NO MAN AN ISLE
The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
Chapter 16
Don was trimming the shrubbery near the gate when a voice hailed him. "Hey, kid!"
He switched off the trimmer and straightened. With the colored shirt, bright tie, and sleazy suit, it had to be a salesman. He'd seen them often in the cheap boarding houses where he'd stayed when he had enough money. Something about this guy aroused a particular dislike. "Yeah?"
"The owner around?"
"Yeah."
"How about letting me in. I want to talk to him."
"What about?"
He looked at the size of the house and back to Don. A one-armed boy in ragged jeans and a ripped T-shirt could be only a worker, he decided. "What's it to ya?"
"I don't let anybody in I don't know."
"Take this to him." He held a business card between the bars.
Don took the card, looking at the cheap printing - Resort Realty, Inc. Marty Jones, Representative. He spun on his heels and started for the house.
"Kurt?"
"In the kitchen. What is it?"
Don held out the card. "Guy wants to talk to you. I don't like his looks so I didn't let him in."
"Good." They walked down the drive together.
"You the owner?" The toothy grin and ingratiating tone irritated Kurt even more than they had Don.
"What do you want?"
"Marty Jones. And you?"
Kurt ignored the hand extended between the bars of the gate. Undaunted, the salesman continued, "I believe I can be of service to you, friend. Like you saw, I represent Resort Realty and we're interested in your property. We plan to put a development in here, and .."
"I am not your friend and this property is not for sale." Kurt snapped.
The grin wavered. "We're prepared to offer you a price you can't refuse."
"I can and I do refuse! I said this property is not for sale, and that means to you or anyone else."
The grin vanished. "Now look here, friend, I came prepared to deal and ..."
"And you're going to leave the same way." Kurt whirled on his heel and walked toward the house, Don beside him, ignoring the entreaties of the astonished man.
Don did not speak until he heard the man's vehicle start. "What are you going to do, Kurt?"
"I'm not going to have people building houses all around me, I'll tell you that." He climbed into the Jeep. "Get in. We're going to the station."
The chief had only to look at Kurt's expression. "Trouble."
"Too right. Some damned developer is trying to get in here. Salesman came to the house wanting to buy it. Do you happen to know if my land is all within the fence?"
A thoughtful look crossed the chief's face. "I'm not sure, but I think Paul got a little at a tax sale sometime after the fence was put up."
"What about the station?"
"We don't have that much. Let me take a look." He searched through the file cabinet, grunting as he slipped a folded map from the drawer. Once it was spread on the desk, he pointed. "This outlined in red is the station. That in black is yours. Looks like this here strip between your place and the part set aside for a public road might be a couple hundred feet deep. The station property starts here on this side the right-of-way. I don't know who owns that strip on the other side of the right-of-way up to your line, but it's mighty unlikely the state will do anything about the road in the near future. Even if they ever do pave it, that strip would be a buffer for you, 'less somebody builds on it. Course, that ain't likely 'cause everybody wants on the water."
"What about that to the north and south?"
"A hunt club owns that to the north of you, but that to the south, I ain't sure about."
"We've got to keep those bastards out of here, Chief. Look what they're doing to the rest of the beach."
"I know, but there ain't nothing I can do. I already got a small place on the soundside near the village for my retirement, so I can't afford to buy any more, and the government sure won't buy any more for the station, 'cause they've already closed most of these little facilities an' I 'spect it won't be long a-fore they git to this one. Looks like iffin anything gits done, it's goin' to be up to you."
"Where do we start?"
"Let me get changed. We'll go over to the county courthouse in Currituck and see what we can find out."
The elderly clerk shuffled off in search of the book of plats, once the chief made him understand what they wanted. He finally returned with a large book held between arthritic hands, blowing the dust from it. He dropped it to a wooden table by the grimy window.
The three of them huddled over the book, the station map to one side. The chief handed Don a pencil. "Here. Draw in them plats and numbers in this here book on the map." Don bent to his task as Kurt and the chief turned their attention to the written records. The chief's finger jabbed at the page. "Looks like the piece between you and the road is owned by Ephram Daniels and that small piece to the south by Zeb Martin."
"You know them?"
The chief shook his head. "There's a passel of Daniels in the area, but I ain't never heard of the Martin fellow. We can git the addresses from the clerk. Now, that there area south o' Martin's," he flipped several pages, suddenly grinning broadly, "you don't have much to worry 'bout there, it's owned by the government. They don't use it any more, but they ain't likely to let it go, 'specially since it was a practice bombin' range. I thought it was next to yours, but I weren't sure."
