Lighthouse Cottage

by Barbara Cool Lee

  "Um," he began slowly. "I'm not going in to shore now. What's wrong?"

  "Can I use your radio, then? My phone's broken."

  She didn't wait for his response, but dashed across the dock to the boat.

  "Ms. York! Wait! What's wrong?" he called after her.

  Zane, his shaggy hair flying in the wind, helped her aboard.

  "What's happening?" he asked.

  She headed toward the cabin. "The radio's down here, right?" she asked, trying to remember the details from the grand tour the father and son team had given her before.

  For a moment she could see nothing in the dark cabin. She groped around, waiting for her eyes to adjust. There it was. She picked up the short-wave radio microphone and pressed the button on the side.

  "Hello, hello," she said. No response.

  "You have to let go of the button when you stop talking," Zane explained.

  "Oh. Thanks."

  "It's set to channel 16—the emergency channel. You should change channels if you're trying to call shore."

  She let go of the button.

  "...Coast Guard Cutter, asking you to repeat your message," a voice crackled over the speaker. "Identify your vessel and location."

  She pressed the button.

  "This is Lori York. At the Pajaro Light Station. I have a wounded man here and need someone to come get him."

  "A what?" Zane asked.

  "A what?" the voice said over the speaker.

  She pressed the button. "A wounded man. Matt DiPietro. He's been in an accident and I need help."

  "He's here?" Zane said. His eyes were wide. "The Shadow himself?"

  There was silence from the radio for a moment, then a new, female voice came on.

  "Ms. York. This is Lieutenant Rogers. You remember me—Sam. I'm in charge of the lighthouse maintenance crew that visited the light station a few days ago." Lori remembered her: the tall, athletic-looking officer who had hauled away the last dead harbor seal Lori had found. She had felt like such a fool blubbering about dead animals to this forceful, take-charge young woman, but Lieutenant Rogers hadn't seemed to mind. "Please repeat your last message," she said. "Did you say Matt DiPietro is there at the light station?"

  Apparently his reputation even extended to the Coast Guard. "Yes! Yes. He's here, but he fell out of his kayak and he's been hurt. Can you help?"

  "He fell out of his kayak? Um, okay. We're on our way."

  Lori set the microphone down.

  "He fell out of his kayak?" Zane asked.

  "Yeah. That's his story, anyway."

  "Here, you better sit down." He pushed a pile of junk off a padded bench and she sank into it.

  She noticed that he'd piled the junk onto a big, two-seater yellow kayak on the cabin floor.

  "Do you kayak?" she asked.

  "Why?" He frowned.

  "I was just wondering. Why would a criminal like him be out kayaking in a storm?"

  Zane shrugged. "It's fun. I learned it at summer camp. My dad doesn't see why I want to have a kayak. He says if you've got to spend all your time working on a boat, why would you want to go out just for fun, but—"

  "But you talked him into it," she said.

  "Yeah." He grinned. "Now I have my own kayak and I can do it any time I want to. Now my dad can't say no anymore."

  Lori tried to picture an intense, driven man like Matt heading out for a morning paddle. She honestly didn't know him well enough to know if that was in character or not. She realized during all their talks he had told her almost nothing about himself. He'd talked about books, and he'd asked her a lot of questions, but she knew nothing more about him than she had when he'd washed ashore.

  She remembered the crazed, murderous look in his eyes just a few minutes ago. Whatever his secrets were, he was up to no good.

  Zane knelt down next to her. "You look terrible."

  She pulled herself back from the frightening image of the Shadow. "Thanks, kid."

  "No, I mean...." His face flushed. "You look real pretty—like your aunt did in the movies. I just meant you look like you saw a ghost or something."

  He was watching her with that earnest, please-like-me expression only a twelve-year-old boy could muster. She smiled at him. "Thanks, Zane. I know what you meant. I do feel like I've seen a ghost. That man—" She shuddered. He could have killed her. All the fear she'd been trying to hold back for two days seemed to hit her at once, and she found she could no longer control her shaking.

  "It's okay," Zane soothed. "Let me get you a glass of water, okay?"

  "No. I'm all right. I just need some fresh air." She stood up on wobbly legs. "Can you help me up on deck?"

  He took her by the arm, and they made their way topside.

  "The Coast Guard's on the way," Zane said to his dad, who had just come aboard.

  "What?" Owen looked shocked. "Are you hurt, Ms. York?"

  She shook her head. Zane helped her to the rail. She gripped it tightly and looked down at the white waves breaking against the hull. The heavy boat rolled gently and she held on tightly to the rail and listened to the steady sounds of wood creaking, rope scraping against the piling and waves slapping the hull. The steady rhythms helped her take deep breaths and calm herself.

  Behind her the boy explained to his father about the wounded Shadow and the Coast Guard on its way. "And there they are," Zane said, pointing out to sea, where a little coast guard boat chugged toward them at full speed. And just coming into sight over the horizon was the bright orange helicopter.

