The Pickle Boat House

by Louise Gorday

  “May I sit?” Van asked. The woman nodded. “I promise I won’t keep you; I can tell you’re very busy. I’ve been working on a difficult area in my family tree, and I’ve hit a brick wall. I need to make a connection between two individuals, and I just can’t find anything. I’ve been through all the wills and land records that I can think to search, used every online genealogical site I can find, and still nothing. I couldn’t help but notice, you look so good at it. I thought maybe you could suggest what else I might do before I break down and hire a pro. I apologize for being so bold. Normally I’m not at all forward with strangers, but this is so important, and genealogy seems to be a sharing sort of hobby.” She trailed off into a whisper and a nervous, hopeful smile.

  The woman laughed again. “Well, I wouldn’t call it a sharing hobby for me. It’s how I make my living. I’m a professional researcher.” She extended a beautifully manicured hand. “Margaret Douglas.”

  Van shook her hand. “Vanessa Hardy. Everybody calls me Van. Nice to meet you.”

  “In what time frame are you running into problems? It’s local history?”

  “First, if you’re a professional researcher, then time is money to you. Can I pay you for your time?”

  “No, that’s all right. I can’t help you too much, anyway. I’m working for a client right now. But I could use a short break. So what do you have?”

  Van heard the sharp intake of Peggy’s breath as Van spread her extensive Ahnentafel chart across the table and traced down through the names, explaining as she went. She felt a surge of pride in all that she had found and documented on her family.

  “I’m trying to make a connection between a Jeremiah Harwell and William Harwell. They both lived and died in the Nevis area in the seventeen hundreds. I can trace my line back to William but can find nothing to support his being the son of Jeremiah. There wasn’t a huge population in Nevis back then, but William just seems to come out of nowhere, like he’s from outer space.”

  Leaning forward on her elbows, Peggy studied the chart for a while before she spoke again. “This is so extensive, I’m afraid … it might take me a little bit longer than I thought, just to take this all in. Forgive, me, I really underestimated you. You’re much better at this than the average researcher.” She gave another smile that could light up a room. “Would you be willing to let me take a copy of these and study them before I give you any advice?”

  “I would be absolutely thrilled to give you a copy and let you do that. I really do appreciate your help, and as I said, I’m more than willing to pay you.”

  “Oh, no, not necessary. Your tree looks very interesting. I’m in the middle of something, but I’ll see if I can help you. Give me a couple of days.”

  Van copied all her documents and gave them to Peggy with her phone number. She gave Jean a smug little look as they left for home. This was going to pan out. She just knew it.

  *

  Peggy spread Van’s documents out again on the table in front of her and started circling names and dates. After a while, she began nodding in agreement with a remembered conversation, and a slow smile spread across her face. She grabbed her phone from her purse and autodialed. It was a short, efficient conversation in whispery tones.

  Peggy made a series of notes before requesting additional references from the front desk, backtracking over some of the reference materials used by Van and Jean. She worked another couple of hours before packing everything up and leaving the courthouse. Outside, she paused and surveyed the parking lot. He was late. No sooner had she settled on one of the benches than she caught sight of a small blue sports car zipping up to the building. The car came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the steps. Peggy got in on the passenger side. But then she slid all the way across the seat, wrapped her arms around the driver’s neck, and smacked him full on the lips.

  “Hey, sweetie. When I didn’t see your car I thought maybe you might not be coming.” She looked up tentatively at her boyfriend.

  “Leave you sitting here all alone? Not a chance. You know that by now, Maggie, baby. Missed you so much.” The driver leaned in and gave her a long, lingering kiss.

  Peggy pulled back and giggled, her lips quivering around the kiss. “I love you, too,” she said, caressing his cheek with her hand. She dropped her hand to his, where it remained for the rest of the drive.

  “You realize you’re the only one who calls me Maggie?”

  “Because I’m the only one who truly appreciates how wonderful you are.”

  She laughed. “Where are we going for dinner?”

  “Anywhere my baby wants. Fasten your seat belt,” said Hector, and he floored the gas pedal, spewing gravel and dust in his wake as he headed out Route 261 away from Nevis.

  They chose an out-of-the-way restaurant in a small strip mall a short distance out of town. Choosing a table away from the door, Hector seated her first and then took her hand in his as he sat.

  “How’ve you been?” he said. “Like I said, I’ve missed you.”

  “I’m having the best time in this little courthouse. The same names keep popping up over and over again: births, marriages, children, land sales, death, wills, estate inventories. I feel like I know them personally. You can trace a person’s entire life three hundred years ago. It’s fascinating! I think I’ll find what I’m looking for—I’m flying through records.”

  “You know, don’t you, that the longer it takes you, the longer we can be together? I can’t see you when we get back to New York. Nothing’s changed. I should already be back there, but I think I can juggle that for a little while, before anyone starts looking for me.”

  “He still won’t change his mind?”

  “Nope.”

  “If he hates me so much, why doesn’t he fire me?”

  Hector began to sneer. “Oh, you’re good enough to work for the company—just not good enough to date his son.”

  “You could defy him.”

  Hector laughed. “He’d disown me, and then you wouldn’t want me. I’d be a penniless nobody.”

