Driftwood Point (6 page)

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.

“Everybody told me you were the guy around here. That you knew this area like the back of your hand.”

“That's true.” Alex nodded. “Born and raised in these parts.” He couldn't truthfully say on the island. “I know the people here. I know the laws. I know how to go about getting the most of what you want without tying up your project for the next ten years while you deal with the EPA.”

“So let's say you're me. What would you do?”

“I'd find out what properties might be available for sale and I'd talk to the owners, see what they might take. Then I'd see where the available properties are located. You don't want to build a big brand-new place next to a cabin that hasn't seen a new coat of paint in two centuries and won't for
another two.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You need to know what's available, then sit down with your architect and see what he can do.”

“I already told you my architect—”

“From what you've already told me about the plans your architect has drawn up, they're for houses that will never be built on Cannonball Island. Bring your guy out, let him see what the terrain is like, what the area is like. If he's good—and if you've hired him, I'm sure he is—he'll want to design places that fit into the environs here. Places that are plain but beautiful in their simplicity. Places that respect the unique historic nature of the island.”

“Places that look like they coulda' been here all along.” Brian nodded as if seeing the light. “Yeah. That could be very classy. My ad guys would go crazy with the concept.”

“Keep in mind that the cabins that are already here are very small. Anything too large is going to look out of place.”

Brian was still nodding. “Small houses are all the rage now, right?”

“I hear they're on trend.”

“You think we can get the go-ahead on something like what you talked about? Think we'll find enough folks around here who'll sell?”

“I think there are enough that will make it profitable for you.”

“I'd been thinking more like eight or nine on the point.”

Alec shook his head. “That will never happen. As far as I know, the point is not for sale.”

“You're killing me, Alec.”

“Sorry. You need to know up front what's feasible and what isn't. I'm just trying to be frank with you. I wouldn't want to see you get into a situation where you sink a lot of money into the project and end up getting burned in the end.”

“All right. I appreciate that,” the builder told him, “and I respect your honesty. I'll talk to my architect. You get me a list of people to talk to out here, and I'll send someone out to—”

“No. If you want to buy, you have to do the talking yourself,” Alec told him. “I've said before that the islanders are a different sort. They're not going to deal with a middleman. If you want their property, you're going to have to sit down with them, look them in the eye, tell them why you want it and how much you'll pay.”

“How would you go about getting that conversation started?”

“I'd invite everyone to a meeting, here on the island. I'd have the plans for the houses I'd like to build, and I'd tell them what I want to do. I'd let them know I wasn't going to try to steamroll over anyone, but I'd like an opportunity to buy some land on the island, if anyone was interested in selling.”

“And if no one bites?”

“Then you're looking for another place to build. You can't buy what no one wants to sell.”

Brian scratched the back of his neck. “I'll think about it.”

“Hey, if you find it's more trouble than it's worth, that's okay, too.” Alec shrugged. He almost hoped
that in the end, Brian Deiter would walk away, but something told him that wasn't going to happen. The best he could do was to help protect the interests of the islanders while still giving solid advice to his client, the guy with the fat wallet and dreams of building luxury homes on this historic bit of ground.

“I'll get back to you.” Brian started to his car, then turned back. “I heard you were a straight shooter. I appreciate that.”

“No point in encouraging you to waste your money.”

“Right. Thanks.” Brian got into his car, started the engine, and drove off, his left hand waving out the window.

Alec let out a long breath, one he felt he'd been holding since he got into his car back at the office. He was used to dealing with developers like Brian Deiter, but he'd never been comfortable with the situation. He'd been referred to Deiter by his college roommate, who was married to the developer's sister, and while he appreciated the work, he had mixed feelings.

Cannonball Island had always held a deep fascination for Alec, one that went way beyond his crush on one of the residents. There were the stories of how the island had come to be inhabited, of the men and women who'd been driven across the slow-moving branch of the New River to a place where there was no shelter and few trees—simply because they'd supported the British in 1812. That the small community had not only survived, but thrived, had been nothing short of a miracle. Tradition had said that only scrub pine and dune grass and beach plum grew on
the island back then, but that first year, the newly displaced band of exiles managed to raise crops and build shelters. Having brought with them what they could carry from their homes in St. Dennis, many had cash to spend, and more than one had relatives in other towns who were more than happy to supply the lumber they'd use to build their homes. Over time, the islanders settled in and made their own way, mostly on the water, but for many, the bitterness toward the residents of St. Dennis for what their families had been made to endure and what they'd had to leave behind never died but was passed from one generation to the next.

Like Lis's father, Alec recalled. It had been no secret that Jack Parker had never gotten over the fact that his family had once owned a handsome house on Hudson Street right around the corner from the storied Enright mansion, the largest home in town. Jack wasn't the only one who'd harbored resentment against St. Dennis and its residents, many of whose ancestors had been the very ones who'd driven their families off land they'd settled. It was a black mark against the town's history, but these days almost no one in St. Dennis gave it a thought except maybe on one of the days of the year the town celebrated its past. The injustice, however, still lived on in the minds of some of the descendants of those who'd lost so much.