The Pickle Boat House

by Louise Gorday

  Ryan just looked at him. Did Hector really think he was going to buy it? Right now he actually hated Hector more than himself, and that was saying something. Hector had no conscience. All was fair in business as long as he was on the winning side. In fact, Ryan couldn’t remember a single time that he could ever stand Hector. He had always been a revolting human being.

  “Sorry—cold day in hell,” said Ryan.

  “Did you know that the courthouse has scanned a lot of documents that it hasn’t catalogued yet?” Hector said. “I understand it saves wear and tear on the old paper. Whatcha wanna bet there’s a scan of the deed in there somewhere? Shouldn’t take too long to find, even with Lilly Librarian’s help. Whatcha think?”

  Ryan didn’t reply. He pulled the coin off his shoulder and began rubbing the angel again, this time with his thumbnail.

  “Ryan, why are you running yourself through the wringer like this? With that deed in hand, it’s all smooth sailing for us. We got what we wanted. The boss is happy; we look good. Like I said, life is good.” When Ryan didn’t respond he said, “It’s pretty clear, isn’t it? Even if we can’t find the heir to the land, we’re doing all these people a favor. Where else could they ever realize the kind of profit they’ll see if they get an offer from us? These aren’t big players, Ryan; they’re the expendables, the little people. They’ll be happy with whatever money gets thrown at them. We have bigger fish to fry at home.”

  Ryan blew air out between his lips and got up from the bench. He hesitated a moment, head down, looking at his shoes. Shifting his eyes to Hector’s face, he held his gaze. What was the measure of a man? Suddenly, without uttering a word, he took the deed, crunched it around the coin, and hurled it with all his strength out into the bay.

  “What the hell?” Hector leaped to his feet, mouth open in amazement. “What the hell are you doing, you asshole?” He shoved Ryan back a few feet and came at him a second time, fists raised. “You son of a bitch, what have you done? What have you done?”

  Ryan took a couple of steps back and raised his hands, palms toward Hector. “I’ll take that bet. There is no scan, Hector. Let’s face it: little people can only do little things. But you know,” he said, shaking his head and chuckling, “sometimes that’s more than enough. There are some things you just can’t put a price on. I’m sure you can finish cleaning up here. You don’t have to babysit me anymore. Good-bye, Hector.” And with that, he turned his back on him and began walking away in the direction of Van’s house.

  “Come back here, you son of a bitch!” Hector yelled. “We’re not done yet.”

  Ryan never turned, but responded with his middle finger as he kept walking. Ryan Thomas could rot in hell, too. But James Hardy had other plans.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ONE FOR THE TEAM

  Ryan didn’t plan on staying long at Van’s house, but he had left some things unsaid. Perhaps it would have been better to leave it in a note this morning. His reception from Van was chilly. No sooner was he sitting at her table than she excused herself, only to return a minute later with something in her hand.

  Van put the jewelry box down in front of him and flipped it open to reveal a gold signet ring. “I thought you might like to have your grandfather’s ring back.”

  Ryan looked from the box to Van but didn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes returned to the small box sitting on the table. “You’re testing me,” he said, nodding slowly. Then he shrugged. “I guess that’s to be expected. You still haven’t come to terms with me yet. Were you expecting it to fit? You do realize it probably doesn’t fit me anymore, right?”

  “There’s an engraving on the inside—”

  “If I know what it is, you’ll believe me,” he said interrupting her, “and if I don’t tell you what it says, I’m a liar?”

  “Maybe.”

  There was a long pause as Ryan studied Van. “Maybe I should go, Van. I’ve given you more than enough reasons to believe I’m your son. If by now your gut instinct isn’t telling you who I am, you’ll never accept it. Whether you do or not changes nothing. In fact, it’s probably better not to have you involved with me at this point anyway.”

  Van reached over and snapped the box shut. “Thanks, Ryan. You’ve more than answered my question. Now, get out!” She started for the front door.

  “Carl, you are my forever. Estelle.”

  Van froze in mid step.

  “I know we’re in a situation that defies logic and rationality here, but still, I wish you had believed without me saying that. There’s a part of me that wants the mother in you to recognize the son in me. Otherwise, I could go crazy here … alone … wondering if I’m hallucinating or something.”

  Van shook her head no but didn’t turn around. “Out of all the grieving mothers on this earth, why did God send you back to me?” she said, crumpling to her knees. And putting her hands to her face, she began to sob.

  Ryan crossed the room in two long strides and pulled his mother up and wrapped his arms around her. Van turned in his arms and buried her face against his chest as he kissed the top of her head and held her tight, fighting back tears of his own.

  “I need to leave Nevis for a while and go back to New York. I’m cutting all ties with HYA,” Ryan whispered.

  “No! Absolutely not!” Van pulled back to look him in the face and clung even tighter to his arms. “Ryan, please, don’t go. Don’t do this to me! They are never going to let you walk away! Are you crazy? What makes you think you can do that?” She looked at him with eyes of desperation.

