picking those wallets. For a man who had spent the first half of his
life as a thief, it was the perfect career.
On this day before the celebration of America's independence, he put his
skills to use in the boatyard, schmoozing a potential client. He much
preferred it to manual labor.
"You'll forgive the surroundings." Phillip waved a well-manicured hand,
encompassing the enormous space, the exposed rafters and hanging lights,
the yet-to-be-painted walls and scarred floors. "My brothers and I
believe in putting our efforts into the product and keeping our overhead
minimal. Those are benefits that we pass along to our clients."
At which time, Phillip thought, they had exactly one--with another in
the box and this one nibbling at the line.
"Hmmm." Jonathan Kraft rubbed his chin. He was in his mid-thirties and
fortunate enough to be a fourth-generation member of the pharmaceutical
Krafts. Since his great-grandfather's humble beginnings as a storefront
pharmacist in Boston, his family had built and expanded an empire on
buffered aspirin and analgesics. It allowed Jonathan to indulge in his
great love of sailing.
He was tall, fit, tanned. His hair was mink-brown and perfectly styled
to showcase his square-jawed, handsome face. He wore buff-colored
chinos, a navy cotton shirt, and well-broken-in Top-Siders. His watch
was a Rolex, his belt hand-tooled Italian leather.
He looked exactly like what he was: a privileged, wealthy man with a
love of the outdoors.
"You've only been in business a few months."
"Officially," Phillip said with a flashing smile. His hair was a rich,
deep bronze, styled to make the most of a face that the angels had
gifted with an extra kiss of pure male beauty. He wore fashionably faded
Levi's, a green cotton shirt, and olive-drab Supergas. His eyes were
shrewd, his smile charming.
He looked exactly like what he'd made himself into: a sophisticated
urbanite with an affection for fashion and the sea.
"We've built or worked on teams that built a number of boats over the
years." Smoothly, he guided Jonathan toward the framed sketches hanging
on the wall. Seth's artwork was displayed rustically, as Phillip felt
suited the ambience of a traditional boatyard.
"My brother Ethan's skipjack. One of the handful that still goes under
sail every winter to dredge for oysters in the Chesapeake. She's had
over ten years in service."
"She's a beauty." Jonathan's face turned dreamy, as
Phillip had suspected it would. However a man chose to pick wallets, he
had to gauge his marks. "I'd like to see her."
"I'm sure we can arrange that."
He let Jonathan linger before nudging him gently along. "Now, you may
recognize this one." He indicated the drawing of a sleek racing skiff.
"The Circe. My brother Cameron was involved with both her design and her
construction."
"And she beat my Lorilee to the finish line two years running."
Jonathan
grimaced good-naturedly. "Of course, Cam was leading the team."