The Pickle Boat House (8 page)

Van picked the small guardian angel coin out of her palm.

“I, uh, always carry that in my pocket. I thought you could use it right now. Sorry, I’ve offended you.”

She looked up with wide eyes that bored into his as if she were trying to read his soul. He flinched and looked away, embarrassed.

“I gave my son one of these,” she said. “He had it in his pocket when he died. I found that so comforting. While I was searching for meaning in his death, I knew that he had found meaning in his life. He had faith. I must have bought a zillion of these after he died. I used to give them out to everyone. I can’t tell you how many people told me that the angel coin came to them at a time in their life when they really needed it. This is such a special coin.”

“I could impress you by saying my reason for having it was the same, but I have to admit, it was an impulse buy—just a lucky talisman.”

“I don’t think God would have a problem with that. You’re not religious, I take it?”

“Not particularly. More superstitious than religious.”

“Thank you, but you should take it back. I have a few. Maybe the day when you need it hasn’t come yet. And then, hopefully, you’ll see it more like I do.”

Ryan shrugged and took it back. He had no idea why he had bought it. It just seemed to call to him.

They took their time walking back to Van’s house. Their relationship was easy, and it would have been apparent to a casual observer that they were becoming close and falling fast. A casual step too close, and their hands bumped—and clasped. When neither let go, Van looked up at Ryan with a smile he couldn’t resist, and he pulled her close to his side, where she remained for the rest of the walk back. It was a comforting embrace.

Ryan walked her up the steps of her porch, where he reluctantly released her. “Thank you for trusting me enough to share so much with me, Van,” he said. “There
is
something irresistible about you.” He hesitated and looked down at his shoes a moment. “I hope my saying that doesn’t make you uncomfortable. I would give a penny for your thoughts, if I had one. But somehow, that feels like I’m shortchanging you, so what would you say to a Yankee dime?” And with that, he leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips.

She pulled back in surprise, speechless.

“I looked up ‘Yankee dime,’” he said, grinning. “That’s ten times better than a penny!”

She laughed, and he could tell that she liked it. He stood staring at her for several seconds too long, then turned and walked away across the yard.

CHAPTER EIGHT
NO DEED GOES UNPUNISHED

Ryan met Hector at the courthouse to take care of business. They both were good at what they did, but not good together. It was always a game, a race, to see who could best the other and still come out looking pretty. Usually, it was Ryan, and Hector hated him for it. Hector always seemed to have Ryan’s back, but as Ryan well knew, he usually had a knife in his hand.

Hector Young and Associates was the type of company that flew under the radar. For appearance’s sake, it appeared to be a solid return on stockholder investments, if you could ever manage to invest. It was heavily controlled by an old-boy network, the kind that went to discreet, members-only places like the Dandy Club or Park House and never drew attention by its flashiness. HYA hired only the brightest, most qualified candidates, mostly lawyers. There were lawyers to steer the company around trouble as it cruised the shady side of corporate greed, and lawyers to get it out of trouble if someone screwed up. Lawyers screwed up only once at HYA. To the public eye, it was a pillar of the community, but this was just the gleaming white tip of the iceberg. Below the surface floated the dirty, bloated ice that could sink ships with utter indifference.

HYA usually got what it wanted, and what it wanted right now was land—
Nevis
land. Nevis was a rich resource, though not in the usual minerals, oil, or agriculture. Instead, it was rich in location. Strategically situated on the Chesapeake Bay, it had easy access to the sea—a sea too vast to be effectively monitored or patrolled by authorities.

Hector Young and Associates liked to do its own research, never accepting anything at face value. That was what made it so successful. One didn’t achieve success like that by taking anything for granted, especially the competition. Killer instinct was key. HYA’s first order of business was to find out whom it was dealing with—who owned the land.

Ryan and Hector spent the better part of the first afternoon scouring the land records for the surrounding area. Both were lawyers, and Ryan was particularly well schooled on land records in the region. The Nevis courthouse should have what they needed. The problem was that over the preceding 350 years, no one had developed a system to keep track of all the records. Shelves and boxes overflowed with liber and folio.

