Page 19 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

“I don’t really consider you an employee. More like a team member. We’re all partners in this enterprise.”

She arched her brows with disbelief at his mincing words.

He shrugged and pretended to zip his lips as some of the guys he’d been having lunch with passed by into the room where they immediately did double takes on seeing Delilah.

And she wasn’t even dressed sexy. White, calf-length pants, with white sneakers, no socks, and a sleeveless red-and-white polka-dot blouse. Her platinum blonde hair was tied off her face with a red ribbon into a loose ponytail. No makeup to speak of, though women had a way of hiding that. He had a girlfriend one time who spent an hour in the bathroom making up her face only to emerge looking like a young Taylor Swift.

Now, if only she’d added that Crimson Slut lipstick from the Rutledge wedding reception! But, no, he wouldn’t want her broadcasting her sexuality to one and all. Just him.

And, to his chagrin, he noticed that “one and all,” those of the male persuasion in the room, were noticing her plenty now that the room was full. Even with Bonita Arias, who was a classic Spanish beauty, in attendance, as well.

Soon they were all sitting around his office, which was small but open onto a long warehouse space, which was empty for the moment, leading to the immense garage-style doors, which they shared with the forge. Luckily the forge wasn’t operating today—down for repairs—otherwise, it would be unbearably hot in here, even with the air-conditioning running full blast in the back office. The doors were up now at his side of the bay, and they could see from this distance the newly refurbished wharf (ca-ching, ca-ching) and the deep waters beyond.

Everyone was sipping from mugs of coffee and wolfing down cinnamon buns, as if they hadn’t just had big lunches at the Cracked Crab. Delilah was still bustling about, offering more coffee and pastries, being hospitable but not overly friendly—her usual reserved manner.

“Okay, folks, welcome to Bell Cove Salvaging and Treasure Hunting,” Merrill started off. “Gabe Conti, owner of Bell Forge, a silent partner in this operation, couldn’t join us today. He’s an architect, for those who haven’t met him yet, and he had to be in Durham on a job site today. You probably won’t see much of him anyway.

“Also missing are K-4 . . . Kevin Fortunato . . . who still has a few weeks left on his military commitment. He just let me know last night that he’ll be joining us. K-4 is an experienced diver and knows a little bit about research, which might help with other upcoming projects. K-4 and I worked together on Navy teams for years, so, I can vouch for his skills, especially intelligence gathering.” Merrill didn’t mention that the teams were SEALs. Intel best left unsaid. Besides, folks here had heard or deduced that fact on their own.

“Most of us know each other, but not all. So, let’s introduce ourselves. I’ll start. Merrill Good, project manager and primary stockholder of the company. I still answer to the name Geek, my military nickname, but ‘Boss’ will do for those so inclined.” He grinned, knowing some guys would call him “Boss” over their own dead bodies. “Just kidding on the boss crap. As I’ve said before, we’re all partners on this operation. Anyhow, I’m a certified diver but my skills will be best deployed on the electronic equipment we’ll be using—computerized mapping systems, scanners, magnetometer, and so on. No robots yet, which cost as much as a jet plane, but I can only wish, after our first successful mission.”

“I’ll second that . . . the wish for a successful treasure hunt,” Bonita said, “but personally I’d rather buy a Tiffany diamond tennis bracelet with my cut.”

Others mentioned a Lamborghini, a boat, a new home, and a vacation.

Once the hubbub died down, Merrill continued, “I expect to make our first run out to the site on Wednesday . . . if everyone’s cool with that.” He glanced around and saw lots of nods.

“One of the first things we’ll do is gather random samples from the ocean floor so I can run them through a gas chromatograph mass spectrometer . . . try saying that real fast . . . to measure any differences that might suggest the presence of a wreck.”

Delilah looked dazed.

“Anyhow, that’s it for my introduction.” He motioned to the fifty-something guy, maybe late forties, on his right to take over. He was dark haired (probably dyed), with an olive complexion denoting some Latin culture. His wicking T-shirt fit his body like a glove. He was probably attractive to women in an older stud sort of way.

“Adam Famosa here. Professor of Oceanography at Rutgers University, a proud citizen of the USA, but a Cuban expatriate from when I was a kid. I’ve taken a leave of absence for the fall semester to help in the transition from the old company in Jersey, Jinx, Inc., which Geek recently bought out. I worked for Jinx off and on for fifteen years.”

“Glad you could join us,” Merrill said, and he meant it. “We look forward to hearing how things were done at Jinx.”

“My pleasure,” Famosa said.

Next up was an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair. “I’m Harry Carder, retired financial consultant, the old fart on this team. I’ll be handling all the bookkeeping, payroll, office kind of things. Unless you need a deadweight to anchor your boat, I don’t expect to be out on any of the ocean treks with my constant companion.” He patted his wheelchair for emphasis.

Everyone laughed at his self-deprecating humor.

“I can attest to Harry’s expertise, wheelchair or not,” Merrill said. “I first met him on a visit to the Outer Banks last Christmas, and his advice has been invaluable.”

Harry’s face flushed but Merrill could tell he was pleased at the compliment.

“I’ll second that about Harry. I know him well,” said Bonita. “Harry lives at the same senior citizen boardinghouse as my father. Dad is a samba aficionado, nuts about any kind of dancing, really, and Mildred Patterson’s place here in Bell Cove is notorious for its dirty dance club . . . and its nuts.” With a wink at Harry, who was still blushing and about to protest the description of his place, she laughed.

Actually, Merrill was staying at the Patterson house, too, for the time being, until he found more permanent accommodations, which were hard to come by in Bell Cove. The town tried its best not to become a commercialized tourist mecca and therefore didn’t have many rental options. Wendy Patterson, Mildred’s niece, owned the house. He knew Wendy from SEALs back in Coronado, Wendy having been a member of the female SEALs division known as WEALS, Women on Earth, Air, Land, and Sea. Six degrees of separation, or something like that.

Bonita continued, “Anyhow, I’m Bonita Arias. I’m an oceanographer, too. Rather, a marine archaeologist, to be more specific. I live in Ocracoke and have worked on several shipwreck salvaging operations.”

Bonita was a classic beauty with ebony hair that hung straight down her back. Of medium height, aided by a pair of high wedge sandals, her slim body more than filled a sky-blue halter top and matching shorts.

Bonita was hot. Just not to him.

“I’ve been working for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Services, but I’m on a leave of absence, hoping to receive my doctorate soon from UNC at Chapel Hill,” Bonita continued. “So, I might not be here on-site all the time.”