  “Because I know too much, that’s why. Or at least, they think I know too much. I need to go back to New York and call their bluff before they bluff. They don’t know how much memory loss I actually have. If they think information will come out if something happens to me, then they’ll be more hesitant to mess with me. When I feel as though I can safely come back to Nevis I will. I just can’t leave things the way they are right now. The longer I wait, the greater the danger for me and anyone associated with me. But before I go there are a couple of things you need to know. Hector is still alive.”

  “But you identified his body.”

  “I identified a body, but it wasn’t Hector’s. It was Earl.”

  “Why on earth … ?”

  “Because as soon as I saw it was Earl with Hector’s ID on him I knew something was horribly wrong. Going along with the charade buys me time to protect myself and figure out what’s really going on. HYA is running more than one game in Nevis. That’s why Hector was willing to sabotage everything I was working on here. He was squaring away illicit drug activities with the Diablos. Controlling the drug trade flowing up and down the coast is becoming a very profitable side venture for HYA. Apparently, HYA and the bikers haven’t reached a deal considered fair to both parties. Earl unknowingly took one for the team—and especially for Hector.

  “That’s disgusting. Poor Earl. What kind of evil have you brought here, Ryan? I’m afraid—for me, for you … everyone here in town. We don’t need this here. You’re making enemies everywhere—playing games with HYA, giving false statements to the police. They’re going to come looking for you when they put it all together. What are you going to tell the police then?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I won’t deny it’s bad. I’m trying to rectify some of the damage I’ve done. “I’ll tell the police that I made a mistake. I was in a state of shock—anything that will satisfy them.”

  “You know that isn’t going to satisfy the police. Once they find out you’re lying they’ll take you in and wring you for every bit of information they can get out of you. They’ll want to know why. These small-town cops see the law a little differently.”

  “Honestly, the police are the least of my problems. Hector found me this morning on the boardwalk. Something I didn’t tell you last night: Hector and I found a deed in the courthouse that proves the land in Nevis is only being leased by its current residents. Hector desperately wants to take the proof back to HYA
—preferably alone, so he can take credit.”

  “Did you give it to him?”

  “Of course not. Have some faith. Hector only cares about Hector. I threw it into the bay. That’s the end of it unless he can find a scanned copy in the courthouse. I’m sure he’s been in touch with New York. If he does find a copy, and HYA finds the Harwell descendants and buys them out, you can kiss Nevis good-bye.”

  “I’m a Harwell.”

  “You’re a Harwell?” Ryan repeated, and then he frowned. “I should know that. That makes me a Harwell. How long has our family been living in this area?”

  “Forever. My ancestors were some of the area’s earliest settlers.” Letting go of Ryan just long enough to grasp one of his hands, she drew him over to the bookcase, where she pulled out a notebook. “Look. Here’s the beginning of my tree in this area,” she said, leafing through the different tabs in the book. “Jeremiah Harwell—he would have been the first,” she said, pointing.

  Ryan took a step backward and began to laugh. “You’re related to Jeremiah Harwell? I can’t believe what I’m hearing! His direct descendants are the ones HYA will be looking for. They legally own the land! Shit! How well is all this documented?” He grabbed Van and hugged her almost breathless.

  “Stop! I can’t breathe, and you’re making me dizzy,” Van said, gasping for air as she pried herself loose. “I don’t include anything that I can’t trace back to an original source.” She ran her finger across the footnotes at the bottom of the page. “With this individual, there is one missing link. I have a shaky connection here between Jeremiah and his son William. I’ve always intended to search some more but just haven’t gotten back to it.”

  “Hector and I have spent a lot of time in the courthouse trying to track the ancestry. He insinuated that the courthouse had scanned the lease agreement, but I’m not sure whether that was bravado or truth. I’m sure he’ll try to find it. If you can prove that Jeremiah Harwell is your direct ancestor, then the land may belong to you through inheritance. We can put an end to this. But if your lineage can’t be proved, then you’re still in an uphill fight here. Hector Young will move right in and strong-arm you and the rest of the town right out of here. You don’t have the resources to compete with them. They’ll run you ragged until you give up.”

  Van put her hands on her hips, and her entire demeanor changed. “So that’s why you appeared to be so interested in the courthouse and my records. It wasn’t me you were interested in. You were using me, you bastard.”

  Ryan immediately looked contrite. “Yes, I’m sorry. Guilty, guilty, and guilty. I have been a bastard, and other words that you probably don’t even know. But I’m trying to help you now and set things right. We need to work together. Can you set your anger aside just for now? I don’t have a lot of time here.”

  Van put her hands in her hair and ruffled it around on her head. “Okay, but I don’t know. I’ve run into a brick wall with Jeremiah Harwell. I don’t have any other leads to follow.”

  “Have you exhausted all the courthouse documents? What about the boxes you showed me, stored in the railroad museum? If court records are in there, maybe we can find something. I need you to go through them—all of them. Everything you can find.”

  “It will take me forever to sort through all that stuff. The boxes aren’t even labeled.”

  “You’ve got to look for any documentation that connects your family to Jeremiah Harwell. We have to prove that you’re related, in case they find the scan. If something happens to me, I want you to keep on digging until you find it, okay? Even if you run out of leads, do whatever it takes to make a connection, even if you have to hire someone to prove it for you. But don’t discuss what you’re doing any more than you have to. Keep it on the down low. If the land lease ceases to become an issue, HYA will piece together land purchases until they make it impossible for the holdouts to live here anymore. One way or another, they’ll try to get what they want.”

