Married by Mistake Chapter 58. Thomas Harrison Harte

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Chapter 58. Thomas Harrison Harte 

‟Well, Miss Grant and Miss Grant,” Beyron nodded to Melanie . ‟We will try to find Mr. Harte. And get him out of the system in Singapore. If there is any luck at all, we might be able to have him released to us before the investigation into his situation is complete.”

‟The State Department has limited influence in Singapore, the Singapore government has taken great pride in numbers of convicted drug smugglers for minor amounts of drugs, and has hanged many others. In the event they convict him he for the amount that you describe and what they say they have found, he faces a maximum sentence of a decade in prison, or he could be caned a maximum of two-dozen times. To be honest, they may give him a reduced sentence because of his age and his popularity in that part of the world.” Max said. ‟He might be able to find a legal way out, or have help of someone of influence in the political structure there.”

Max pulled at his earlobe for a few moments in thought.

“Australia has attempted more than once to recover Australian nationals with limited success. Our influence is less than Australia.” He said at last.

‟So he’s punished for my stash.” Tears welled up in Kaylee’s eyes.

‟Yes. And you are sure it is less than two-ounces?”

‟Yes. I stressed out to the max when he was in the hospital.” Kaylee admitted. “I smoked quite a lot of it.”

‟We will make a press release, but your request for a passport to go to Singapore will not happen. The process will be too long for you make reasonable plans to go to Singapore, and my advice on this?” Max coached Kaylee gently. “It is a bad idea in the extreme. Do not attempt to rescue him by confession to the government in a Singapore court that the drugs are yours.”

Max Silverham pondered a minute more. Never a person to comment without deep thought.

‟I have to let your lawyer here say his part and ask the questions. But, I have one now. I look around your apartment, I do not see indications of the financial base to pay the salary that Mister Ferguson, and this master of law that has brought me out of where I belong to come here. Yet, you said you married Mister Harte?”

‟Excuse me, the financial base for the young lady is not relevant to the situation.” Beyron advised. ‟We decline to answer that.”

‟I’m not a judge.” Max said.

‟Just so you remember that.” Beyron said. ‟I am her advisor, not yours, you have your own. But the advice you have given is good advice so far. Just the question is inappropriate in this context.”

‟I withdraw it. I do have further questions on where he stored his aircraft. He flew from one part of the world and landed in their waters? You said he has a float-plane?”

‟Yacht, flying yacht.” Kaylee corrected. ‟Or flying-boat. Sorry, he gave too many corrections on that detail and I picked up the habit, but you have to see it to understand. It is a glorious home.”

‟We have to look into this, this airborne palace might have contaminated our harbor with exotic marine species.” Max sat up and began to write. ‟Where did he have his plane hauled out.” Pause. ‟Yacht.” Pause. “Er… Craft.”

‟A couple miles down the road at Harbor Bay Airport.”

‟Care to join us in an excursion to the airport?” Max Silverham asked. ‟You can show me where he serviced his plane at.”

Kaylee puzzled.

‟Don’t you have staff for that?”

Max smiled.

‟Perhaps you don’t know my rank, or it’s just misstated by Mister Ferguson here. I am the staff. I just rank a little higher and liaise between the civilian and military sides of the same mission, but I am still the staff, I answer to the real politicians.”

A half-hour later, with Kaylee ’s car in the lead, Beyron sat in the front passenger seat the group drove into the car lot of the private plane owners.

‟That hanger there, is where he had the Pacific Wizard serviced and kept when it was out of the water.”

‟You have been here of late?” Maxwell Silverham asked. ‟You mentioned that you came back to look for him?”

‟Yes. But they wouldn’t tell me any information.” Kaylee said with a sag to her shoulders. ‟I couldn’t get them to tell me the time of day. Only the lead tech would to talk to me.”

‟Well, let me see if I can loosen some lips.” Max smiled and his eyes sparkled with determination when they walked towards the office.

‟I don’t know him very well, but I know the type.” Beyron whispered in a conspiratorial voice to the sisters . ‟Loves the hunt.”

With an air of importance, Max stepped up to the counter in the office, flanked by the two uniformed Marines. Max got immediate attention.

‟I will help you, my manager’s indisposed with a potential client.” A petite First-Nation’s woman said.

‟I need access to your records on one Mister Harte, Thomas. When he was here and if he has an address out of the country.”

‟You need to wait, then. I cannot access the history of our clients without cause.”

‟The cause is because I told you.” Max said firmly. ‟Do you know who I am?”

