“The marinade,” said Coudert, eyeing the untouched Canadian bacon in front of Roch Dufour. “On the rabbit wings. Excellent.”
+++++Roch seemed distracted as they ate at La Buche in Quebec, an extravagance to celebrate Michel Coudert’s arrival from France. Two weeks ago, Roch had surprised Coudert with the invitation to visit, and Coudert usually welcomed any chance to connect with old friends and distant relatives.
+++++“Cousin, I need your help,” said Roch.
+++++“Oui?” Coudert observed how Roch’s hands, the roughened mitts of a farming life, clasped and squeezed.
+++++“Someone stole my syrup. Two months of labor and I have no syrup to sell and no cash for my mortgage.”
+++++“Did you call the police?” asked Coudert.
+++++“Les flics? No,” said Roch. “My situation is, eh, informal.”
+++++“Ah, I see,” said Coudert, wiping the grease from his fingers before reaching for the notepad and pencil in his coat pocket. “We have complications.”
+++++“Oui,” said Roch, pushing his fists down into the table. “It’s the Fédération.”

***

Roch led Coudert down the forest path on his farm.
+++++“I do not understand this bleeding of trees,” said Coudert. “At home, we cut for timber. Quick and painless. Then replant.”
+++++“Always the philosopher, Cousin,” said Roch. “In France, you give blood?”
+++++“Oui, our officers give each year.”
+++++“It’s the same with maple trees,” said Roch. “We draw a small amount in early spring. The warmer days followed by freezing nights creates pressure, you see, and pushes out sap.”
+++++“Show me.”
+++++“I drill a hole and fix a stainless-steel spile, like this here, connect the tubing, and wait.”
+++++Coudert touched the plastic tube extending from a maple tree.
+++++“As boys, we helped Papa empty sap buckets by hand,” said Roch. “Now, instead of hiring hands, this piping carries sap to my sugarhouse.”
+++++“And after the season?” asked Coudert.
+++++“I pull the taps and the tree heals,” said Roch. “Next year, I tap a new spot and fix the tubes again.”
+++++“A business for a patient mind,” said Coudert. “Show me where you put the syrup.”

***

Coudert surveyed the wooden barn. The musty space invited little light through its narrow windows, each about three meters off the ground.
+++++“One door big enough for a small tractor and four windows,” said Coudert.
+++++“Mice have their ways in, but they did not steal my syrup,” said Roch. “Eleven barrels and ninety-two milk cans. Nearly fifteen-thousand pounds of syrup.”
+++++“Bonjour, Dufour!” A wiry, clean-shaven man stood in the doorway of the barn. Roch grunted.
+++++“My neighbor, Jean-Claude Jutras. He lives at the end of the lane in a very big house,” said Roch. “Jean-Claude, this is Inspector Coudert. He visits from France.”
+++++Jutras walked into the barn. “Bienvenu, Inspector.”
+++++“Monsieur Jutras,” said Coudert with a brief nod and handshake. He noted how Roch stared at the ground.
+++++“Jean-Claude is our local success,” said Roch. “Perhaps you will find him interesting. I go tend to my pigs.”
+++++Coudert looked toward the open door as Roch walked out.
+++++“Forgive me, Inspector. You are friends and I interrupted,” said Jutras. “Roch and I, as you see, have our disagreements.”
+++++“Chacun voit midi a sa porte.”
+++++“Yes,” said Jutras. “We all see things our way.”
+++++“You have known Roch many years?”
+++++“Yes,” said Jutras, smiling to acknowledge the start of an interview. “We were born and raised in this region, the Estrie. Our grandfathers worked together at the paper mill. Mine saved money and started buying land. Roch and I used to collect sap from my grandfather’s trees.”
+++++“What did you do with the sap?” asked Coudert.
+++++“We boiled off the water for the syrup and sugar. My family was poor, and sugar was expensive, so we sold what we could in town for extra money.”
+++++“Hard work,” said Coudert.
+++++“Yes,” said Jutras. “But we had our good times. We hunted and fished.”
+++++“You are not poor anymore, non?” asked Coudert.
+++++“I have been fortunate,” said Jutras. “Our operations have grown.”
+++++“Tell me. I am interested.”
+++++“Bien. I now run the largest maple syrup operation in the Estrie. We are a major supplier to the Federation of Quebec Maple Syrup Producers. I serve on the Executive Board. We set production levels and negotiate pricing for Quebec’s maple syrup.”
+++++Coudert looked around the barn and then back to Jutras. “Roch says his syrup was stolen. He blames the Fédération.”
+++++“We had guards watching him at times,” said Jutras. “We do this to enforce quotas. We are government sanctioned.”
+++++Coudert breathed in the silence and waited for Jutras to continue.
+++++“Inspector, this system works. Instead of farming slop, my family operates a real business. The bank lends us money for equipment. They know I’m guaranteed to sell my production. I have cash. We make a good living. So do others.”
+++++“This gives motives for cheating, non?”
+++++“Roch calls himself independent and free,” said Jutras. “But the freedom he speaks of is an illusion. He forgets that someone must build and maintain the roads. Someone must fight fires and run the school and hospital. This takes money and organization and cooperation. He forgets the community.”
+++++“Monsieur Jutras, you seem very productive,” said Coudert. “Roch, he seems to, eh, struggle. Help me understand the situation, si vous plait.”
+++++Jutras nodded. “We call him a barrel roller. Roch trades outside of the system looking for higher prices. But this year, the sap harvest was strong. Plenty of supply. The Federation did its job and our members still got good prices for their syrup.”
+++++“Ah,” said Coudert, closing his eyes. “It is more clear.”
+++++“Roch is my friend,” said Jutras. “The Federation did not take his syrup.”
+++++“Monsieur Jutras, I need some information. Can you help me?”
+++++“Of course, Inspector.”