"No wonder they wanted my place. It's the only access they would have to the sound unless they got Martin's and that looks to be only a hundred feet or so wide."
"If the club don't sell none of their property, there ain't enough to make it worthwhile. I ain't surprised he's desperate."
"Then I'd better get in touch with these two and see what they have in mind."
After talking with the clerk, the chief came back to the table. "Let me talk to Daniels. If he's the one I think he is, I took Paul down to see him a couple o' times 'bout that land. Martin lives in Elizabeth City, so I'll let you cover him and the people at the club."
Kurt pointed through the window to a store across the road. "There's a pay phone over there. I'll try to get an appointment with Martin for tomorrow."
He placed a brief call and recrossed the road where the chief and Don waited by the Jeep. "He's an attorney. His secretary said I could see him at eleven."
"I'll get to Daniels tomorrow morning while you're gone. When you going to the club?"
"As soon as we get back. I hope someone's there. It's out of season, isn't it?"
"Yep, but they got a caretaker comes over from the mainland. Iffen he's there, he can tell you who you ought to see. If he ain't, you can leave him a note to see you."
As soon as they had dropped the chief off at the station, Kurt turned the Jeep northward along the sandy track. Don found the massive shingled building with its deep porch impressive. A wooden dock extended for some distance out into the shallow sound. Several small skiffs were moored to it, while one lay bottom up on the beach in the process of being repainted.
"Wait for me."
He watched Kurt knock at the door then enter, wondering what sort of reception he would have. The chief had told him this was a place for wealthy sportsmen. He'd seen some of them once or twice the past fall when he'd been out in the boat and they always threw up a hand in greeting as he sailed by. He was startled to see a doe emerge from the tangle of wild grape and scrub oak to nibble at the longer grass along the edge of the lawn. He watched her graze then bound back into the thicket at the sound of voices. Kurt and an older man stood on the porch.
"Good news?" Don asked as Kurt vaulted into the Jeep.
"Yes and no. They've been made an offer, but the members refused to sell. The next club up has sold the beach front to the one that came to the house. Unless something happens, the only traffic will stick to the beach and that won't be much bother."
"Unless they get curious. Boy, what a mess."
"It could be worse, but I still don't like it. At least there's one thing in our favor; it isn't likely to get crowded unless they pave the road and, if I know the way the state operates, that will be a long time. I also found out that Nature Conservancy is trying to get the government to convey that section to the south to them. That'll slow things down."
"I hope forever."
"So do I, Don. So do I. You want to go into Elizabeth City with me tomorrow?"
"I guess so. There're some things we need, so I can do the shopping while you talk to Martin."
The shopping completed, at least Don hoped it was for he'd hardly been able to concentrate, he returned for Kurt, driving slowly down the block, searching for the familiar face among the people moving purposefully along the sidewalk. He circled the block, whipping into a just vacated space in front of the entrance to the office building. Anxiously, he glanced at his watch. Over an hour! Despite himself, Don began to worry as the hands of his watch crept around the dial.
"Your time's about up." The voice broke into his thoughts. He looked up to see a policewoman standing by the Jeep.
With his most disarming smile, he replied, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I was waiting for someone. I thought he'd be out by now."
"Two hours is the limit, and you've got about fifteen minutes before you'll have to move your jeep."
"Yes, ma'am. I don't think I'll be here that long." The woman moved on as he regained his seat and looked at his watch once more.
"Ready to go?" Kurt's voice roused him.
"I was getting worried. What took so long?"
"Martin refused to sell, but he isn't much interested in the property for himself since he has a cottage in Nags Head. I argued him into giving me a first option. Getting the papers fixed took longer than I thought."
"Then if the chief had any luck, we'll be all right."
"Just about. Move over and let me drive. We're going by the sheriff's office in Currituck on the way home."
"Why?"
"I'm going to register my land and put up posted signs. Then if we get bothered, we can have people arrested for trespass."
Kurt drove the Jeep slowly along the property line, stopping from time to time to allow Don to nail one of the notices to a tree.
"I feel like we're drawing lines for a battle," Don said.
"I guess in some ways we are. Did you save a couple of the signs for the waterfront?"
"Yeah."
He drove on the narrow sandy strip at the water's edge, stopping for Don to affix the notices in place. "I wonder if the chief had any luck?"
"I hope. Say, isn't that his Jeep?" Don pointed, but Kurt was unable to see from his seat. "Let's get going."
