Free The Pickle Boat House by Louise Gorday Page B

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