American Lease (A Dylan Cold Novel Book 1) (14 page)

“Dylan?” Abbey called from the front door.

He hadn’t answered his phone, but his truck was in the driveway. She didn’t really know him that well and couldn’t reasonably expect him to drop everything for her, but still, she felt a connection. There was no baggage with Dylan, and he didn’t wonder about her sanity when she talked about the lease.

There was also the chance that he could be in trouble. When they parted yesterday, he had been hit by a car and shot at. She had sent one of her guys to give him a lift home, the least she could do, and he reported that Dylan was safe and sound when he left him at the driveway.

She placed her hand on the doorknob. Lots of people in Brookford left their doors unlocked; would it be a sign if Dylan’s apartment were open?

He had helped her out with no regard for his own safety. She was just worried about him and checking in. Even if there was an embarrassing moment, letting herself in wasn’t a big deal.

“Dylan, it’s Abbey. I don’t want to intrude, but after yesterday I thought I should check on you,” she called out loudly as she slowly swung the door open. “I also have some good news to share and thought you would appreciate it.”

The mostly-underground apartment was dark. Abbey’s eyes took a few moments to adjust from the bright sunshine.

As the room came into focus, she could see that the place was bare. Nothing on the walls, counters, or tables in the living area. It was as if someone had packed everything up and was preparing to move out. There were a couple of boxes and a duffle bag on the floor in the kitchen and another lump of what could be laundry against the wall in the living room.

Scanning back toward the kitchen area, her eyes adjusted further so she could see deeper into the space. Past the counter was a lump on the table. It took several seconds for Abbey to register the lump as a human head and shoulders. When it finally took shape in her brain it looked out of place.

“Dylan?” she asked curiously as she walked further into the apartment.

Jim had told her that Dylan had a drug record. She was sure one of their friends on the police force had shared the detail in the hopes of keeping her away from him.

Abbey stopped about three feet from the table when the smell hit her. Vomit covered the table and had spilled over onto the floor. Dylan’s face lay sideways in the sick and she could see his back rise and fall weakly.

A faint moan came from the table. “Help.”

She had slaughtered and cleaned chickens, moved road kill, and mucked more cow manure than she could remember. Nothing had been as disgusting as this. Being a nursemaid to an addict wasn’t on her bucket list and she was ready to spin around and leave him to his vices.

“Montana,” Dylan moaned again.

Something wasn’t right with the way his body was shaped. Abbey tried to focus through the chunky liquid covering the table. Confident that they were alone, she looked to the wall and found the light switch and flipped it on.

The duct tape securing Dylan’s arms to the table was easy to see in the light; so was the needle sticking out of his arm. How could anyone do something to themselves when they had to fasten their own arms to a table just to be still enough to do it?

They couldn’t. There was no way Dylan could have pushed the plunger on the syringe the way that his arms were taped. Someone had done this to him.

“Montana,” he moaned again, and a tear appeared in the corner of his eye.

Three, two, one. Abbey counted down in her mind before moving. She drew her knife from the holster on her belt and opened it. She walked past the counter and to the table. Ignoring the mess, she slid the blade of her knife under the tape near Dylan’s elbow and carefully sawed her way forward toward his wrist. The process was repeated on the other arm before she folded the knife up and peeled the tape away.

Abbey had been drunk before and had helped more than one friend who had passed out from drinking, but this was different. She didn’t know if this was the beginning of things getting worse or if this was how it looked to get better.

Getting Dylan out of his vomit and the smell that had taken over the apartment couldn’t be a bad thing. She walked behind him and placed her hands under his arms. He was heavier than a bail of hay, but she was strong.

Dylan helped a little and together they got him to a standing position.

“Let’s get you outside in the fresh air,” Abbey said, just so that he could continue to help her help him.

“Killed Montana,” Dylan moaned again.

She wanted him to be calm. “Let me take care of you and then I’ll check on Montana.”

The two struggled out the door and she helped him to sit on the steps. She didn’t know what to do next. If she left him to go back inside, it was a real possibility that he would fall over.

“Can you tell me when this happened?” she asked.

“Came home. FBI killed Montana, me,” Dylan said softly.

Her guy had dropped him off yesterday afternoon and it was now seven in the morning. The FBI agent, the imposter, must have been here waiting inside and jumped him when he walked into the apartment.

“Okay, it’s morning now, so you were out all night. Do you know if you’re feeling better or is it getting worse?” Abbey asked.

“No hospital. Check Montana.” Dylan’s voice seemed to be getting stronger.

Abbey rose from the steps and walked back into the apartment. She went to the lump against the wall and confirmed that it was Dylan’s dog. Placing a hand on his chest confirmed what she and Dylan both knew—Montana was dead.

She went to the kitchen to get Dylan some water. There were no real cups or glasses, but she found an empty water bottle in the sink. She filled it and went back outside.

She forced the water into his hand. “I’m so sorry about Montana. You didn’t deserve any of this,” she said.

“I’m clean,” Dylan pleaded. “He made me use.”

“I know. You aren’t in trouble.” Abbey was at a loss.

