American Lease (A Dylan Cold Novel Book 1) (20 page)

Abbey almost knocked Dylan over when he came through the door to the station.

“We listened to the whole thing on the radio. Are you all right?” She squeezed him so tight he thought her hug was more dangerous than the woods.

“I’m fine. Were you able to take care of the paperwork?” Dylan asked.

“No.” Frustration covered her face.

“She almost broke me down, but when I got the call from Agent Brinson I put her in lockdown.” The Chief smiled.

“Chief. I’m going to have Mr. Cold walk me through the events that transpired this afternoon out in Monson. Since this is your jurisdiction, you may want to sit in. For the record, his actions and information led directly to the capture of three wanted men. He is entitled to any and all monies offered in reward.” Agent Brinson did formal naturally.

“Can I listen, too?” Abbey asked.

“If you can all agree to be quiet, we’ll leave the room open for you to listen in. The session will be recorded for federal evidence. If I hear a hint of any inappropriate comments, I’ll kick everyone out and charge you with obstruction,” the FBI agent threatened.

Abbey stood awkwardly for the entire session, her face plastered with a grin that looked like a schoolgirl in love.

At the end of the debriefing, the agent scribbled something on a piece of paper and slid it in front of Dylan.

After reading, Dylan smiled, and said: “If possible, I would like my criminal record to be cleared in recognition of the effort and risk undertaken for the good of national security. I made mistakes, but I think I’ve repaid my debt to society.”

“I can’t make promises, but I will certainly share a good word on your behalf.” Agent Brinson paused and then looked directly at Abbey. “I can say that if the American Lease document were to have been recovered and secured by government officials, it would go a long way to clearing your name.”

Abbey nearly laughed out loud. “Well, I guess we should keep looking for it,” she said.

The recording was stopped and the agent rose to his feet, turning to shake Dylan’s hand.

“You’re lucky to be alive. That was a stupid stunt you pulled back there, but I’m glad everything worked out. Is there a bar around here? I think we could both use a drink.”

Dylan grasped the agent’s hand firmly. “I’m glad things worked out, too. Except, of course, us not having the Lease.”

One of the officers that had been on the scene in Monson walked through the door carrying two cases of beer with a large bottle of wine balanced on top.

“No bars in town, but I agree on needing that drink.” The Chief smiled.

When Dylan finished the bottle of water one of the office administrators had gotten for him from the break room fridge he stood to leave. Abbey appeared by his side.

“Ready to go home?” she asked.

“I don’t even know what time it is, but I need to get some real sleep. This has been a hell of a week.” He smiled back at her.

“Chief, I’m going to give Dylan a lift home. We’re both drained. If you need me, you know where to find me,” Abbey called across the room.

“I’ll swing by in the morning in case you need anything more from me,” Dylan said in the direction of Agent Brinson.

Several people spoke at roughly the same time: “Goodnight.”

As they exited the doors, Abbey took Dylan’s hand and laced her fingers between his. He gave a gentle squeeze and they walked to her truck in silence.

“Sorry for getting you involved in all this,” he said once he was seated in the cab.

Abbey did not climb in.

“Thank you for getting me involved. Knowing that I was right the whole time actually feels better than finding this thing.” She stared at him intently.

“So where is it?” Dylan asked.

“Let’s go find out if I’m right.” She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

There was an electricity around her that was palpable. She was expecting something big and could barely contain herself as she bounced around the front of the truck and got behind the wheel.

“So, like I said, Ben Wallingford married Bernice Lovejoy and moved from Monson to Brookford in 1798. He left their property in Monson to the elements and lived comfortably in the Lovejoy home for many years. Many years later, their son transcribed the documents that are now included in the Lovejoy1 and Lovejoy2 documents that your kidnapper had,” Abbey explained as they drove.

“So wouldn’t the son have been a Wallingford and not a Lovejoy?” Dylan was struggling to follow the names.

