Creature Discomforts

save-the-rain-forest group, every environmental lobby, every conservation organization, and every other bunch of mush-for-brains environmental do-gooders he could find. You want to know where your damn money is? My father gave it away. He donated all of it to charity .”
     

Chapter Thirty-one
     
    WHEN I MET HORACE LIVERMORE at my father’s wedding, I recognized him immediately from dog shows. Horace is in his late fifties, I guess, a tall, burly, white-haired man who looks nothing whatever like the handsome, dark lone hiker the dogs and I had met at the top of the Ladder Trail. The hiker, Zeke, was a wedding guest, too, mainly because Gabrielle felt that Zeke had at least spotted something off about the Pine Tree Foundation, even if he hadn’t been able to get anyone to listen to him. He worked for the brokerage house that handled Malcolm Fairley’s account. The large amount of money that Fairley drew on his line of credit had aroused Zeke’s suspicions. When his superiors dismissed his concerns, he decided to investigate on his own. In taking time off to go to Mount Desert Island and in volunteering for Fairley’s trail crew, he sought an intimate look at the workings of the Pine Tree Foundation. In presenting himself as the prosperous young man he was and in demonstrating his hands-on determination to save the environment, he hoped to offer himself as a likely investor. After working with Fairley’s trail crew, however, Zeke was impressed by the genuineness of the man’s commitment. Indeed, he began to wonder whether Anita Fairley alone might be responsible for the Ponzi scheme, and Malcolm Fairley merely his daughter’s dupe. The one who’d been almost ready to blow an effective whistle had been Norman Axelrod. Interestingly enough, Zeke had suspected that the anonymous benefactors were a fabrication, but poor Norman Axelrod hiked to his death in the hope of meeting a Rockefeller. If Axelrod had cared enough about his immediate environment to work on the reclamation of the Homans Path, he’d have met Zeke, of course. It’s intriguing to realize that if the two had pooled their information, they’d have put a stop to the Ponzi scheme without giving Malcolm Fairley the chance to abscond. They’d have found another common interest. Zeke isn’t a professional handler, but he does owner-handle his Belgian sheepdog bitch. Axelrod, however, would never have worked on the Homans Path. Once I remembered him, I knew that everyone had told the truth. He really did hate trees.
    Axelrod was right and wrong about Horace Livermore, by the way. Over a glass of wedding champagne, Horace shamelessly told me that he’d used small doses of arsenic to improve Isaac’s coat. Horace maintained that he’d been hired to see that Axelrod’s dog won, and since Isaac had been a consistent winner, Norm had had no cause for complaint. Axelrod’s only mistake, in his handler’s view, had been taking the dog away from him so abruptly. Look at Isaac now! His coat was in terrible condition. He wouldn’t win so much as a booby prize at a pet fair looking like that. What a waste of a show dog! I didn’t suppose, did I, that Gabrielle would be interested in sending Isaac back out with him again? No, I told Horace, I was sure she wouldn’t. Somewhat to my surprise, Horace generously gave me the name of a vet who’d supply me with arsenic for my own dogs. Or was I already using it on Rowdy? Beautiful coat. Kimi’s could stand a little help. Hormones would fix that. If I intended to do anything serious with her, I should get her on something. As far as my dogs’ show careers went, I told him, my only intention was to have fun. Horace lost all respect for me. By then, however, I had little for him. He was not, however, an international smuggler. Norman Axelrod was correct in his suspicions that Horace was sneaking something into Canada, but wrong about what it was. To avoid being hassled by customs officials about crossing into Canada with a supply of aerosol cans, Horace always hid the aerosol spray-on cheese that his sister, Candace Livermore-Smith, used in training her Border collies.
    Malcolm Fairley’s escape was my father’s fault. Buck should have known better than to carry a firearm in Acadia National Park. His shoddy excuse is that he was protecting a witness to murder. As if I needed human protection! But it was true that I’d overheard Axelrod and Fairley when I’d followed them up Dorr, and I’d seen Fairley