The Imposter: A Mike Bowditch Short Mystery by Paul Doiron

Author:Paul Doiron [Doiron, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Traditional, Thrillers, Crime
ISBN: 9781250776464
Google: sDbQDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B084M27GKV
Goodreads: 51097032
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2020-05-03T16:00:00+00:00

Standing behind him, I couldn’t see Winters’s face. But I heard his voice crack when he spoke.

“I need to use the facilities.”

* * *

There was still the open question of what Tommy Winters had done with the opiates he had stolen, but the drug-sniffing dog detected nothing in its search of the house and the property.

I roamed around a bit, made small talk with some of the troopers, tried to stay out of the sun. I peeked in the barn and saw that Winters was in the process of restoring a Trans Am that was scarcely more than a steel shell. The concrete floor was dappled with red paint.

I crossed paths with Rhine again in the driveway. She was watching the afternoon breeze ruffle the leaves of an ancient elm standing sentinel on the property: the sole survivor of a scourge that had wiped out nearly all of its species.

“So now what happens?” I asked.

“I go back to Machias to type up my report in air-conditioned comfort. And I presume the Warden Service would appreciate you returning to your official duties. On a scorcher like today you could probably write up a dozen drunk-boaters on Gardner Lake—not that I’m telling you what to do.”

Instead of following her advice, I made my way back down to Mopang Plantation and drove in on the Jeep trail to see if luckless Alvin Payne had returned to live in his Airstream.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to find the trailer gone. Payne had been squatting on the land. Following the home invasion, the sheriff’s office would have informed the property owner who, in turn, would have evicted his unwanted tenant and dragged the silvery camper off to an impound lot. The cinnamon ferns and bracken had sprung back so quickly that the impression left by the heavy Airstream was scarcely visible.

I stooped to collect a discarded beer bottle and that was when I noticed something gold glinting from between the grass blades. The mystery object hadn’t been there the night of the home invasion or the searchers would have found it. Someone must have just dropped it in the days since.

It was a pin-on badge. Not even made of metal. Just a cheap piece of plastic I myself had given away on school visits. Imprinted on the front were the words JUNIOR MAINE GAME WARDEN.

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