The chief brought the station Jeep to a skidding halt and gave them a broad grin. "I saw old Eph Daniels and you ain't got any worries there. That same character, it must of been from the way Eph described him, anyway, he offered Eph a pretty good price. Eph told him to go to hell, it was his sand and always would be. When he tried to push Eph a little, he just picked that guy up by the seat of his pants and pitched him off the porch."
"How old is Mr. Daniels?"
"Near 'bout eighty."
"You mean to say that he actually picked that Jones character up?" Kurt asked in astonishment.
"That's what he said, and I don't doubt it for a moment. The old man's strong as a bull. Still operates his own shrimp boat."
"What did he say to you?"
"Told me to go to hell, too." The chief chuckled. "Guess he figured I were too big to throw off the porch. Anyway, after he figured out I belonged and I explained why I was interested, he calmed down. He remembered talking to Paul, so if that piece ever gets sold, you'll have first chance at it." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of notebook paper. "He give it to me in writin'. His daughter's a notary and she was home, so it's all official like. How'd you make out?"
"I got a first refusal on the Martin tract. It was the best I could do."
"Looks like we acted just in time."
"I hope it's settled. I was getting worried."
"Don't doubt it. I weren't none too happy 'bout it myself. If I wanted to live in town, I'd of asked fer a transfer long ago. Of course, some of them kids at the station was a-hoping it would mean some girls aroun' come summer, but it suits me like it is." He looked at Don. "Ain't you going?"
"Where?"
"To get Erik. He'll wring your neck if he has to walk."
"Gosh. I forgot with all this other."
On their way back to the house they passed the chief headed back to the station. Don was just able to squeeze his Peep past the vehicle blocking the track to the gate. He groaned as he looked at the man pressing the buzzer. "It's him again."
"That the one been pestering Kurt?"
"Yeah."
"Hi, fellows." Jones turned his toothy grin on them. "Is Lawrence home?"
"I thought you were told to stay away from here," Erik snapped.
"I don't know as it's any of your business."
"Anything that concerns Mister Lawrence concerns me." Erik growled.
"Flake off. Well, kid, is Lawrence home, or ain't he?"
Don was too busy watching the flush suffuse Erik's face to be interested in the man's words. He shivered with anticipation as Erik jumped from the Jeep and stood facing Jones. "He is, but he doesn't want to be bothered by the likes of you."
"I said flake off, swabbie."
Erik's fist exploded against the man's chin. Jones dropped backward to the ground, twitched for a moment, then went limp. Erik dragged the recumbent figure to one side of the drive and inserted his key in the gate switch. "Let's get in while we have a chance."
Don inched the Peep around the man's truck and through the gate. Not until he was within the confines of the fence and heard the gate clang shut did he feel safe enough to look back. Jones was shaking the bars as if he would force them apart by sheer will. "I'll get you for this!" He screamed.
Kurt was listening intently to the intercom when Don and Erik entered the house. From the diminishing roar in the speaker, it was apparent that Jones had recovered enough to drive away.
Kurt gave them a chary grin. "Must have been quite a show. I almost walked down for the main event."
"If he shows up again, give me a call and I'll get the sheriff on 'im." Erik snarled.
"I seem to remember someone saying once, 'Help me not to always come out swinging.'"
"Go to hell." There was no malice in Erik's voice as his expression softened and he punched Kurt lightly on the shoulder. "Besides, I did wait. Calling me a swabbie did it."
"And I got to see the famous temper in action," Don gloated.
"I think you mean infamous," Erik corrected, unbuckling the wide leather belt of his jeans and pulling it part way out. "What about seeing this in action?"
"You wouldn't dare strike a poor crippled child!" Don cried in mock horror.
"You're right. I'd better save it in case our friend comes back." He pulled the belt back into place. "Come on, Kurt, you need a drink. You're wound up like a spring."
Mentally exhausted, Kurt and Don slept later than usual. Erik puttered in the kitchen until he heard Kurt, then carried him his tea. "Feel better?"
"First good night's sleep I've had since this began. What would I do without you and Don?"
"Probably a lot better. For one thing, you wouldn't be so lazy."
As Erik started through the door a pillow hit him in the back. He picked it up and, after feigning a throw at Kurt, tossed it lightly to the bed. "I swear, you're getting as bad as Tony."
"Get out of here."
