“But-” The phone rang. Terry held up a finger as he snatched the receiver off the hook.

“Terry McKellan here,” he said. His caterpillar brows went up, and he looked at Shaun. “Hi. Were you trying to reach your husband?” Shaun tensed. He hadn’t told Courtney about this appointment. How had she tracked him down? “I can see where that would be a problem,” Terry said. Shaun locked his hands over one knee. Casual. Casual. “Saratoga? I guess I could. What’s the name of the place?” Terry jotted down something on a notepad. “Sure. Glad to be of help. I should be able to have them there in about two hours. Would that work for you?” He looked at Shaun again. “Okay. I’ll see you then.” He hung up.

“That was Courtney,” he said. “She’s at St. Alban’s. There was a mix-up, and they didn’t get the little pie tins for the quiches they’re making for the reception tomorrow.” He ripped the note off its pad. “So I’m detailed to go to the kitchen store in Saratoga and buy two hundred of the things.” He stood up.

“But… the loan?” Shaun remained seated. He didn’t want to acknowledge the meeting was over. Over, and a complete failure.

“I’m sorry, Shaun.” Terry shook his head. “There isn’t going to be a loan. I know it’s hard, but maybe the best thing is to acknowledge that times change and businesses, like people, have a natural life span. Maybe you need to stop the extraordinary life support and let Reid-Gruyn go.”

Clare found the documents tossed on a table near the gun cabinet. She debated with herself less than five seconds before picking them up.

The uppermost letter was from the Adirondack Conservancy Corporation. It was addressed to Louisa van der Hoeven, Eugene van der Hoeven, and Millicent van der Hoeven. She shook her head. Let no one say the van der Hoevens went in for trendy names. Dear dat-da-dat-da-da… She skimmed the first paragraph, which was an effusive thank-you for the family’s agreeing to the buyout. Clare wondered for a moment if they were letting Haudenosaunee go at a reduced rate. That might be behind Eugene’s anger. Perhaps he felt he was getting stiffed?

The second paragraph held the meat of the matter. Under the terms of the preliminary agreement, the ACC has consulted with the New York State Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation’s Bureau of Historic Sites, which has rendered up its opinions on the various buildings now located on Haudenosaunee land (see attached). Clare pulled the papers apart. Sure enough, there was a letter from the Bureau, stapled to documents that presumably held its opinions in greater detail.

First, to address issues related to the original “great camp” built in 1867: The BHS has examined the historical record of this building and its current physical condition. Although the original Adirondack Gothic construction would have been deserving of landmark status, the decay following the van der Hoeven family’s move into the modern house in the years following World War II and the subsequent fire have left the building damaged past restoration. The ACC has accepted the Bureau’s recommendations that the building shell remain in situ, in part because of the historical value of the ruins and in part due to the difficulty and cost of removing the extensive stone structure.

Clare translated the bureaucracy-speak in her head: Tearing down old walls into heaps of stone isn’t worth the time and effort.

Secondly, as to the modern house and dependencies: The conclusion of the BHS is that the current habitation, also known as “Haudenosaunee,” is historically unremarkable, being constructed in no particular architectural style in the 1940s and added on to from time to time in the 1960s and 1980s. The loss of integrity suggests no reason to include the house and its outbuildings on the state list of protected properties. Therefore, in line with the ACC’s mandate to keep the protected area of the Adirondack State Park “forever wild,” the ACC has developed a plan to dismantle the currently existing “improvements” to the property and to replace alien plantings with native species.

Clare frowned at the letter. Did the mean what she thought it meant?

The plan is an follows: Within one week of the land transfer scheduled for November 14 (please see the Preliminary Deed of Transfer and Grant of Easements Agreement, dated August 14 of this year), all family members and personal property shall remove from the buildings of Haudenosaunee, including the main house, garage, gardening shed, storage shed, and boathouse.

Clare hadn’t seen a boathouse. Must be by the waterfall-slash-swimming-hole. She flipped to the letter’s second page.

The ACC will engage a construction crew to dismantle the existing buildings. To whatever extent it is possible, the materials will be removed from the site and reused. Unless specific exemptions are requested by the family members, all architectural items including doors, windows, wood stock, trim, light fixtures, hardware, etc., will become property of the ACC and may be sold or auctioned by it to defray any costs associated with returning Haudenosaunee to its natural state.

She looked toward the dining room, with its gleaming wood floors and its antler chandelier. Historically unimportant or not, she suspected the ACC could defray a whole lot of costs if they dismantled the place carefully enough. It would take advance planning and a skilled work team-the image of the men standing by the young blond woman popped into her head. Clipboard, measuring tape, camera. Exactly what you would bring along if you were planning the step-by-step deconstruction of the house.

The next two paragraphs were given over to plants. The plan was to rip as much out of the gardens and borders as possible before snow started to fly, then to resume in the spring by “reintroducing native plant life as horticulturally advisable.” Apparently rosebushes weren’t as valuable as doorknobs and countertops, and removing them was not as expensive. The letter referred to “local ACC volunteers” who would tackle the project using a checklist of approved planting materials, which was, like the reports from the Bureau of Historic Sites, attached.

Given the narrow window of time afforded by the November weather, and the inadvisability of leaving the buildings uninhabited and untended throughout the winter, the ACC would like to proceed as quickly as possible post the transfer of land rights. If you have any objections to the proposed plan, including of timeline, please notify project director Becky Castle as soon as possible. If you assent to the abovementioned plan, as detailed here and in the accompanying documents, please sign below and return to the ACC… it wound up with an Albany address and an injunction to the recipients to keep a copy for their records. Beneath Becky Castle’s signature, there were places for all three van der Hoevens to sign. All three lines were blank. Clare flipped back to the first page and looked at the date. August 30.

Who had signed off on the plan to demolish their family’s summer home? Louisa, in far-off San Francisco, was a cipher; the only thing Clare could deduce about her was that her use of the Haudenosaunee house-if any-was restricted to occasional visits. Millie had been living here since August; surely if she had agreed to the plans she wouldn’t have been whiling away her time? Anyone expecting to move in a week should be hip deep in boxes by this date. At least she knew where Eugene stood. Or did she? Maybe he was all for selling off the land but was holding out for the right to remain in his home. Maybe Millie didn’t want to let go of either the land or the house and was hiding herself away in passive protest against her siblings’ decision.

It all hinged on a question that sounded like a bad light-bulb joke: How many van der Hoevens does it take to transfer 250,000 acres?