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be involved in his mother’s family’s ancestry. He took it upon himself to transcribe several other documents, including the arboreal survey of 1798. Just a nice guy helping to maintain the town’s history. Or a part of the organization tasked with keeping track of the Lease,” she explained further.

“So he rewrote documents and embedded clues in them so that future generations would be able to figure it out. Was he supposed to pass those clues on to the next generation and teach them about the Lease?” Dylan thought the idea of a secret society was kind of cool.

“Yes!” Abbey parked the truck in front of the town hall. “He passed the medallion on to his son, who passed it to his, and so on. At some point, the medallion must have been stolen,” she explained, and opened the door to get out.

“Or a sudden death left no time for the story to be passed on. I can imagine a kid selling the old coin to a dealer after losing their father.” Dylan thought back to some of his dad’s belongings that he had let go to a pawnshop.

They met at the foot of the stairs and Abbey took the first step.

“The story was passed on orally, but then it was distorted. My grandfather knew parts of it, he may have even known where the Lease was hidden.” Abbey stopped at the door to the town hall.

“You think your grandfather knew but wouldn’t tell you? Even though he must have known that it would have helped with your Ph.D. thesis?” Dylan was a little surprised at what amounted to an accusation.

“He died before I was going for my Ph.D., but I was the exact type of person he would have been keeping the Lease from. I didn’t care about what impact it would have on the country, I just wanted to claim discovery and have personal success.” She looked sad.

“But if it was found by an American who cares?” He didn’t follow her logic.

“Imagine for a second that one political party got ahold of the document. Can you imagine the leverage they would have in negotiations?” Abbey had studied this document and now had an understanding of its significance. “If they didn’t get their way, they would secede and use the Lease as justification.”

“Would they really do that?” Dylan thought the fear was outlandish.

Abbey opened the door and walked into the old building. Without seeking permission or announcing her presence, she waked directly to a staircase. There was a rope with a sign hanging across the first step with a sign that read ‘Closed,’ but Abbey swung a leg right over it.

“So you’re saying America could never have a Civil War based in ideologies? With the PR machines that can be cranked up, I can think of at least two subjects divisive enough to inspire secession: same-sex marriage and abortion,” she said.

They climbed a complete turn around the spiral staircase that led up into the clock tower.

“And you would have given the Lease to one party?” Dylan was a little surprised.

“Let’s just say my grandfather was right. I wasn’t ready to know where to find the document.” Abbey didn’t look back at Dylan.

Abbey pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. She aimed it at the wall and Dylan could see that some boards had writing on them. From her belt she pulled a multi-tool and opened it to reveal a flat screwdriver. Then she stopped walking and leaned over the rail to look more closely.

The beam of her flashlight traveled up the wall and came to a rest about five feet above the stairs. From here, the name was barely visible, but Dylan knew that it said “Mary Wallingford.” It was in a position that made it impossible to reach from any location on the stairs.

“Here, stand by the wall.” Abbey pushed him towards the wall and he complied.

Her foot went to the railing and then the other was on his shoulder before he could object.

After several minutes of prying and scraping, a board appeared in front of his face.

“Hold this,” she called down to him, and he obeyed.

A few seconds later, she spoke again: “Can I have that back?” and again he obeyed, handing the piece of wood up.

Four quick bangs later, and she moved to place a foot on the railing and climb down off his shoulders. The smile on her face lit up the entire stairwell.

In her right hand was a tube almost two feet long. It was old, but he would have guessed it was from the 1800s and the Revolutionary War.

Abbey fiddled with one end until a cover popped off. She peered inside the tube and took in a sharp breath and held it.

“This is me, doubting it’s real and ignoring all the proper protocols for handling historic documents,” she announced, before sticking a finger inside the tube.

After a few pulls, she was able to pinch a small piece of parchment. The document slid out easily and the brown paper slowly expanded from its tight roll. She grasped an end and pulled on the roll to straighten the document.

