“So she just was gone?” The eight-year-old Alec had a problem grasping the concept. “Like, one minute she was standing there and the next minute she wasn’t? Like magic?”
“More like one night she was sleeping in her bed, the next morning she was nowhere to be seen. The police investigated and thought that someone had gotten into the house overnight and took her.” Cliff had taken a long drag on his cigarette, blew out a mile-long stream of smoke. “It’s a mystery, all right.”
“A stranger came in and just carried her away,” Alec had said softly.
“Looked that way. I heard it said they found a cut screen in the back door in the morning, so it seems logical.” Alec’s uncle Cliff was always looking for the logic in any situation. “Course, back then, just about no one locked their doors at night. Not here in town, not over there to the island. Folks trusted more back then.”
“If the door wasn’t locked, why’d someone cut a hole in the screen? Why didn’t they just open the door?”
“Well, now, that’s a good question, Alec. My guess is that whoever took her away didn’t know the door would be unlocked. Or maybe that night, the locks were on, who knows? Only thing we know for certain is that the next day, Annie was missing and there was no trace of her left behind.”
“I didn’t know that could happen.”
The idea worried Alec that some unknown person could work his way into your house and steal you away and no one would ever find you and no one would ever know what happened to you because you would never be found.
“Well, I don’t think you need worry about that happening around here.” Cliff reassured Alec. “We’ve got something the Gregorys didn’t have.”
“What?”
“Sadie.” The German shepherd Cliff had gotten for Alec for his birthday the year before had turned out to be not only the boy’s best companion but a great watchdog.
“Sadie.” Alec had nodded. “Sadie wouldn’t let anyone come into our house.”
“You bet she wouldn’t.” Cliff had patted Alec on the head and gone back to work, and from that day on, Alec slept soundly, secure in the knowledge that anyone who reached for him in the dark would find themselves in the vise of Sadie’s strong jaws.
But he’d never forgotten the story, and the way his heart had skipped a beat the first time he’d heard it. As an adult, the boat made him think of romance and love that never died. Not that he’d ever known such a thing. He’d thought he’d been in love a time or two, but knew he’d never known the kind of passion that old Eben Carter had felt for his Annie, the kind that could last a lifetime.
Funny, he thought as he washed up before locking the shop for the day, that the object of his very first crush should pop up when he’d finally gotten his hands on the boat he’d coveted for so long, not that Lis Parker had been aware of his infatuation. He’d secretly had a thing about her from the time Mrs. Warner, their fifth-grade teacher, had moved his desk so that his seat was right behind the mysterious dark-haired beauty from the island. Mysterious, because she rarely spoke with anyone except other islanders. He’d even become friends with geeky Jerry Willets because he heard that Jerry lived across the road from Lis. The friendship had been short-lived, he recalled, because the hoped-for invitation to Jerry’s house had never come, and because Alec discovered that he really didn’t like Jerry after all.
Since Lis was always so aloof, he’d never gotten to spend much time in her company outside of school, so he made sure he signed up for every class she took, going so far as to enroll in a poetry class in which he had no interest. But she never gave him a second look. They’d been juniors the year he decided he would in fact be the master of his fate: He was going to go for broke and ask Lis Parker to the junior-senior prom.
He’d chosen a time when there were other kids standing around the student lounge, hoping their presence might bring him luck. After all, she wouldn’t turn him down in front of all those other kids, right?
“So, Lis,” he’d said as he walked up to her, his stomach doing flips and his heart pounding even as outwardly he exuded nonchalant confidence. “Want to go to the prom with me?”
“No.” That was all she’d said. One word. No. No explanation, no excuse, no thanks anyway. Just . . . no.
He’d stared into her eyes as if he hadn’t heard her. When he realized she wasn’t going to smile and say, “Just kidding,” he prayed for the floor to open, swallow him whole, then close over his head.
Humiliated, Alec had muttered something like, “Oh, okay, then,” and walked away, his cheeks burning like they’d been set on fire, his confidence soundly shot in the butt.
The moment had remained in his memory as the single most embarrassing moment of his life. No one had ever made him feel quite as awkward as Lis had in the fifteen seconds it had taken her to respond, and it annoyed the hell out of him to discover that she still could make him feel just a little like that insecure adolescent he’d once been.
His phone rang in the back pocket of his shorts, and he wiped his hands on his shirt before answering.
“Jansen.”
“Alec, you wanted me to call at eleven and remind you about your meeting with Brian Deiter at one.” His assistant, Lorraine, was one of the very few people in his world that Alec couldn’t live without. She had never failed to keep him on track.
He glanced at his watch. It was exactly eleven. Her call was, as always, on time to the minute.
“Thanks, Lorraine. I’ll finish up here and stop home to clean up and then I’ll be in. Can you have those latest wetland studies copied for me?”
“Already done and in a folder on your desk. And yes, I made a copy for Mr. Deiter.”
“You are worth your weight in gold, lady.”
“Platinum,” she corrected him.
“Whatever makes you happy. See you soon.”
