Purgatory Ridge

“Is that Lindstrom’s?” Cork asked, pointing toward a new blue Explorer parked not far from his old Bronco.

“Yep.”

“Is he inside the school?”

“You’re batting a thousand, Cork.”

“Mind if I go in?”

“Sheriff said to keep suspicious types out. Don’t guess that includes you.” He opened the door.

When Cork graduated thirty years earlier, the building had been Aurora’s high school. A few years later, a large consolidated county school had been built just west of town, and the old high school, a beautiful structure of red brick, had become the district’s middle school. The building was full of good memories for Cork. Whenever he walked the hallways, the smell alone-waxed floors and old lockers-took him back instantly across three decades.

Inside the front door, he found Karl Lindstrom in a heated discussion with Bruce Mortenson, the operations manager for the mill. Cork held back until Mortenson lifted his hands in exasperation and declared, “Fine, Karl. Have it your way. It’s your damn mill, after all.” Mortenson stomped out the door.

Cork coughed discreetly. Lindstrom looked his way. “O’Connor.” He actually seemed glad to see Cork.

“Evening, Karl.”

Lindstrom stepped toward him, about to speak, but the front door swung open and Lindstrom’s attorney Frank Wharton slipped inside. He handed Lindstrom a sheet of paper and said, “Everything’s ready, Karl. Folks’re waiting.”

“Thanks, Frank. I’ll be right there.” Lindstrom glanced at Cork. “You have a minute after this so we can talk?”

“Sure.”

Lindstrom looked down at the paper in his hands, took a deep breath, and pushed outside. Cork gave him a moment, then followed.

A standing microphone and speakers had been set on the steps of the school. Parked cars lined the street, and the front lawn was crowded. Newspeople with cameras and tape recorders had positioned themselves at the bottom of the steps. Hell Hanover was right there in the thick of them. Looking over the crowd, Cork saw that both sides of the logging issue were well represented. Sheriff Wally Schanno and several of his deputies flanked Lindstrom on the steps. Agents Earl and Owen of the BCA were there, too. Across the street was a small park, and Cork saw Jo standing there alone, her arms folded across her body as if despite the terrible heat, she was cold.

Lindstrom stepped up to the microphone and tapped it. “Can you all hear me?”

Someone near the back of the crowd shouted, “Loud and clear, Karl. Give ‘em hell.”

“I’m not here to give anybody hell,” Lindstrom said, leaning to the mike. “Seems to me we’ve had enough of that already.” He considered the paper in his hand, then let it fall. “I had remarks prepared by my lawyer so that I’d say all of this right, but I’m a little tired of legalese at the moment. I’d just as soon tell you straight out how I feel.

“I don’t know how many of you remember the company’s old logo with the slogan ‘Lindstrom houses the world.’ Remember? It showed the globe inside a home built with Lindstrom lumber. Well, we don’t house much of the world anymore. For a lot of reasons.

“A few years ago, my father was faced with a decision. Drastic changes had to be made to our Eagle River mill in Wisconsin to bring it in line with new state and federal environmental regulations and to make it competitive with products from foreign markets. My father chose to close that mill rather than fight the government and unfair trade policies. Two years ago, faced with a similar dilemma here in the last of the Lindstrom mills, I chose differently.

“As most of you know, I built a home on Iron Lake last year, built it with Lindstrom logs. This spring, my family and I moved in. We came up here because I wanted to be a part of this town. The Lindstrom name’s been important in the North Woods for several generations, but the Lindstroms have never been around to see the effects of what they’ve done. Well, I’m here, and I’m taking responsibility for what we do. Over the last two years, I’ve completely renovated the mill. We’ve got the best technology in the business. I did this at great personal expense because I believe it’s best for the environment and for the people here. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no more beautiful place on earth than Tamarack County and no better people.”

“You’re doing great, Karl! Don’t let ‘em get you down!”

“Thanks. Thank you.” Lindstrom turned away from the mike and coughed. While he was at it, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. “A lot of good people depend on the mill for their livelihood. And for the mill to operate, we need to cut trees. Recently, every logging operation we’ve undertaken has been plagued by sabotage. Sugar in the gas tanks of our heavy equipment and marks removed from the trees designated for cutting, to name just a couple.