Ben explained that what we were about to see was a crime scene, but it smelled worse than the dumpster behind a McDonald’s. I covered my nose. It didn’t help. Ben parted the branches. There were dozens and dozens of open clams, black with flies. The buzz thundered in my ears. It was beside the old stone foundation of a mill, at least that was what Ben said it was. To me the wall looked like indistinguishable crumbled stones nearly covered by brush.
A man and a woman in brown uniforms shoveled the dead clams into a garbage bag. The woman was about Mary’s age and the man must have been older. He scowled a lot, which looked like a permanent thing for him. The lines in his face said he was a natural scowler, but who could blame him? His job was gross.
The shells were about the size of my hand, much bigger than I would have thought. The woman held the bag open while the man scooped them up and dumped them in. The flies rose like smoke. Totally gross.
Ben’s jaw knotted and flexed, but he said nothing. I had never seen him so worked up. He’s not what you’d call an imposing guy, but I wouldn’t have wanted to cross him right then.
The woman noticed us, smiled and said, “Hi, Ben. I thought I might see you down here.”
They obviously knew each other. The man glanced at Ben, grunted, and kept shoveling. Not a friendly type. I began to wonder if there might be more to my mild-mannered, nerdy cousin than I first thought.
Ben pushed forward through the bushes to the putrid pile, waving flies away. I followed, but I wanted to gag. The woman dug in her pocket and pulled out a small jar of VapoRub, which she handed to Ben. He smeared a fingertip’s worth under his nose and motioned me to do the same. “It will cover the odor,” he said.
I tried it and wondered how he knew this. It worked, sort of, but I still knew I was breathing the stink; now it just smelled mentholated. It was still disgusting, just a different disgusting.
“Ally, this is my cousin, Wendy.” Ben pressed back into a bush to give us space and sure enough, Ally reached out to shake my hand. She was slim, maybe thirty, and had short brown hair. Her face was full of sharp angles but her smile softened up everything.
“Ally’s with the DNR,” Ben explained. “That’s the Department of Natural Resources. So is Jackson there.”
Jackson didn’t stop shoveling. He was dumpy, shorter than Ally, and had gray hair. Introductions were over. Ben forgot me and talked to Ally like they were old friends. He kneeled down for a closer look. “What do you think?”
Ally scratched her shoulder. “Don’t know. This is a major shock to the creek ecosystem. The mussel bed will take a long time to recover . . . if it does recover.”
I was amazed they were so worried about a bunch of clams. “These are clams you’re talking about, right?” I said.
Ben sighed and gave me a tired look. “Mussels filter the water. They are a very important part of the creek. Okay?”
Jackson took a break from shoveling and asked, “Benny, why don’t you mind your own business for a change?” His crew cut made the top of his head look like a helicopter landing pad. Dark sweat stains ringed his underarms.
Ben and Ally ignored him. “We haven’t figured out what happened,” she said. “We’ve ruled out muskrats or raccoons. Notice, they have all been forced open. No animal did this.”
I laughed and added, “A shellfish act of destruction.”
Ally, Jackson, and Ben all stared at me and I turned my chuckle into a cough. I guess puns are an acquired taste.
“These are native mussels,” Ben said. “Higgins’ Eye, if I’m not mistaken. Very mature, too.”
Jackson snorted. “Higgins what?”
Ben waved his hand at the mess. “A pearl-bearing species.”
Jackson snorted louder. “Okay, Mr. Know-it-all, maybe you can tell us who did this?” He laughed.
I noticed Ally didn’t laugh, but listened. Ben picked up a stick and singled out a clam with a zigzag in its shell mouth, or whatever the opening between the halves is called. A few of the critters had straight-line shell openings, but as I looked around I noticed most of them looked a bit deformed.
“These mussels are said to be crippled,” Ben said. “They were forming pearls against their shells. Perfect, round pearls are found in mussels without deformities. The nacre builds up in the mantle without touching the shell. I’d say the person who did this was looking for pearls. I can’t tell you who it was.”
“You really think someone pulled these mussels out of the creek looking for pearls?” Ally asked.
Jackson slapped his leg and howled with laughter. “Pearls? That’s a good one!”
Ben didn’t react. “Ordinarily, freshwater pearls aren’t worth much these days, but judging by the size of these mussels, there could have been some exceptional ones.”
“That’s right,” Ally said. “Nobody spends time pearl fishing anymore, especially for freshwater pearls. They’re all cultured now.”
Jackson got control of himself. “Oh, come on, Ally. He’s pulling your leg. Pearls? Give me a break.” He laughed again.
“Could I have some sample shells?” Ben asked, taking sandwich bags from his pocket.
Ally gave Jackson a stern look, and then smiled at Ben. “Sure, Ben.”
“Yeah. Sure, Ben,” Jackson mimicked. “Take the whole bunch. It would save us all this work.”
Ben ignored him. He picked up one of the big, deformed mussels and one that looked normal and sealed them in bags. “I’ll be in touch.”
We said goodbye to Ally and started back up the trail. Ben offered me a tissue from a small pack. What boy carries tissues? But I can’t say I was sorry as I wiped the worst of the VapoRub off my upper lip. “What are you, some kind of junior game warden?” I asked.
“No.”
“You get paid to do this?”
“No.”
“What difference do the lives of a bunch of clams make?”
“That’s a silly question.” He stopped and faced me. “Life is the only wealth there is. It is all that matters!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smiled but didn’t answer. Instead, he looked over my shoulder and said, “Don’t look now, but we’re being watched.”