he and your dad cooked up a scheme to protect that property,” Jeremy said.

  “I don’t think my dad purchasing that land had anything to do with persuading my grandmother that he was a fit suitor for her daughter,” Felicity said. “I think it was a ruse to make sure that land would go where it would be protected. My dad bought up the rest of the odd bits around it. And he never cut a trail through it.”

  “And you just let it be.” Jeremy finished his coffee.

  “I didn’t think about it till Lance said that if it was in the chapter 61 plan it had to be managed, and he was ready to go in there and timber, but I said no.”

  “He was okay with that?” Loretta asked.

  “He’s been trying to get in there,” Felicity said. “I think he’s sure I still don’t know, but now I know what Dad meant when he was talking about something being secret and Tall Tree Farm being special. He was thinking about that untimbered land.” She paused. “And when he told me not to visit the Bodruns, I think he was trying to keep me from learning anything. He’s confused about what year it is sometimes, but not about what matters to him. He meant to keep that secret he and Old Zeke had.”

  “And that’s why he ran away from Pasquanata,” Jeremy said, nodding. “He was checking up on his land.”

  “Maybe it was the mention of Clarissa Jenkins or something else,” Felicity said. “I don’t remember, but it was right after that he got so upset and took off. And he went straight to the old cabin, we thought, but really he went to the path he and Zeke probably used to get into that particular plot.” Felicity smiled. “And here we thought all those years how romantic he was, giving his future mother-in-law a piece of land to prove his worthiness.”

  “Crafty guy.” Loretta began to chuckle.

  “But that doesn’t explain why Gentile wants to make me an offer on my property,” Jeremy said. “When I called Marilyn, she insisted he could come over yesterday evening, but I thought the morning would be better.”

  “I’ll bet he just wants a legitimate reason to walk the land and see what you’ve got.”

  “Because he doesn’t know what’s up here,” Loretta said. “Maybe he’s been going around to old forests in this area because he heard about a guy from New England talking about old growth and now he’s here and he’s looking.”

  “Cutting down old growth forests wherever they are would be a travesty,” Felicity said, looking grim.

  “There’s money in that timber if you can get it,” Loretta said. “That could be why he’s up here, tracking down Zeke.”

  “That’s a stretch, Mom. Zeke has been dead for years and I doubt anyone would remember him from his travels.”

  “She could be right in a way, Jeremy,” Felicity said. “He could have heard about Zeke and Pioneer Valley. And it’s clear he’s the one who bought Zeke Bodrun’s cabin.”

  “So you said.” Jeremy had listened quietly but attentively to the entire recitation, perched on a stool while his coffee grew cold on the counter beside him. “Treeline Properties bought the cabin, and Treeline Properties in the form of Frank Gentile rented a car from Hogie.”

  “A rental from Hogie’s? And this is the guy Marilyn said had bundles of money in the bank? That was a seven-figure offer she gave you.” Loretta was torn between contempt and disbelief. She looked from her son to Felicity.

  “It is strange,” Felicity agreed. “When’s he due?”

  Jeremy glanced up at the clock over the doorway. “Marilyn said eleven. They should be here any minute now.” He turned barely an inch to glance out the window as Marilyn’s black Jeep pulled up in front of the house. Only then did Felicity realize how rigid Jeremy’s body was—how disturbed he was and how determined not to show it.

  “Did she ask why you’d changed your mind?” Felicity asked.

  “I just told her I was ready to make a change.” He spoke softly so only Felicity could hear, but he needn’t have bothered. His mother was too caught up in watching the car to pay attention to anything her son was saying.

  “Is that them?” Loretta peered out the window, making no effort to conceal her curiosity. “Yup, that’s them.”

  “Okay, ladies. Show
time.” Jeremy slid off the stool and pushed it under the island counter.

  Frank Gentile of no known address had considerable charm, Felicity acknowledged. He had already seduced Marilyn Kvorak into near silent adulation and total agreement with anything he said, disarmed Loretta’s sharp tongue, and impressed Jeremy with a firm handshake and astute questions. Felicity felt the tug of attraction when he extended his hand, and her skin tingled under his firm but careful handshake. Perhaps sensing her reservations, he turned away to talk to Jeremy. As she watched the two men establish themselves, the image of Clarissa’s car weaving down the road flashed in front of her. She tried to hide a sudden shiver.

  Frank Gentile was tall and handsome if not also dark. He had even features, sandy-colored hair with a touch of red, and lovely light brown eyes. His mustache was neat and thin. Tall and limber as well as strong, he seemed ready to smile throughout the encounter. He fit the description of Zenia’s visitor, but most importantly he looked like the man Felicity had glimpsed in the Town Hall window.

  After the obligatory cup of tea or coffee, Jeremy put everything in the sink. He handed Frank a rough map of the farm, then led the little group across the lawn to the barn, through the barn, and out into the pasture. His cows seemed mildly interested in the strangers passing by—certainly more than Felicity’s sheep would have been—but not enough to follow or abandon grazing. A single car passed, and Gentile paused to look up toward the road and listen.

  “Not much traffic out here,” he said.

  “Almost none.” Jeremy glanced at the car. “You’re not from around here.”

  “No, no, but I wish I were. You have a lovely spot.” Frank Gentile rested his hands on his hips and scanned the woods ahead. In the distance, toward the east, a mountain shaped like an egg rose up, and the midday sun gave a rich deep blue background for the dense green shape reaching into the sky. “It’s different from the Berkshires and, of course, the coast. More like New Hampshire and Vermont.”