her best to earn it. There was a thriving village here, and I believe that you're about to flatten an important part of Afro-Caribbean cultural history.”
“Great,” Jake muttered. “Berenger Sued Over Preservation of Feminist AND Minority Heritage Site.” This was getting worse by the minute.
“Didn't you have a historical analysis done on this area before you started building on it? What
are
you building? A football stadium? It looks huge.”
“It's a golf course,” Jake said grimly, “and no, I didn't have an analysis done. We leased the island from the Antiguan government, and it came without restrictions. There are hundreds of these old plantations all over the West Indies, and they've been knocking them down for years. There's a windmill tower over in St. John's that's been turned into a burger joint. We're not talking about priceless cultural resources here.”
“This is
not
just a random plantation,” Molly said. “This belonged to Bonny Mary Morgan, who was a famous female pi—”
“I know who she was,” Jake said. “I was at your lecture last night.”
She looked surprised. “You were? I didn't see you.”
“I was standing in the back. You told some very thrilling stories, but you didn't mention any sources to back them up. Your lecture sounded more like a paperback novel than a scholarly presentation—”
Molly inhaled sharply, and he was surprised by the expression on her face. She looked as if he'd just slapped her.
These academics take themselves way too seriously,
he thought. He continued. “It made me wonder if you have any proof that this estate actually did belong to your female pirate. Do you? Have proof?” He waited, mentally crossing his fingers.
“I can find proof,” she said.
He grinned, not missing the sudden apprehension in her eyes. She didn't have it, and she wasn't sure that she could find it. Things were suddenly looking much better. “So,” he said, “this is all just speculation.”
“It is not! Mary gave up piracy and retired to a small island near Antigua, where she ran a sugar plantation. There are very few islands that fit that description.”
“
Very few
means more than one. For all you know, your progressive feminist pirate never set foot on my island, and this estate actually belonged to some macho male colonist who abused his family, was cruel to his workers, and deserves to have the remains of his rotten life bulldozed.”
“Mary Morgan lived here,” Molly Shaw insisted.
“So you claim,” Jake said. He was now feeling almost cheerful. “Bring me some proof, and then we'll talk.”
“I will,” Molly said ominously. “You'll see. But regardless of that, this is a very well-preserved site. You should restore it and turn it into a museum. It would be a wonderful addition to the resort.”
Jake suppressed the urge to laugh. She was serious. It was almost endearing. “Professor,” he said, “I realize that this will shock you, but the average Gold Bay guest doesn't care very much about the eighteenth-century Caribbean. If my customers had to decide between visiting an old ruin shined up to look like a museum, or playing eighteen holes on the most beautiful golf course south of Miami, do I really need to tell you which they would choose?”
Molly Shaw glared at him, and Jake mentally checked himself. He did not need to make an enemy out of this woman, if there was any other option left. Without proof that the estate was special, she would have no leverage with the press, but even so, it would be foolish to antagonize her. He didn't want to do anything that might lead to the project being tied up in court.
“This may also shock you,” he added, “but I'm not your enemy. If you can find me solid evidence that this plantation did belong to Bonny Mary Morgan, then I'll take it to my board and try to convince them to rework the plans for the golf course.”
It was a deceptively magnanimous offer. If she had the proof and the will to start
“Great,” Jake muttered. “Berenger Sued Over Preservation of Feminist AND Minority Heritage Site.” This was getting worse by the minute.
“Didn't you have a historical analysis done on this area before you started building on it? What
are
you building? A football stadium? It looks huge.”
“It's a golf course,” Jake said grimly, “and no, I didn't have an analysis done. We leased the island from the Antiguan government, and it came without restrictions. There are hundreds of these old plantations all over the West Indies, and they've been knocking them down for years. There's a windmill tower over in St. John's that's been turned into a burger joint. We're not talking about priceless cultural resources here.”
“This is
not
just a random plantation,” Molly said. “This belonged to Bonny Mary Morgan, who was a famous female pi—”
“I know who she was,” Jake said. “I was at your lecture last night.”
She looked surprised. “You were? I didn't see you.”
“I was standing in the back. You told some very thrilling stories, but you didn't mention any sources to back them up. Your lecture sounded more like a paperback novel than a scholarly presentation—”
Molly inhaled sharply, and he was surprised by the expression on her face. She looked as if he'd just slapped her.
These academics take themselves way too seriously,
he thought. He continued. “It made me wonder if you have any proof that this estate actually did belong to your female pirate. Do you? Have proof?” He waited, mentally crossing his fingers.
“I can find proof,” she said.
He grinned, not missing the sudden apprehension in her eyes. She didn't have it, and she wasn't sure that she could find it. Things were suddenly looking much better. “So,” he said, “this is all just speculation.”
“It is not! Mary gave up piracy and retired to a small island near Antigua, where she ran a sugar plantation. There are very few islands that fit that description.”
“
Very few
means more than one. For all you know, your progressive feminist pirate never set foot on my island, and this estate actually belonged to some macho male colonist who abused his family, was cruel to his workers, and deserves to have the remains of his rotten life bulldozed.”
“Mary Morgan lived here,” Molly Shaw insisted.
“So you claim,” Jake said. He was now feeling almost cheerful. “Bring me some proof, and then we'll talk.”
“I will,” Molly said ominously. “You'll see. But regardless of that, this is a very well-preserved site. You should restore it and turn it into a museum. It would be a wonderful addition to the resort.”
Jake suppressed the urge to laugh. She was serious. It was almost endearing. “Professor,” he said, “I realize that this will shock you, but the average Gold Bay guest doesn't care very much about the eighteenth-century Caribbean. If my customers had to decide between visiting an old ruin shined up to look like a museum, or playing eighteen holes on the most beautiful golf course south of Miami, do I really need to tell you which they would choose?”
Molly Shaw glared at him, and Jake mentally checked himself. He did not need to make an enemy out of this woman, if there was any other option left. Without proof that the estate was special, she would have no leverage with the press, but even so, it would be foolish to antagonize her. He didn't want to do anything that might lead to the project being tied up in court.
“This may also shock you,” he added, “but I'm not your enemy. If you can find me solid evidence that this plantation did belong to Bonny Mary Morgan, then I'll take it to my board and try to convince them to rework the plans for the golf course.”
It was a deceptively magnanimous offer. If she had the proof and the will to start
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