  Peggy gave him a disgusted look. “You know that isn’t true, and I don’t care about the money. I’ll always love you. You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.” She began playing with the straw in her water glass. “We could just disappear and start a life somewhere else.” She looked up at him with earnest eyes, full of hope.

  “Maggie, seriously, we could never run far enough.”

  “You really think he’d find us?”

  “I know he would. My father never loses. It’s the whole point to his life.”

  “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings with this,” she said. “So don’t get mad, okay? Why don’t you stand up to him? Are you so afraid of him?”

  “Absolutely. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m terrified of the bastard, of what he could do to me—and to you—if he knew we were still together. You have no idea.”

  They sat in silence—he in anger and pain, she unable to understand or empathize.

  “Ah, Maggie, Maggie,” Hector said, taking her hand, “let’s talk about something else. I don’t want to talk about anything but us. Live in the now with me, lovely Maggie,” he teased, trailing kisses up her hand.”

  Maggie smiled but automatically withdrew her hand as the waiter approached to take their order. Hector ordered rack of lamb for each of them, to be followed by Smith Island cake for dessert. Waiting for the meal was a pleasure as they got lost in the private bubble of their relationship. It seemed too short a time when the waiter returned bearing a plate of lamb.

  “Shall I bring you a second plate, to make it easier to share?” he asked.

  Hector’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the second rack of lamb? We ordered two.”

  “Uh, no, sir, I placed an order for only one.”

  Hector threw his napkin down on the table. “What is wrong with you people? Do you see two people sitting here?” He got out of his chair.

  “Hector, please,” said Maggie. She tried
to grab his hand, but it had already come off the table, in a fist.

  “No. They should be able to get this right. Go get your manager, now!”

  “Hector, please, you’re embarrassing me. Please sit down,” Maggie pleaded. She reached again and managed to grab his hand and squeeze it. He didn’t respond. She squeezed again and ran her thumb across the top of his hand. Hector’s eyes darted to hers and held her gaze for a few seconds before she saw the fire in his eyes begin to dim. His eyes flicked back to the waiter.

  “Bring us a second plate.” Hector sat down, wiped the back of his hand across his brow, and turned his attention back to Maggie. “Forgive me. It’s been a long day.” The fire in his eyes went out.

  “Are you all right? I’ve never seen you so upset.”

  “I’m fine. Forget it—bad day.”

  He abruptly changed the subject. “Your research—you know this is vitally important, right? Any real progress?”

  Maggie’s smile began to return. “Actually, there is. Someone is researching exactly the same family line that I am. What a coincidence, huh?”

  Hector sat up a little straighter. “How do you know that?”

  “The lady came over and introduced herself and asked for my help. She was really nice. She noticed we were using some of the same references.”

  “Who?”

  “She wrote her information down for me,” Maggie said, fishing the piece of paper out of her purse and handing it to Hector.

  He read the name and crunched the paper up in his fist. “Vanessa Hardy. Did she say why she was she was researching this?”

  “It’s her line, and she has a brick wall she can’t work through. She’s in a hurry to make the connection, but she didn’t say why.” Maggie stopped and cocked her head to one side as she studied the tension in Hector’s face for a moment. “What’s the matter? She couldn’t have been nicer.”

  “I know all about her. She might have seemed nice, but she’s actually the single biggest obstacle to HYA in Nevis. Bad, bad news for our business. Stay away from her.”

  “Hector, I can’t. I promised her I would help her. I even have a copy of the research she’s done so far.”

  “Lose it. Distract her. Or better yet, mislead her. Keep her from completing the documentation on her line until after you complete yours and the company can act on it. Think of it as corporate competition. Don’t give up our advantage, Maggie. Okay? I know it’s hard for you to be tough, baby, but we’re talking business here—my family business. Can you do that for me?”

  Maggie hesitated. Hector very rarely asked her for anything. “I don’t know. What’s the harm? She was really nice.”

  “I can’t get into company business; you know that. You just have to trust me, baby. I’ve never been false to you.” He reached over and took her hand, and she felt her hesitation melt away. It was true; he had never done her wrong.

  “Okay, I’ll try, but I’m not going to lie to her,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not good at that.” She thought for a moment and then began nodding. “I’ll avoid her.”

  Hector smiled and patted her hand. It was a smile that few besides Maggie ever saw. “That’s my girl.”

  They finished their dinner and headed back to Maggie’s place, where they spent several more hours together as he flirted and she blushed. Laughing and joking was easy for them—the easy way of a close couple—and they shared what they would do when they no longer had anyone to answer to but themselves. Hector left not long after midnight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  BIRDS OF A FEATHER

  Ryan knew that in the corporate world, where worth was often measured by the ability to size up an opponent and beat him at his own game, success need not always be associated with monetary gain. It was sometimes better to beat an opponent without any regard to who ended up with the most in his pile. That was Ryan’s only hope in going to New York. Without a doubt, Hector had communicated to his father everything that happened in Nevis—with his own slant on it, of course. Hector was a “payback’s a bitch” kind of guy. By now, management was not happy.