“Do you think we might get some help from Lilly Librarian over there?” Hector asked Ryan.

“Probably not,” Ryan said. “She said land records could be anywhere in here. Any more info than that, and I suspect we’re on our own. She’s busy lining her pencils up straight.” The librarian briefly looked in their direction and then, satisfied that all was well, went back to straightening the front desk.

Hector took a step back and ran his gaze up and down box upon box of all manner of written documents, each packed box an unlabeled surprise.

“No index for all this?” he muttered. “Shit, we could be here forever!”

“You could always go home and stay out of my way.”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” Hector said, pulling down a cardboard file box. The top slid off, and it began to rain papers down on his head and out across the little room, covering him in the musty smell of crackly old paper.

“Shit.”

Ryan laughed. “Suit yourself,” he muttered.

They spent the next few days pulling down and sifting through every box and piece of paper they could find, never quite sure what they were looking for, knowing only that they hadn’t found it yet. Working at separate ends of the room seemed to work best, the distance between them lowering the aggravation factor. For all his faults, Hector was shrewd, sharp, and speedy, reviewing documents much faster than Ryan could get through them. And in that respect, Ryan was glad to have him helping. Hector, in turn, was happy as long as he knew where Ryan was and what he was doing.

Ryan couldn’t concentrate, because his mind kept returning to Van. More than once he had to backtrack and remind himself of the task at hand. He had been with plenty of women. But this one was different: strong minded and smart. For once, the attraction wasn’t entirely about lust. Not that she didn’t have the whole package. He could get lost in those big brown eyes, and never mind how interested he was in the land—he found her topography far more intriguing. Still, she got under his skin. Ryan wiped his sweaty forehead and took a long breath to calm the guilty feeling beginning to roil in his stomach. Damn it, that woman! Nagging emotions and disconnected thoughts floated around in him, weightless and rootless. He didn’t need any more conflict in his life than he already had. He should let Hector handle her.

He looked up to find Hector watching him, as if keenly fascinated by something in Ryan’s demeanor.
Jesus help me,
Ryan thought as he turned his face away. This was a weakness he couldn’t afford. He had to cut the bonds that were beginning to form between him and Vanessa Hardy.

On the fifth day of their search, a long, low, soft whistle drew Hector’s attention back across the room. He looked up to see Ryan waving a piece of paper at him. Ryan Thomas was first, once again.

“Come have a look,” Ryan said. “This is interesting—I think I’ve found something.” He handed Hector a yellowed paper, edges in tatters but still clearly readable.

“What is it?”

“My friend, I think we just hit pay dirt, if you’ll excuse the pun. That paper was shoved into the middle of this ledger volume. It doesn’t seem to relate to anything else in the box so far. It’s a colonial ground lease from the 1720s. I’ve seen these before. The owner of the property leased it to another party for ninety-nine years, renewable in perpetuity. These were pretty common in Maryland and Pennsylvania. In exchange for the lease, the lessee uses the land, builds on it, or whatever in exchange for a yearly payment to the lessor. Guess where this land is located?”

“Nassau?”

“Yeah, so you need to go book a flight. But no,” Ryan said, proceeding past the sarcasm. “This is a lease agreement that looks like it’s for the land that now makes up most of Nevis. Are you tracking with me?” he said, noting Hector’s blank expression. “Damn, it means no one in Nevis owns the land they’re living on. They’re all
leasing
it.” He grinned at Hector. “Shit, I’ll bet my firstborn that no one here even knows it. The yearly lease payments are probably rolled into the local tax bill. If we look hard enough, we can probably verify that in the tax ledgers for this time period.”