  “Ryan, what are you expecting to happen to you?”

  “Right now I’m not sure. It’s probably not good. All I can do is go back to New York and try to talk us out of trouble.”

  A knock at the door made both of them jump. Ryan backed away from the door as Van opened it to a Nevis policeman.

  Officer McCall immediately began sizing up the white teacup poodle that had trailed Van to the door. “Good evening, ma’am. Is that Ernest Pickett’s dog?”

  “Yes, Officer, it is,” said Van. “We found her running loose out on the boardwalk last night. Mr. Pickett never lets her wander, and she was dragging her leash. He didn’t answer his door last night, so I brought her home with me. Mr. Pickett has got to be sick with worry. He never goes anywhere without that dog. We left a note …”

  “Ms. Hardy,” the policeman said, “Ernest Pickett was found unconscious out on the boardwalk last night.”

  “Oh, my God, what happened?”

  “We’re not entirely sure. Possibly some kind of altercation with the drowning victim; maybe he was just a witness. He’s in critical condition under police protection at St. Leonard Hospital. Once he’s stable, we’ll interview him.”

  Officer McCall’s eyes returned to the poodle. “Does Pickett have any family that you know of who can care for the dog?”

  “No, he was alone. If it’s all right, Susie can stay here. She’s used to me from living next door, and I don’t mind taking care of her.”

  “That would be fine, I suppose. Mr. Thomas,” he said, turning and addressing Ryan. “How convenient. We have information from several witnesses that you had a heated exchange with Mr. Young yesterday evening on the boardwalk and that you were heard to threaten him. I need you to come down to the station and give a full statement on that incident. I also need to ask you some other questions, regarding your relationship and activities with Mr. Young.”

  “I would like to call an attorney,” Ryan said. “I don’t want to answer any questions without legal counsel.”

  “You need to come with us down to the station. You can call counsel from there. However, at this point in time, we only want a statement from you, and answers to some very basic questions. If at some point you want to call a lawyer, we can stop and accommodate that.”

  “Are you going to hold me?”

  “That depends on what you tell us, Mr. Thomas. If you have nothing to hide, well, then there’s nothing to worry about, is there? Let’s just keep it informal and friendly right now.” Officer McCall turned to Van. “Sorry for the inconvenience. We’ll let you know about the dog.”

  Van nodded and focused all her attention on Ryan, trying to will her feelings into him so that he could see how scared she was and how much she cared about him.

  “I’ll see you, Van,” he said. “Keep busy while I’m gone, okay? You are so close to having it all tied together.” He reached out and pulled her to him, enveloping her in a tight embrace. “It’ll all be okay,” he whispered. Then he kissed her cheek and stepped out the door with the police officer.

  She watched as they got into the police car and disappeared down the road. Closing the door, she sat down on the couch, drew herself up into a little ball, and pulled her grandmother’s afghan up around her—and wept. If it hurt this bad when she was angry at him, she had to seriously rethink their relationship. One by one, the two little dogs jumped up to comfort her, and late evening found all three still snuggled close.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  AN AFTERTHOUGHT

  Ryan walked out and got into the backseat of the police car. As long as he could keep his cool he was okay. After all, Hector wasn’t dead, so the altercation would become inconsequential. He only had to answer for misidentifying Earl’s body. Shock, the body’s appearance, darkness—any would serve as an adequate defense. Whatever worked to get him back on the road to New York as soon as possible.

  “Mr. Thomas? Mr. Thomas, please exit the vehicle.”

  “What?” Ryan snapped out of his reverie to see the officer holding t
he car door open, talking at him.

  He automatically climbed out, although he wasn’t sure exactly what the officer had said. He accompanied McCall into the town hall and upstairs into the tiny police office, eyeing the place as he went. Every head was obscured by a computer screen, and the tapping cadence of typing fingers punctuated the otherwise quiet bullpen. He had expected an interrogation room with metal furniture, bare walls, and a one-way mirror. Instead, the room had a homier feel: attractive table, padded chairs, and some cheap artwork on the walls. Still, his anxiety was running rampant. All his experience as a hotshot New York lawyer had never prepared him for a possible murder rap in some coastal backwater.

  “Mr. Thomas, as I said earlier, I need to document your interaction with Mr. Young and your whereabouts on the night of the twenty-seventh. Unless you have objections, this conversation will be recorded to ensure that the information you are providing is documented accurately.”

  Ryan knew that speaking without a lawyer was a bad move, but insisting on one made him look guilty as hell. He would just have to represent himself and hope he didn’t have a fool for a client. “No objections. Get on with it.”

  For the next half an hour or so, Ryan gave a blow-by-blow of his relationship with Hector, and their altercation on the boardwalk before “Hector’s” sudden death. Officer McCall did little interrupting, occasionally repeating a time, name, or place for clarity’s sake. Ryan hoped he could stay consistent in his stories and provide just enough information about his personal and professional background to keep suspicion off himself and HYA.