***

“He lies,” said Roch. “The Federation sent me warnings. They post guards, always buzzin’ around my place like flies. Of course, they took my syrup!”
+++++Coudert spoke softly. “In my town, we say the true friend shows up in times of need.”
+++++“Enough philosophy,” said Roch.
+++++“Jutras disapproves of this ‘barrel rolling’, c’est vrai,” asked Coudert. “But I do not see in him the enemy.”
+++++“I am not a slave to the Federation,” said Roch. “My land. My trees. My work. My syrup. It is my right to sell as I wish!”
+++++Coudert watched and let him breathe. “The situation, I have considered. The potential solutions are few.”
+++++Roch Dufour looked away as Coudert spoke.
+++++“One, the syrup never existed. Two, the syrup was stolen. Or, three, you sold the syrup yourself, and, perhaps, things did not go as planned.”
+++++Roch turned back. “That’s it? And you’re a professional policeman?”
+++++“I have a nose,” said Coudert. “The barn had syrup in it, as you said. I have eyes. No one broke into the barn. And I read. The local paper and provincial office report the syrup production. Highest in twelve years.”
+++++“You’re a maple syrup expert now?” said Roch. “Soon you’ll be raising my pigs, too!”
+++++“A lot of syrup means lower prices. Simple math, even for the police.”
+++++Roch stared into his forest of maple trees. “I am a fool?”
+++++“Roch, I sympathize,” said Coudert. “No man likes to feel trapped.”
+++++“My buyer from New Brunswick,” said Roch. “He offered me cents on the dollar. I had no choice.”
+++++“No choice?” said Coudert. “Perhaps difficult choices.”
+++++“My principles, or my pride, left me no choice, then,” said Roch. “So, instead of calling Jean-Claude, I try to blame him.”
+++++“Friendship can be a mirror,” said Coudert, putting his notebook back into his coat pocket. “Sometimes it shows our strengths. Other times, it reflects a difficult truth. Then we must decide what to do about it, non?”

[Image Credit : Photo by Johannes Kopf on Unsplash ]

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Brooks C. Mendell

Brooks C. Mendell writes and works in forestry near Athens, Georgia. His stories have appeared in venues such as Apple in the Dark, Maudlin House, and Mystery Tribune.

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• Barrel Rollers - April 30, 2024