  "The Shadow brings 'em running, don't he?" Owen muttered.

  "Thank God," Lori whispered. Her nightmare was over.

  He'd hurt her. He'd hurt little Lori. The thought echoed through Matt's confused brain over and over. He had woken up from a nightmare to see her signaling to some boat, and he'd imagined that she was leading his enemies to him.

  How could he forgive himself? The terror in her eyes had broken through his confusion and he'd realized his dreadful mistake. But it was too late. She hated him. She feared him. She would never trust him.

  So many innocents hurt by his recklessness. He almost wished the bullet had stopped him. But he had to go on. He had work to do. He had to keep the people he loved safe. Even if they hated him.

  "DiPietro!" A female voice shouted, and he almost thought it could be Lori, but it wasn't. It was another voice, familiar.

  "Come out, DiPietro." The voice was closer, and soon through the door came a grim-looking Coast Guard officer.

  Lieutenant Samantha Rogers knelt down next to him. "Wow, Matt, what's happened to you?" she whispered.

  "Hey, Sam," he whispered. "I ran into a bit of trouble. But Lori took good care of me."

  "He's in bad shape," she said to someone behind her. "Go get the medical kit." Then she bent down closer and whispered, "What happened to you?"

  "Bullet grazed me," he said.

  "How'd it happen?"

  "Someone popped me when I was kayaking, and I swam here."

  "Did you see who it was?"

  He shook his head.

  "Shhh," she whispered back. "Don't say a word. We've got company right outside. We'll get you out of here."

  She stood up as another Coastie came in. They soon had him on his feet and out the door.

  Outside he sat down on the porch steps, and soon found himself the center of a crowd of spectators—the Coast Guard crew, Lori (Shadowfax close by her side), and Owen Nunes and a young boy. He hadn't seen Owen since high school. It must have been his boat Lori had waved to.

  "Owen," he whispered.

  Owen stared at him, then looked away, embarrassed.

  Poor Owen. Matt was getting used to that look from long-lost friends. Shock. Horror. Rampant curiosity.

  "Um, if you don't need me, officer?" Owen said to Sam.

  "We've got it under control, Mr. Nunes. Thanks for your help."

  Owen left with the boy, who must be his son. Owen carefully avoiding looking at Matt, but the boy sta
red at him until they were out of sight.

  "Bye, old friend," Matt whispered.

  "I hear you're a hero, Ms. York," Sam was saying to Lori. "Mr. DiPietro here tells us you took good care of him."

  "What's going to happen to him now?"

  "You don't need to worry about him. We'll get him the medical attention he needs—once we're through questioning him. He still has a bit of explaining to do." Sam threw him a glare. "We don't need your kind of trouble around here, DiPietro."

  Matt dutifully glared back at her. If only they could drop this charade and he could tell Lori who he really was. But one whisper of the truth and the town rumor mill would go into overdrive. Soon everyone in town would know that Matt DiPietro was an undercover agent. And that would be the end of his chance to solve this case.

  Lori watched him warily, but there was something in her eyes—sympathy? pity? Maybe it was only curiosity, the same curiosity everyone showed toward the Shadow.

  "Would you like a lift to shore?" Sam asked her. "It's not safe for Sandy to come out here in these seas."

  "Yeah, I'd like a lift," Lori said. "If it's not too much trouble. I think I'd like to stay in town with my aunt for a couple of days."

  That had been his goal when he'd come out here—get her to leave the island. So why did it feel now like he'd lost something?

  "Understandable," Sam said. "I imagine you've had quite a scare."

  "Yes," Lori said. She didn't look at him. "But I'm fine now. Can you wait while I get a couple of things?"

  "Sure. Don't rush. We'll put DiPietro on the chopper. You can come down to the dock as soon as you're ready."

  Lori stood over him. He looked up, hopeful, but she just said, "what do you want to do with your dog?"

  "Shadowfax likes you. Why don't you keep him," he said.

  Still that wary look from her, as if she sensed deception somewhere, but couldn't pin it down. He wasn't being deceptive. He had no emotions at all about this situation. He just had a useless dog that was getting in his way, and he needed to dump it on somebody.

  "You two seem to be getting along," he said to her. He looked down at the dog. Why was he feeling so mushy all of a sudden? "Shadowfax can keep you company out here. He could come in handy."

  "As protection against wayward criminals?" she asked.

  He almost laughed. The woman had guts, talking to a dangerous killer like that. He was going to miss her. "I doubt he'd be any good at protecting you from danger," he conceded. The old dog hadn't an aggressive bone in his body. "But I don't want him. He's just a stray I found, and I've got no place for him. You keep him."

  "Okay," she said. He patted the dog on the neck, then turned his head away from them.

  Let them go, he told himself. Let them go.

  Chapter Nine

  It didn't take Lori long to gather up a few things, and soon they headed down the steep steps in the cliff to the Coast Guard boat tied up at the dock.

