Qwilleran spotted a conservation officer in a Boat Patrol uniform, and he asked him. "Shouldn't you be out on the lake, protecting the fish from the fishermen?"
The officer acknowledged the quip with a dour grimace. "In this weather, who's crazy enough to be out fishing? I'm showing educational videos in the TV room."
"Has the influx of boaters increased your work?"
"You can bet it has! We chug around the lake counting poles and writing up violations. The law allows two poles per licensed fisherman, you know. Coupla days ago we saw a sport-fishing craft with eight poles and only three men visible on deck. We stopped them and asked to see their fishing licenses. When they could show us only two, they explained that the third guy wasn't fishing; he just came along for the ride. That was a big laugh. Now they had eight poles and only two fishermen! But that wasn't the end of it. We did a safety check, and their fire extinguisher wasn't charged! We sent "em back to shore to get it recharged and face a hefty fine for illegal lines."
"How about the sport divers?" Qwilleran asked. "Are they giving you any trouble?"
"They're the sheriff's responsibility. He has divers and patrol boats that keep tabs on them. Divers aren't supposed to take artifacts from wrecks, but they're crazy about those brass portholes!"
Qwilleran asked, "Do you know what caused the explosion at the marina last weekend?"
"Sure. The usual. Carelessness and ignorance. Landlubbers know they have to take a road test and written exam to drive a car, but they buy a $25,000 boat and think it's just a toy." He looked at his watch. "Gotta grab something to eat, then do another video for this captive audience. When it rains, they're so bored, they'll watch anything!"
While Qwilleran was waiting for the dining room to open, he looked at the Tuesday edition of the Moose County Something. On the editorial page there were several letters from readers regarding Pear Island.
To the Editor:
My family and I just spent a wonderful weekend at Pear Island. We are so fortunate to have such an exciting playground, just a short ferry ride away. We rode bikes, swam in the hotel pool, and hunted for agates on the beach. It was super fun!
Cassie Murdoch
Pickax
Qwilleran assumed that Cassie was Exbridge's secretary or sister or mother-in-law.
To the Editor:
Pear Island is okay for people who have money to spend, but what it needs is a campground for tents and cookouts. I'd like, to see a tent city where you could meet people. All they'd have to do is cut down some trees in the center of the island.
Joe Ormaster
North Kennebeck
Qwilleran thought, No one's going to love you, Joe. Not XYZ. Not the environmentalists. Not the islanders.
To the Editor:
I took my elderly mother to Pear Island for the day, and she was shocked by some of the distasteful slogans on shirts and caps worn by some of the other visitors. Also, the restrooms are too far from the ferry dock, and the smell of fudge everywhere made her sick, but we had a good time. She enjoyed the ferry ride, although all the benches were taken, and no one offered her a seat. She is 84.
Mrs. Alfred Melcher
Mooseville
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To the Editor:
My husband and I had a lovely time on Pear Island. But why do they allow those people to march back and forth in front of the hotel, carrying signs and yelling? It spoils the happy vacation mood for the rest of us who pay good money to sit in the rocking chairs and enjoy the view.
Mrs. Graham MacWhattie
Toronto, Canada
When it was time for the dining room to open, Qwilleran reported to the reservation desk in the lobby. To his surprise, the new captain was seven feet tall, if one included the black pirate tricorne. "Derek! Glad to see you got the job!" Qwilleran greeted him.
"How d'ycm like my costume?" Derek asked. "I think I should have one gold earring." As a member of the Pickax Theater Club, Derek liked roles that required spectacular costumes.
"You're perfect. Don't change a thing."
"Are you staying at the hotel?"
"No, I merely came for dinner. I'm lodging at the Domino Inn."
"I get a room at the Vacation Helpers, rent paid. That's one of the perks. The job only pays minimum wage, but it'll look good on a resume, and I get to meet a lot of girls," Derek said.
In a lower voice Qwilleran asked, "Would you be interested in doing some undercover work for an investigative reporteras a side job?"
"Who? You?"
"I'm the go-between."
"Any risks? How much does it pay?"
A line was beginning to form behind Qwilleran, and he said loudly, "I'd like a table for one in the Corsair Room." In a conspiratorial whisper he added, "Stop at Domino Inn on your way home tonight. We'll talk."
Qwilleran hurried through dinner and was ordering a horse cab for the ride home when Dwight Somers hailed him. "Are you here for dinner, Qwill?"
"Just finished."
"Come into the lounge and have a drink."
"I can stand another cup of coffee and some dessert."
They sat in a booth to assure conversational privacy, and Dwight said, "Just got some good news. Don Exbridge has been in Pickax lobbying to get the island sprayed for mosquitoes, and the county's going to do it."
"That's good news for tourists," Qwilleran said, "but the ecologists will hit the ozone layer."
"By the way, Qwill, we don't call them tourists any more; it has a negative connotation. They're vacationers, by decree from the boss. He's also twisting some political arms to get the beach road paved all around the island, with a strip for bikers and joggers."
"I hate to be a wet blanket, Dwight, but the summer people will fight it to the last drop of their blue blood. The natives won't be so hot for it, either."
"The natives are against any kind of progress. They almost rioted when the post office was moved downtown. It had been in some woman's kitchen in Piratetown for years."
"We don't call it Piratetown any more, Dwight; it has a negative connotation. It's Providence Village."
Dwight ordered a burger and beer. Their booth was within sight of the bar, and Qwilleran noticed the head bartender eying him strangely as he talked with the hotel's publicity chief. "What do you think of this rain?" Dwight asked. "It wasn't predicted."
"The ancient gods of the island are not only frowning, they're weeping. Maybe your boss is lobbying the wrong hierarchy. In less than two weeks you've had two deaths, one broken rib, a wrecked boat, fifteen stomach aches, and unscheduled rain. Someone is trying to tell you something."
"Well, those are the bugs you have to expect in new operations. Did you see the letters to the editor today? We're batting about .200."
"What kind of response are the merchants getting? I never see any customers in the antique shop."
"Her stuff is too good for this place. A flea market would be more in line."
"Why would someone like Noisette choose to come here? Or did Exbridge party in Palm Beach last winter and invite her?"
"Don't ask me."
"Not only are her prices high, but she has a very limited inventory. I recall a similar instance Down Below; it was a front for something else. Maybe that's the situation here."
"Please! Not that!" Dwight pleaded. "We've got problems enough! The latest is bird droppings. Theuh vacationers sit on the porch and throw bread to the seagulls. Then the stray cats come around for the crumbs. The birds make a mess. The cats fight ... Honestly and confidentially, Qwill, how do you size up this whole project?"
"I think you've got a tiger by the tail. A resort should be a happy place. XYZ has created a rat's nest of conflict, culture clash, andif you'll pardon my frank opinion sabotage."
"You're not serious," Dwight said.