Remember it? Saber was right. Amanda had been in the sun too long if she thought I’d ever been here, and she’d completely lost her wits if she thought she could sell him on this place.
“I don’t know what this property is priced at,” Saber said, “but I can’t afford it.”
The agent tilted her head, a tiny crease forming between her eyes. “But Mr. Saber, you’re preapproved. You can afford to tear this house down and start all over again.”
“Not and buy even one of these lots. They have to sell for five hundred thousand apiece.”
“Oh, but the property isn’t for sale, Mr. Saber.”
He blinked. “If the property isn’t for sale, why the hell did you bring us here?”
She turned her wide, blue-eyed gaze on me. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
“Know what? Amanda, is this place for sale, or isn’t it?”
“That would depend on you, Ms. Marinelli. You see, you already own it.”
THIRTEEN
016
I wanted to stick a finger in my ear and wiggle it, because I must’ve heard wrong.
“Amanda, what did you just say?”
“I said you own these three lots and the house. Surely you got the offers to buy the land in the mail. There have been two of them in the last year.”
I’d received a lot of offers since I’d been unearthed, all right. Offers to buy life, health, and disability insurance, refinance my nonexistent home, and win a cruise if I’d just take a short tour at a new golf course luxury condo community. An offer to buy property I owned?
I shook my head. “No, Amanda. You must have me confused with someone else.”
“But I don’t. My boss was the real-estate agent for one of the clients who wanted your property. She ordered an exhaustive title search, and you’re the surviving owner.”
“Surviving?”
I must’ve paled, because Saber put an arm around me.
“Would you like to sit down to hear this?” Amanda glanced around the porch as if she expected a chair to materialize.
“Just get to the point,” Saber said.
“Well, this is a bit irregular, but do you know who Jesse Fish was?”
“The Fish Island guy,” I said, and elaborated for Saber. “When St. Augustine changed hands from the Spanish to the British and back to the Spanish again, Jesse Fish acted as a quasi real estate agent and arbitrated land ownership claims. He also supposedly owned most of Anastasia Island and parts of the downtown area besides.”
“Not supposedly. He did own the island by virtue of a Spanish land grant conferred in 1795.”
“Jesse Fish died in 1790,” I said.
“Really? Well, his son must’ve received the grant.”
“The point, Amanda?” Saber reminded her.
She drew a deep breath. “In 1798, a Jesse Fish sold one hundred acres of Anastasia Island to Patrizio Dante Marinelli.”
My vision blurred, and a buzz chainsawed in my ears.
Patrizio Marinelli. Papa? I shook my head, hoping it would clear. The buzzing only grew louder. Amanda went blithely on. “The title was in Mr. Marinelli’s name as well as yours, with full rights of survivorship.”
“Do you mean to say that Cesca’s father bought this land for her?”
Amanda shrugged. “Back then, women didn’t own land.”
“We understand that, but how could the land still be hers? She was just eighteen. That’s over two hundred years worth of taxes that had to be paid.”
“And there were land ownership squabbles,” I added faintly. “When Florida became a United States territory, land grants weren’t always honored.”
“This one was,” Amanda insisted. “The records show Mr. Marinelli paid the taxes until 1802. At that time the land was transferred in perpetual trust to—let me see.”
Amanda pulled a stenographer’s spiral from her red briefcase while fine tremors ripped my muscles.
“Ah, here it is. Delphinus and Company first held the land in trust.”
The tremors spread to my legs, and I locked my knees to stay upright. Triton. As he brought back greater treasures from the sea each time he shape-shifted, Triton had joked about forming Delphinus and Company. He was Delphinus; I was company.
“Of course,” Amanda continued, “the first business was bought out by another one, and that one absorbed into yet another, and so on, but it was surprisingly easy to trace back. I assure you, the taxes have been paid without fail, and the land is legally yours.”
My mouth was sand-in-the-summer dry, but I forced myself to speak. “Amanda, are you absolutely sure about this?”
“I saw the photocopy of the original deed. Or maybe it was a copy of microfiche, but the record is complete right down to the date of purchase. August second of seventeen ninety-eight.”
My knees wobbled, and my throat constricted. Memories churned like storm waves.
“Saber,” I choked out.
That was all I had to say. Bless the man, he told Amanda we’d be in touch, then got me out of that house and into his car before cold tears tracked down my face.