‟No, and I don’t care. You need a few forms filled out first.”

‟Ma’am, I have identification, two marines and I carry the authority of the United States Government. I do not need to fill out forms for this.”

‟Then you don’t need what I have.” She looked at him with black eyes without so much as a blink of fear. ‟Warrant, police, and my faith that you are not some asshat that thinks you can walk in here with two weapons on each hip.” She pointed at the marines.

One marine broke character and gave a small smile for the briefest of moments but never deviated his eyes from the straight forward.

‟Now, you sit down, shut up or leave.” She hissed. ‟White man, black man, marines, you think you can still push my people around. Guess again.”

Then to Kaylee and Melanie, she smiled.

‟What can I do for you ladies?” The eyes softened and she became helpful.

‟We are just here to do some business for Tom Harte, the author? He had his plane here for service. I would like to pay any balance on a bill.” Kaylee presented the shiny black card with her married name engraved on it.

‟Oh!” She looked at the card with Kaylee’s image on it. ‟Just a minute.”

She handed the card back to Kaylee, she nodded, smiled and walked down a hallway then disappeared out of sight.

Two minutes later, she returned.

At first Kaylee noticed the cowboy-hatted male who walked down the hallway and sported a hideous scar on his forearm, recently healed.

Then the familiar smile, a sparkle of an emerald eye, she knew that face. It was one she had kissed more than once and made her heart dance.

It was Thomas Harrison Harte.

Kaylee ‘s once and future husband.

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Anxiety, a chocolate labrador and fireworks

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Dear Humans:

 

I am Hershey, I have stolen the computer from the human that lives here and types out words I do not understand, but tonight it has come to pass I have had one need to speak my canine-mind.

Like many of my brothers and sisters in the entire world, we are your best friends.  You can beat us, kick us, but we will give you our unqualified love.

Why then, do you insist on making these noises with such things called “Fireworks”?

My human tells me it is all right.

I would bite him in the area where his legs join his torso if my panic got any worse.

It is NOT all right! PLEASE! Please! Please, can you do something else and not try to give me a heart attack?

Can you tell me what a heart is? All I know is I am dying of heat, I can’t breathe, my eyes dilate – whatever that means – and I try to sit on top of him, it seems to be the safest place, then I can still hear the pops and bangs.

Must you? Really?

It takes me hours to calm down.

He has played me sounds on the computer, supposed to calm me down he said.

Not!

You humans are crazy. Things that go boom. It just ain’t natural.

Y’know? I want to run away, far away. Get away from those things that go boom.

Storms and thunder is one thing, it bothers me, but I do not let it bother me.

Those things that go in the sky and make flashes in a blue sky. Noises that are not natural.

Can you just keep it to that one day? It is killing my relationship.

The big male human is scraping down and replacing the door I chewed to get into the next room the other day.  I was trying to get away from those explosions outside while they were out.

Please, just let me suffer one day. Not for the entire month, I promise I will not chase your chickens in the street anymore. I will bring back every stick you throw, I might even bring back your shoe.

No, scratch that, the shoe is mine. Catch me if you can!

Love all you humans. But you all are crazy liking them noisy things.

*signed*

Dog Signature

 

 

Hershey the Chocolate Labrador

Writers Conference at Pacific

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Two days in, and gone.  I have learned much.  So much and then three pitches to agents, of the three pitches? All three want to look at the manuscript.

Now, over the years in a previous life, I have jumped over cliffs, (Straps attached), out of helicopters, waded through waters cold enough to kill if I stayed in very long (According to a team member, one of the greatest handwalks across the top of the water in history) , had tested on medical boards, been shot at.

Pitching the novel was every bit as stressful. o.0

But I got all three to accept the manuscript.

I am now sitting at the keyboard, six hours into re-editing with a more learned eye on the wording.

I am tired, but a dead set mind to not give this up.

Further report on the cross-country author, she made it. A lone woman, full car of personal belongings, savage storms in some places.  I can relax, she is now safe.  You can, too.  All you worry warts. 😉

Anyway.  I have two agents who want the full manuscript to look over.  One wants 50 pages (Romance is out of their normal genre but intrigued enough to want to see a good selection, and if good enough?  Might make an exception.)

Anyway, as a result, posting will be slower than usual this week.

A minor arm injury does not help, it is exquisitly painful and discoloring. I think I tore a muscle while doing a chore, also works against me.

So I will double up again on my anxiety meds to talk in front of crowds, pain meds for the arm.

Tomorrow could be a very good day I may not even remember!