As he drove down the Currituck peninsula on the way home from Elizabeth City, Kurt's eyes fell on a square of cardboard tacked to a stake on the ditch bank, containing one word in large crudely-painted red letters. Seeing no cars close behind, he pulled the Jeep off on the shoulder of the highway and walked cautiously across the two planks spanning the ditch into the yard of a small green composition-shingled house seeming dwarfed by the huge bush at one side. His eyes glowed in anticipation. A sturdy barefoot teen-aged boy came out of the house. Kurt pointed. "Got three or four quarts?"
"Aye." The boy picked up a quart fruit basket and set to picking.
The purchase poured gently into a brown paper bag, Kurt paid the boy and walked back to the Jeep. That evening when Don and Erik came in together, Don opened the fridge and looked at the large bowl of golden brown fruit.
"What's this?" He asked, holding one out.
Kurt smiled, "Figs."
Don picked up one and examined it. "This is what a fig looks like?"
"Haven't you ever had one?"
"One time, I think. One of the places I worked in got some in about Christmas, but they were flat and almost black. The cook said they were dried."
"They taste entirely different from fresh." Kurt peeled one of the fruit and popped it into Don's open mouth.
Don chewed thoughtfully, his lips beginning to curl into a smile. "Tastes kind of funny, but it's good."
"Yeech!" Erik pantomimed throwing-up. "They're okay in jam, but that's it."
"Just that many more for Don and me, then," Kurt commented.
They sat on the deck enjoying the sunset. Don jumped at the unexpected sound of the buzzer. "I'll get it." Still cautious, he walked to the gate.
"I think you might want to see this one," he said when he returned to the deck.
The elegant simplicity of the engraved card impressed Kurt. "Looks like we caught the big one this time. Let him in."
Although appearing to be in his fifties, the man who climbed the steps did so with the fluid grace of a natural athlete. "Mr. Lawrence? I'm J.R. Carson. I'm sorry to disturb you, but since I couldn't find a listing for you, it was impossible to make an appointment."
"Quite all right. Will you join us?"
"I think you might wish to speak in private."
"No need. I'm sure that what you have to say concerns us all."
Carson followed with reluctance, but used his eyes to make a rapid appraisal of the house. As they passed the door, his one glimpse of the library further wrecked his calculations. Nothing about this place had he expected.
Don hurried out to the deck, wishing to miss nothing. On the tray he carried was one of the good china cups as well as the silver creamer and sugar bowl.
Kurt saw Carson register surprise as he took the cup and tasted the coffee. "Ah, no one makes coffee like the Guard."
'So Jones has filled him in,' Kurt thought. He'd have to be on his toes every minute. "I believe you wish to discuss something with us."
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Lawrence. My company has plans for developing this area. With the government holding that land to the south of you except for one strip, this is the last parcel of any size available with access to the sound. It would fit into our plans as a picnic area and park site. I try not to disrupt nature, only enhance its usefulness."
"Bull!" Only Don heard Erik.
"I believe it was made perfectly clear to your associate that I am not about to sell this property or any portion of it. In fact, I shall do everything in my power to block development by you or anyone else."
"I had assumed that would be your answer, especially as you were able to obtain an option I've been trying to get. As it stands now, I'll have to content myself with the property I hold further to the north." He smiled at Kurt. "However, you can't blame me for trying."
"Not at all. Had you come the first time, we might have avoided some unpleasantness."
Carson sighed. "You refer, of course, to Jones. He doesn't seem able to adapt to the class of clientele I serve. Was he rude?"
"No!" Erik fired back. "He was threatening, insulting, and obnoxious. That's why he left here with a fat lip."
"I apologize, gentlemen. I had no idea he was conducting himself in such an unprofessional manner."
"Had he bothered us again, I was prepared to have him arrested for trespass. I'm certain you noticed that I've had the property posted." Kurt added.
"I see," said Carson, placing the cup and saucer on the tray. "Thank you for hearing me out, Mr. Lawrence. Should you ever decide to sell, I might be interested for myself. I've sold hundreds of cottages to others, but I don't have one of my own."
"Perhaps you didn't understand. This is not a summer home; this is a permanent residence."
"That moron told me this was a summer place occupied by three qu..." Carson suddenly realized that he was voicing his irritation at Jones and bit his lips. "I ... I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Lawrence, gentlemen. I'm not inferring in any way that ... it's just that I was led to believe ..."
"Of course," Kurt replied, amused at the man's acute embarrassment. Seeing Kurt's amusement, Erik dropped his clinched fist.
"Please accept my apologies, gentlemen."
As he drove away, Erik asked, "What do you think?"
"He's sharp and about as honest as you'll find a developer to be. I think we've heard the last of this."
To be continued...
Feedback always
welcome:
Posted: 08/22/08