Ryan continued to read down through the document, mumbling and musing as he went. “This script is murder to read. Okay,” he said, drawing his finger halfway down the page, “there’s a specific provision in here that prohibits the tenant from buying the land through any of the provisions of the document. That’s very unusual. Original lessor was Jeremiah Harwell, blah, blah, blah, more legalese. You know, Hector,” he said, pushing back in his chair, “if we can find out who this man’s living descendants are, we can make it well worth their while to sell the land to us. Call the office and ask them to send someone down to trace the lineage.”

Hector gave Ryan a sideways glance. “Oh, man, that’s going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack. You realize how long that could take us?”

“Maybe not as long as you think. Van said something interesting the other day: People never move away from here—at least, not for good. Generation after generation remains in Nevis from cradle to grave. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll bet the records are all right here. Bet you a fiver the descendants are, too.”

“What are you going to do when that chick finds out you didn’t have the noblest of intentions?” Hector asked.

Ryan shrugged. “Not a problem. We’ll be long gone by then. She’s a looker; she’ll find someone else to hold her hand soon enough.” His stomach tightened as he spoke. It must be the meatloaf he had for lunch up the street.

“If I had a penny for every time we’ve been through this scenario, I’d be a rich man. You have no shame, Thomas. You need to find you a girl like Maggie. Now,
there’s
a keeper.”

“I haven’t seen you with Maggie lately,” Ryan replied. “Last I heard, you were taking her to the family estate for an afternoon of tea and meet the folks. What happened—pinkie not extend far enough?”

Hector immediately got up and looked down at his watch. “I need to head down and meet up with Earl just south of here. Later.”

Ryan could have continued for another round, but he didn’t. That subject required just the slightest twist of the knife to get the reaction he wanted. “I’ll tag along. I haven’t seen Earl in a while. There isn’t a lot more I can do here. I’ll go ahead and see if they can send down someone to pick up the genealogical search.”

“Earl and I have business to attend to. Find something else to keep you occupied. I’ll catch back up with you in a day or two.”

There was no use arguing with Hector once his mind was made up. Although Ryan was curious about the business activity, he decided to cut his losses and focus on Van, find out a little more about her. No one—certainly not a woman—was going to break his stride. He was usually good at mixing in a little pleasure without letting it get in the way of business. In this case, he was going to push it to the limit.

CHAPTER NINE
I SAY YIN AND YOU SAY YANG

When dawn broke, it was obvious that there would be no ambling about and sitting on the boardwalk today. Dark clouds hung over the bay, almost kissing the tips of the chop. It was unusually cool for early September, and Van shivered a little as she peeked out the window. Most days, solitude was a treasure. It wasn’t
aloneness
—just a gentle quiet that allowed her to hear and think all the little things that got lost in the usual chaos of noise. Once in a while, though, on days like this, she wished she still had a houseful of family. Sometimes, a little chaos could give birth to a revelation.

She didn’t know how Ryan managed it, but he postponed going back to New York for a while. Van assumed he had enough pull in the company to schedule his own time. He certainly had the manner and dress of someone used to commanding people and attention. In a few short weeks, she and Ryan had managed to spend a lot of time together. Some evenings, they sat late into the night just talking and cuddling on her front porch. She was mesmerized by the way he looked at her, and he was the most attentive listener she had ever met. He never seemed to tire of asking questions about Nevis: who lived here, who their relatives were—endless questions about the land and how she followed it. They even went to the courthouse one day, and she showed him some of the genealogical sources she used. A smile crossed her lips at the thought of how they held hands. Actually, everything about Ryan made her smile … or blush.

Van hadn’t seen Ryan for several days and wasn’t holding out hope for today, either. Things had come up unexpectedly, he said, and he would be gone awhile. She felt caged and restless without him, pacing between rooms, trying to figure out what to do with herself. Maybe she was relying on him too much.

Finally, as if by instinct, she headed for the bathroom and started a bath. A bath was her failsafe when she was out of sorts, bored, or world-weary, so that the measure of a bad day could be tallied in the number of baths. She expected today to be more wearying than usual. Richard had insisted on coming to visit her, and she expected him late in the day. It would be difficult. Given her unchanging feelings about their relationship, there was no way the visit would turn out well.