Seeing your dog killed and being shot full of drugs in what had to have been intended as an overdose was enough to drive a person crazy. There was nothing she could say to make any of it seem right. But she wanted to.

“I actually stopped by with good news. The Vermont State police scanned every page from the stack of papers in the kidnapper’s car,” she told him.

“Wow,” Dylan answered half-heartedly.

“I have the copies.” Abbey held up a USB key and smiled.

“Good luck with all that.” Dylan stared at the bottom step.

“We can find the lease,” she stated confidently. “When we find it, the guy who did this will probably try and take it from us, then you can…” She wasn’t sure what Dylan would do if the fake FBI agent confronted them.

“Kill him,” Dylan finished her thought.

“How can I help you, right now?” Abbey didn’t want to think about killing anyone, but wanted to help Dylan get through this moment.

Dylan rose, unsteadily, to his feet.

“Get my shovel,” he said and pointed to the shed.

It took her a few beats to understand what he wanted the shovel for. Dylan disappeared into the house before she realized that he was going to bury his dog. She walked to the shed and grabbed two shovels.

Without a sound, Dylan came through the apartment door carrying the body of his best friend. His steps were short and unsure, but his jaw was set and determined. Together they walked to the edge of the forest and stopped at a lush patch of grass. Abbey was sure she had seen the dog lying here peacefully many times when she’d ridden past on her tractor.

Dylan plunged the tip of his shovel in to the ground. His movements were labored and slow, but he did not stop. Abbey helped dig in silence. When sweat soaked Dylan’s shirt, she went to get more water.

By the time she came back, the dog was in the hole and partially covered with dirt. Dylan did not stop until a small mound of earth rose above the surrounding grass. He took the shovel from Abbey’s hand and walked them both to the shed.

At the front step, he stopped to take the bottle of water and drank it completely. She followed him inside, where he walked to the living area and stood with his head down.

Her mind told her to leave and let him be alone in his sadness, but her gut told her to stay. Abbey cautiously approached Dylan and stood for a moment before wrapping her arms around him and hugging tightly.

His legs collapsed and the two fell slowly onto the couch in a partial embrace.

While Dylan slept, Abbey thought.
How was the medallion linked to the papers?
She had read through every single book the in the library and never saw the thread of a clue.

She drifted off herself and dreamed of her last fling with the lease. It had started with a Harvard University undergrad degree in history. That was followed immediately by a master’s degree, and then work on her Ph.D. began, though it had been building since her sophomore year.

One professor thought she was close. He supported her, encouraged her, and then took advantage. It wouldn’t have hurt so much if he had a real interest in the lease, or if she had actually found it. When he betrayed her on both personal and professional levels, her life seemed to break down.

It was easy to tell herself that the people who laughed at her relationship weren’t real friends. That was true. But the history experts, the people she respected and hoped for their respect in return, were the ones who were most harsh. They accused her of doing the manipulating and using her advisor to gain credibility for an outlandish concept. One they had fully supported just weeks before.

All of the people are what led to the confusion. Her interest in the lease stemmed from her grandfather. She got involved with it and searched for it because of him. It helped her to feel close with someone who had been there for her but taken away too soon.

Could she get that part back this time around? Would Dylan be the one to help her solve the puzzle and never judge or question her sanity?

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When they both woke, it was mid-afternoon. Dylan was a little surprised and apologetic, but Abbey was sincere when she said it was nothing to worry about.

“I need to go for a walk. Would you join me?” Dylan asked, in an effort to break the awkward silence.

“Sure, that would be nice,” she answered and helped him off the couch.

The pace was much slower than usual but Dylan felt a little better with each step. Somehow he was pulled toward Monson, and they arrived at the head of the trail in silence.

“Can you help me understand some of the details about this lease? The whole idea seems a little far-fetched,” he asked when they reached the sign welcoming them to Monson.

“Love to.” It was like she had been waiting for him to ask. “In 1764, Benjamin Franklin went to England. It was his third trip there and the intention was to gain colony status for the province of Pennsylvania. They wanted to be treated like a part of the United Kingdom rather than being subjected to the whims of the Penn family.”

“1764? That’s before the American Revolution, right?” Dylan was focused on the ground at his feet and his voice was soft and listless.

“Yes, but he wasn’t there on behalf of all the colonies, just Pennsylvania. He was a prosperous businessman and had many friends in England. The goal was to secure not just the benefits of being a crown colony, but the rights as well. I’m sure you’ve heard of ‘no taxation without representation,’ which was one of the major rights they wanted to secure.” Abbey’s voice was growing with excitement.

“Fine, but he was there for Pennsylvania and not everyone else. Did that change in 1776 when the revolution broke out?” Dylan wasn’t as excited, but he was growing curious, especially having grown up in Pennsylvania.

“The American Revolution did not just sort of happen in 1776. Tensions between England and the American colonies were growing for a long time. In fact, in 1767 when the colonies really started making noise, France reached out to Franklin, who was in England at the time, hoping to widen the divide between England and the Americas.” She turned to walk back to the apartment.