Alec cleaned up his equipment and his workspace, then left through the side door. He padlocked the shop and headed for his car, which he’d left parked in front of the old showroom. Someday he’d get the boat sales business up and running again, but he knew that was a few years down the road. Right now, he was lucky he could steal a few hours away from his office to work in the shop on the skipjack.
And someday I’m going to build them, the classic Chesapeake Bay crafts. Deadrises. Skipjacks. Maybe even a bugeye. As far as Alec knew, there was only one of the latter left in operation. Might be fun to build one if he could find a buyer.
He made a quick stop at his house, where he showered and changed into what passed as summer business attire—khaki shorts and a polo shirt—and drove to his office on Elgin Road. He parked in front of the building he’d purchased the year before and got out. The sign over the door—ALEC M. JANSEN, PhD, ENVIRONMENTAL CONSULTANT—always gave him a thrill. Who’d have ever guessed that the boy who’d skipped school every chance he got would eventually achieve such status?
Lorraine greeted him with a nod and went straight to the important stuff. “Jesse Enright called to let you know the contracts for the Borden project are ready for you to sign. Said to stop in and take a look when you get a minute; he’s in all afternoon and tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks. Can you let him know I’ll stop by around three?” Alec mentally added a visit to his attorney’s office to his list of things to do after his one o’clock.
He skimmed through the stack of phone messages, all written down on pink While You Were Out slips in Lorraine’s precise cursive. Even if voice messages had been left for Alec, Lorraine, who mistrusted most electronic devices, insisted on writing it all out herself.
“What if there’s a power outage and you can’t get your voicemail?” she’d asked archly when Alec told her she could just send to voicemail every call he was unable to take. Before he could respond, she added, “Besides, no one wants to talk to a machine. Everyone hates that.”
By “ev
eryone,” Lorraine meant Lorraine. Alec never brought it up again.
While only in her forties, Lorraine had the mindset—not to mention the wardrobe—of a much older woman. She wore her long dark blond hair—streaked with gray since she was in her early twenties—in a long ponytail that lay flat and straight against her back. Her suits were gray or black, and if she wore a dress, it was a shirtwaist or a sheath that was at least a size too large. Flat-heeled shoes, always, and no jewelry. But Alec couldn’t have cared less what she wore, or how she looked, though there were days when he did have to bite his tongue. Lorraine was efficient, doted on Alec, and nothing—but nothing—ever got past her. Alec wouldn’t think of crossing her. To his mind, she was the perfect employee, and he was grateful every day to have her.
“I’m off to meet with Deiter,” he told Lorraine after he’d taken a glance at his mail, which she’d opened and stacked on the middle of his desk in order of what she perceived as importance. She was rarely wrong. “I’ll stop at Jesse’s when I’m finished. If I’m not back by four, you can leave if you like.”
“My hours are till five.” She returned to her computer and the report she was typing from his hand notes. “I’ll be here until then.”
“All righty, then.” Alec smiled to himself and left the office.
A quick trip down Charles Street brought him to Cannonball Island. Once he’d crossed the bridge, he was minutes from his destination, the island being only eighteen miles from the bay to the bridge. He passed few houses, most of the residents having built their homes closer to the interior, on the far side of the dunes. The few small cottages he did see had been abandoned and boarded up a long time ago, their once-white picket fences staggering to stay upright. Alec knew that within the fenced front yards he’d find the grave markers of those who’d lived and died there. It was a long-running tradition that islanders buried their dead on the property where the deceased had lived. Alec drove by slowly, careful to note where each of the family graveyards were located.
There were salt marshes on the right and a small cove where a dock of undeterminable age reached out into the bay. It still being morning and prime time on the bay, no boats were tied up, but Alec knew that by three o’clock there’d be several pulling in for the night. Many of the islanders still made their living as watermen, as their ancestors had done. When he’d told Lis that the island was a place unto itself, a special place, he meant every word.
It was going to take everything he’d learned over the years to keep it that way.
Alec winced at the sight of the white Cadillac Escalade parked off the road and partially on the dune. He pulled his Jeep onto the solid sand on the opposite side and cut the engine. The file Lorraine had put together for him was on the seat. He was debating whether to take it with him when he glanced up to see his one o’clock appointment walking toward him from the shore.
Brian Deiter wore neatly pressed shorts, a knit shirt that tried too hard to appear casual and that was stretched to its limit over his ponderous abdomen, and leather sandals that appeared out of place on his very large feet. Everything about the man screamed money, and he was there to spend as much of it as he could. How much that might be would depend largely on what Alec had to tell him.
Alec took a deep breath and got out of the Jeep.
“Brian, good to see you.” Alec extended his hand. “Am I late?”
“No, no, I’m early.” The large man took the hand he was offered, shook it, then turned to look out at the bay. “Tell me that isn’t the most beautiful view on the Chesapeake.”
“It’s one of them, that’s for sure.” Alec nodded.