  Ryan couldn’t outman or outplan HYA. He could only hope to have the upper hand by working quickly, with the inside information he did have, to create an uncomfortable atmosphere for HYA—one that would convince them that there were better uses for their resources than hunting him down as an example to other potentially wayward employees. Some might call it blackmail. Ryan thought of it more as a sensible meeting of the minds.

  As he drove to New York, the hum of his tires on the road drone on like a generator powering his churning, racing mind. He would be direct and target the heartbeat of HYA: its founder and CEO and his own personal mentor, Hector Young Senior. It was his only hope of salvaging the compromised position he had put himself in. He drove with a white line fever up Interstate 95, through the Holland Tunnel, and into Manhattan. His preference would have been to swing by his brownstone, but he couldn’t chance running into someone watching for him there. Hell, he couldn’t even risk using his cell phone. So he checked into the New Yorker under an assumed name and spent the night protecting his assets—shifting money between various private accounts, downloading and e-mailing documents, and refining his strategy.

  *

  The next morning, Ryan was up and out early. Leaving the hotel, he made a series of turns and backtracks to make sure he was still alone, then pulled into a midtown parking garage. With tires squealing, he raced up to the top level, pulled quickly into a space near the elevator, and got out, inhaling deeply that familiar dry, dusty smell of New York. When the elevator arrived it was empty. Ryan took a key from his pocket, inserted it into the floor button panel, and punched a code.

  The elevator lurched upward and opened at the penthouse level, onto a well-appointed lobby filled with bright light, dark wood, and soft, elegant classical music. He nodded to the secretary at the desk and proceeded through the wood-paneled double doors beyond her desk. She smiled briefly in acknowledgment and went back to whatever she was doing.

  Classical music played softly against a backdrop of water trickling across polished rock surfaces. Rich brocade fabric in shades of gold and cream harmonized with sheer curtains as, across the room, a flight of origami cranes took wing.

  “I could say I’m surprised to see you, Ryan, but then, you always were a ballsy guy,” said the distinguished-looking gray-haired man who looked up as he entered. “Since I can assume you’re not here to do anything for me, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to ask you to accept my resignation from HYA. And because, if I didn’t come back, I’d be dead inside a week.”

  “What makes you think you still won’t be?” The man didn’t smile or blink.

  “I’m here to talk to you man to man, Hector.”

  The man laughed quietly. “I’ve always enjoyed our discussions. Go ahead, I’m listening. Would you like to sit while you’re here?” Hector got up and moved over to a leather couch and directed Ryan to a chair nearby. As the older man sat he picked up a piece of black origami paper and began folding it as he spoke. “If I may start the conversation, is it true that you destroyed the one document that would have all but guaranteed our acquisition of the Nevis property?”

  Ryan walked forward and put his hands on the back of the chair but didn’t sit. “That isn’t true. That deed would have guaranteed nothing. One descendant, possibly the only heir to Jeremiah Harwell, will never sell, not for any price.” Ryan took a breath and continued. “I have never betrayed you. I would call it a difference of opinion. We don’t need Nevis. The acquisition just doesn’t seem right. Pick another place along the coast. Nevis can’t be the only one.”

  Hector gave a deep, hearty, amused laugh. “Son, that’s a pretty expensive difference of opinion. There is no right or wrong in the real world, only shades of gray. Someone is going to develop that land someday. It’s ripe for the picking. We have to have vision and seize our opportunities where they lie. It’s a race
, the spoils go to the swiftest, and all that other rubbish you need to hear to feel good about all this,” he said, dismissing the thought with a wave of the hand holding the half-finished crane. He sighed and then fixed Ryan with his keen, cold eyes. “What bothers me most is that you defied the company, and when you do that you defy me. How can I ever trust you again? I don’t understand the betrayal on either a company or a personal level. The world was at your feet, waiting, Ryan. You stood to inherit everything I have. Everything I have was going to be yours,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought of you as a son, treated you like a son—certainly more of a son than that imbecile who bears my name. You’ve made the mistake, possibly a fatal one, of getting personally involved. Is it the woman?”

  “Maybe.”

  Hector got up from the couch and walked over to the window. He spent a moment looking out at the pedestrians two hundred feet below before turning around to glare at Ryan. “You’re giving up a lucrative career, not to mention playing with your life, for a maybe?”

  Ryan didn’t respond.

  “Victim to the feminine wiles, huh? There have been so many—why her, Ryan?”

  “If I told you she was different, would you believe or even understand me?”

  Hector Young shrugged his shoulders.

  “It’s difficult for me to explain. I feel a connection to her in a way that I’ve never felt with anyone else in my life.”

  “Ah, sex is cheap; connection, not so much. And you can’t walk away from her, even knowing that unless you do, you’re destroying your life?”

  “No, I won’t walk away.”

  Hector walked back over to his desk and sat down. Neither man said a word. They just studied each other, Hector with the pads of his two index fingers pressed together forming a triangle that rested lightly against his lips; Ryan just watching, trying to gather from the elder man’s face some clue to his thoughts and feelings. Ryan recognized the intimidation tactic. He had seen it used a hundred times, but he wasn’t sure whether, at this moment, he was seeing a tactical choice or just natural instinct.