Dylan didn’t budge as he searched his brain for tidbits of knowledge. “Okay, so Franklin is in England being a politician and the people in the colonies are causing trouble. France hates England, I remember that from high school history, and they are egging on both sides. Let them fight and France can come clean up afterwards. Is the lease some kind of peace treaty?”

“Definitely not a peace treaty. King George really didn’t want a war, and neither did the wealthy American businessmen who were getting together to discuss the best way to deal with the Indians and the French. But it wasn’t just money, it was natural resources. The king needed access to American timber to supply his navy. The British navy was crucial to maintaining the Empire, which spanned the globe at that time. Both sides were negotiating, some times creatively, to avoid war,” Abbey explained. She was making the history come to life.

“Okay, so Franklin is in England and he’s a real smart guy,” Dylan said. “He wants to do almost anything to avoid war, but still let the Americans keep a bigger part of their paycheck. We’re still talking about a country, not a five-hundred-square-foot apartment in Boston. How does this lease come up?” Dylan stopped and breathed deeply, like he was struggling to keep from vomiting.

“Right. Franklin is in London for
years
trying to talk this thing through. In fact, he once wrote that his friends in England were sick and tired of hearing him talk about the colonies and a peaceful resolution to their situation. He was in England so long that the people who knew of him in the colonies thought he was a British sympathizer. But he was so smart. You wouldn’t even believe it. Ben Franklin was using the press and various balls and society events, the social media of the time, to sway public opinion. He debated, presented, and negotiated anywhere and any time.” She turned and took and short step back toward the road.

“And he just says, ‘let us borrow North America for a while and then we’ll give it back’?” Dylan was growing skeptical.

“No. He wanted a seat in Parliament so the colonies could have a say in the size of the taxes levied against them. But Parliament was made up of only noblemen at the time and they would not let that happen. Some believe that they even levied new taxes, including the Tea Act, just to show Franklin that America would never have a say. That’s bogus of course; they levied the taxes to raise money for the wars they were fighting all over the planet. By 1774, it was clear that the British government wasn’t going to concede and that the American Colonies weren’t going to give up. Ben Franklin started preparing to go home to Philadelphia.” Abbey had a far-off look in her eye. 

“Was this a big deal at the time? I mean, was everyone talking about what the colonies would do? Or was it a big deal to the people involved but not to regular people?” Dylan was starting to enjoy the story.

“That’s kind of hard to say,” Abbey said with a shrug. “Not everyone knew about what was going on in the colonies, and even fewer people had a hint of the arguments in favor or against either side. It’s hard to find anything to compare it to today. England was the largest and most powerful country in the world. They had dealt with uprisings and malcontent before and it always worked out. In general, there was no reason for them to think this time would be different.” She nodded slightly.

Dylan jumped to a conclusion: “Which means a lease deal could have been struck and only a few people would know about it. Not like someone was going to tweet the news or leak it on Facebook. If only a few people know about it, the document can get lost or misplaced and disappear.”

“Or get stolen or destroyed with no one wanting to take the blame and covering it up.” Abbey smiled as if revealing the big mystery.

“But was this lease Franklin’s idea? Surely if it was a government thing there would have been duplicates or copies for record keeping.” Dylan tried to sort and mentally store clues that may be of value in their search.

“On one of Franklin’s last days in London in 1775, William Pitt, a prominent statesmen and friend of Franklin, came by Craven St., where Franklin was staying. The family that owned the house is the most-often cited source of proof that the document existed. Anyway, Pitt and Franklin were friendly and they talked at length about many things, including farming. Pitt was of the impression that America was nothing more than farmland and that cultured, educated people would soon leave the Americas in favor of European society.” Abbey may drive a tractor most days, but she was a font of rich historical information.

“If they could get Franklin to give up on America, they believed they could get the other intelligent business people, the ones giving them all the problems, to give up as well. Problem solved.” Dylan was still the jock doing well just keeping up with the discourse.

“That may have been Pitt’s endgame, but remember, I said Franklin was smart. Leasing farmland in England had been going on for hundreds of years. Farmers would pay the nobles to use the land and grow crops. Payment varied from a portion of the crops to a direct cash payment. The leases were often written for ninety-nine years or more so that the same family could run a farm for generations. The families made improvements like they owned the land; they built houses, mills, fences, and roads. The landowners didn’t care because they didn’t really want the land for anything; the power came from owning it.” Abbey sat back as if she had just delivered a knockout blow.

“Wow. Franklin asked if the colonies could lease the land, fix it up, and be free to do whatever they wanted,” Dylan said. But he felt like the idea was not totally original. “Didn’t the British do something like that with Hong Kong?”

“YES! Exactly!” Abbey was clearly excited that Dylan could see what she saw. “But that was more than one hundred years
after
the American Lease. There is plenty of debate about where the British got the idea to lease Hong Kong for ninety-nine years; naturally American Lease believers think it came from an agreement worked out between Pitt and Franklin in March 1775.”

“But at the end of the Hong Kong lease, didn’t the city go back to China?” Dylan wasn’t a detail guy when it came to the news, but he remembered generalities of slightly weird stories, like this one.

“Yup,” Abbey said, raising her eyebrows.