“Can’t you just see a beautiful house right there?” He pointed across the road to the dune. “Not one of those modern, all-glass things. I’m talking about classic architecture here. I’ve got the plans in my car. Can’t wait to show ’em to you.”
“Well, I’m interested in seeing what you’ve got in mind, but I have to remind you, you can’t assume that you’re going to be able to build out here. The wetlands—”
The developer made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Hey, there are already houses out here, right? I passed a bunch of ’em back that way. You must have passed them, too. People live here already, right? Been here since the 1800s, I read. So what’s the difference, a few more houses?”
Alec’s head began to pound. Nothing about this conversation was going to be easy.
“It’s true, the island has been populated for a long time, but the majority of those homes are built toward the center of the island, and they’re cottages. The places that were built on this side closer to the bay are all abandoned now.”
“Perfect. So we’ll find out who owns them, we’ll buy them, and put up new ones in their place.” Brian looked pleased at the thought. “We’ll build along the road there, and then out here on the point.”
He gestured in the direction of the acres of grass and pines on the opposite side of the road.
“Brian, the houses were abandoned because they got the crap knocked out of them every time it stormed. This side of the island is right in the track of every major storm that hits the Chesapeake.”
“Oh. Isn’t there some way . . . ?”
Alec shook his head.
“I’ll bet my architect could find a way to make it work.”
“It’s a loser, Brian. There’s a reason why no one rebuilt those places. Besides, every one of those houses has a private graveyard.”
“A what?”
“Traditionally, families on the island buried their dead right in their yards. If you look closely, you’ll see the small headstones marking the graves.”
“So we’ll move ’em all into one big cemetery. How’s that for quick thinking, eh?” He poked at Alec with a forefinger.
“It’s part of their traditions, Brian. If they think for one minute that you don’t respect them, or their heritage, or their way of life, there isn’t one person who’d sell as much as one square inch of land to you.” Alec fought to keep the impatience out of his voice. He knew that Deiter was used to getting his way, and if this project was going to go through with Alec’s involvement, he was going to have to let the client know where the lines were drawn. In a gentle way, of course. “Let it go.”
“All right, then. Back to my original plan. How many houses do you think I can put up over there?” He pointed across the road.
“Not as many as you’d like, and not nearly as big as what you want, I’m afraid.”
“How ’bout out on the point?”
“Same thing, Brian.”
“But I thought I explained to you that I wanted—”
“Walk with me, and I’ll show you.” Alec crossed the road, and an increasingly impatient Brian followed.
Alec led the way across the dune, being careful to avoid stepping on the grasses.
“This is all wetland.” Alec pointed to the salt marsh behind the dune. “It would be like building on a floodplain. There’s no real solid underpinning . . .”
“Bah.” Another wave of Brian’s impatient hand. “We’ll bring in fill, shore it up.”
“I’m afraid the state of Maryland isn’t going to let you do that, at least not here, and not to the extent you want.”
“Didn’t I hire you to figure this all out?”
“I have figured it out. You can build on three, maybe six to eight locations on the island at the most, but you aren’t going to be able to put up a bunch of McShore mansions on the beach or on the dunes. These are protected areas. Now, do keep in mind that the fewer you build, the more exclusive the area will remain.”
Brian mulled that over for a moment. “The more I can charge. Yeah, I can see that. Fewer, more expensive homes. I can go along with that.”
“And size is going to be an issue.”
“Why? If I only build a few . . . maybe six, seven . . .
”
Alec shook his head. “You might not get permits for that many in this location. The watershed is protected. Everything you do here is going to change the environment, from the concrete you use to build the footers to the amount of waste that goes into the bay. Everything has an impact, Brian. The state has gotten serious about the requirements that you, as a developer, will have to meet.” Alec knew damned well that Brian was well aware of that. The man had been doing business on the Chesapeake for years. “If you go in with an acceptable plan, it should be easy to get your permits. If you go in with a plan that you know from the outset isn’t going to fly, the appeals are going to cost you a bundle, go on forever, and you will not win. The only ones who come out on top will be the lawyers you hire to fight the decision. It isn’t worth it. Trust me when I tell you, you’re going to have to have a plan that works within the ecological and environmental parameters that have already been established. You’re going to have to respect that. You may not make the killing you were hoping for, but you won’t lose your butt in the process.”
Clearly annoyed, Brian went to the top of the dune and made a three-sixty turn around. Alec figured he was debating his options. His plan, as originally laid out to Alec, was to develop the entire eastern shore of the island, building large luxury homes right on the bay all the way to the point. Alec knew it would never be approved by any of the agencies that would be involved, but he also knew that Deiter Homes had huge resources behind it, and a track record of bulldozing ahead with a project and letting the chips fall where they may. Given the wrong advice—and encouragement of the wrong sort—Brian would defy the regulations and he’d go ahead and take his chances with the courts. Alec knew his client was debating those options at that very minute. He knew, too, that if Brian looked long enough, he could find a consultant who was crafty about bypassing the laws and who wasn’t above recommending a little quid pro quo in the form of a payoff to the right people to get what he wanted.
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