While her eyes scanned, Dylan turned on the flashlight from his phone and moved around behind her.

“Is this it?” he asked after struggling to read the old English printing.

“Yes,” she said in awe. “It was never signed by the Continental Congress. The Lease was never fully executed.”

“So it wouldn’t have been worth anything to the thieves?” Dylan wondered.

“It’s still worth millions, and I would say it’s priceless as a piece of history.” She couldn’t look away.

“And do you know the right thing to do with it now?”

He hoped she did.

There was a long silence. Abbey studied every inch of the document and took enough time to read it twice.

“I know exactly what to do with it now.” She smiled and rolled it back up.

Dylan stood back and looked at the row of A-frames. It was hard to believe that Christmas tree season was already here. Working at the farm stand was easy and came naturally, just like his relationship with Abbey.

“Hey, welcome back,” the police chief said after stopping his car in the middle of the gravel drive.

“Thanks,” Dylan replied casually.

“How were the islands?” He stopped, clearly intent on chatting.

“Amazing. I never knew what the sun, sand, and salt could do for you,” Dylan said.

“Did you see the news while you were away?” the chief asked with a lopsided grin.

“Little bit, but nothing special. Should I be worried?” Dylan didn’t like guessing games.

“Turns out the Smithsonian received a significant donation just after you two left.” The chief nodded.

“Well, the reward money was good, but not good enough for me to make a newsworthy contribution to anyone.” Dylan had cleared close to half a million dollars for the three wanted men, but he knew money wasn’t what the chief was talking about.

“It was more along the lines of a long-lost document. I have a contact in the FBI and he tells me that they’re still authenticating it, but the thing looks real. The Lease for the American Territories was never signed, so it probably won’t be a large exhibit, but someday it’ll be on display in Washington, D. C.” The Chief clapped Dylan on the shoulder.

“Well hopefully it got there without any good people getting hurt,” Dylan replied.

“Agreed.” The chief started walking toward the building, but stopped at the door. “If you’re up for doing some odd carpentry jobs, it seems that someone cracked a few boards in the clock tower staircase over at town hall. Whoever did it left the splintered wood right there on the steps. The selectmen are hoping the original wood can be used in the repair.”

“Why do they want to use the original wood?” Dylan was puzzled by this request.

“I guess it was signed and dated. Mary Wallingford contributed the lumber from her old barn in Monson when they were building the town hall. They’d like to keep that record of her contribution.” The chief opened the door and walked into the farm stand.

A black pickup with farm plates pulled into the lot. Dylan could see Abbey’s smiling face through the windshield. She parked and hurried over to Dylan.

“Hey, these look great, and so do you.” She rose up on her toes and kissed him.

“I’m still not sure how you make four layers of flannel sexy, but you always seem to find a way.” Dylan put his arm around her.

“Chief here looking for a handout?” she asked.

“Yeah, he’s inside. Pretty sure Ricky moved the stale donuts to the front when he saw him coming.” He shook his head. It was a miracle anything got done at this place; people were constantly stopping to talk. “He did ask me if I would do some work at the town hall. I guess somebody vandalized it just before we left for the islands.”

“Vandalized? Are they sure it wasn’t done for a very good reason?” Abbey could barely control her smile.

“Well, he did ask if I could use the wood that had been taken off the wall. Seems it was signed by a Wallingford. To your point, the vandal, or person, must have tried to fit it back nicely. They weren’t a wood worker though, so it fell off the wall and was found on the stairs.” He returned her smile.

“I’m sure that whoever did it was in a rush but was extremely careful to protect what they could of a significant historic artifact,” she answered.

“Of course,” Dylan nodded slowly. “I’ll head over there this afternoon and patch things up. I think your town is ready to go back to being a quiet farming village.”

“
Our
town. You’re one of us now, buddy.” Abbey grabbed him again and pulled him close.

“Right. Our town.” Dylan smiled and let the warmth of his happiness wash over.