  "How much does this cat weigh?" Vince said, shifting Ophelia's carrier from one hand to the other.

  "What's the matter, Vince? Need me to take it for you?" Sam joked.

  "No, thanks, ma'am. I don't need another lecture about how your handsome, gorgeous, macho boyfriend could lift it with one finger while carrying you over mud puddles at the same time—"

  "—Well, he could," Sam said.

  "Cut me some slack. I'm a tired old married man with a pregnant wife and a colicky son and I haven't—"

  "—slept in three days," Sam finished for him. She made a motion like playing a violin. "Poor thing."

  Lori followed behind with Shadowfax as the two continued to tease each other, but she wasn't really listening.

  At the dock, Vince handed the carrier to Sam, and then helped Lori board the boat.

  As she settled into a seat she tried to wrap her head around what had happened in the last couple of days.

  "You okay?" Sam asked.

  Lori nodded. She really was okay, even if this had been the strangest experience in her whole life. But where to go from here?

  Sam headed into the cabin. Lori could hear her reporting in to the Coast Guard base.

  Shadowfax stuck his big, bony head on her lap as if he could sense her mood. She petted him absentmindedly.

  Vince sat down next to her. "So how did you end up with this mutt?"

  "Long story."

  "I thought you weren't big on dogs," he said.

  "I wasn't. I mean, I'd been planning on maybe getting a dog some day." She looked down at Shadowfax. "But I was picturing something a little smaller. Like maybe a Chihuahua."

  Vince laughed. "This one's about as far from a Chihuahua as you could get."

  She had to pull herself out of this mood. It didn't matter what Matt was doing now, whether he was okay, whether he was under arrest. None of it was her problem. "So how's the restaurant plan going?" she asked Vince.

  "We found the perfect spot. If we can get enough money together we should be able to open the place by summer. It's that little spot with the big picture windows, right down the street from Santos' Market.

  She frowned. "Isn't that a burger place?"

  "It's lousy food. We're just waiting for the guy to go out of business. I'm thinking of calling the county health department and reporting that he puts rats in his hamburgers."

  "You wouldn't!"

  Vince shrugged. "He's a jerk. The sooner he's out of business, the better."

  "And the sooner your wife can start her sandwich shop."

  He grinned at her. "All's fair in love and war."

  "I am not hearing any of this," Sam said from the cabin.

  "Yes, Ms. By-the-Book," Vince said.

  "You wouldn't really...?" Lori asked him.

  He laughed. "Of course not. Veronica would kill me if I pulled a stunt like that."

  "Sam might, too."

  "No maybe about it, Lori," she said. "He knows better." She glared at Vince. "Cast off, Seaman."

  He got up and went to free the boat from the moorings. "Yes, ma'am."

  Sam looked down at the dog. "Does Ms. Zelda know about the dog?"

  "She doesn't even know I'm coming."

  "She will by the time we get to shore. The grapevine will take care of that."

  Shadow bumped her with his big head. "I wonder where I can hide him?"

  "Does she have a horse stable?" Sam asked. "You could put a saddle on him and call him a pony."

  "What am I going to do with you, dog?" she asked, but Shadowfax just licked her face.

  And then the engine roared to life, Vince and Sam expertly got the boat underway, and Lori turned to look at the gray water passing by, her thoughts as churned up as the sea beneath them.

  A short time later, Sheriff's Deputy Joe Serrano's pickup wove its way through Wharf Flats—the narrow rows of cottages lining the marina. Ophelia meowed in her cat carrier on the seat next to Lori, and Shadowfax barked happily from the truck bed.

  "Thanks for the ride," she told Deputy Joe.

  "No problem. When I heard you'd been trapped out there alone with Matt DiPietro, I had to make sure you were all right. I haven't seen Matt in years, but I've heard enough to be glad to see you safe and sound."

  "When did you see him before?"

  "I went to school with him back when we were kids." It was hard to picture either Matt or the deputy as kids.

  "So your family's from around here?"

  "Not from down here at Wharf Flats." He said it firmly, distancing himself from the neighborhood they were driving through. "I'm from a ranch outside of town. My dad worked for the Madrigals for a while, then bought a place of his own when I was ten."

  Madrigals. The family that had taken in the Aiden's orphaned daughter in the old story. "So you know the Madrigal boy who played football with Matt?"

  Joe laughed. "Kyle Madrigal? He pulled some strings to get me this job."

  "How'd he do that?"

  "The Madrigal name carries a lot of weight in this town. It al
so doesn't hurt that he's the mayor."

  "And you helped him get elected?"

  Joe looked kind of surprised by the question. "He didn't need my help. He's a Madrigal. He could be anything he wanted. I don't even think he put his name on the ballot, and they elected him mayor."

  "And a boy from Wharf Flats? Could he be anything he wanted?"

  "Not in this town," Joe said.

  They lapsed into silence.

  Lori looked up. Perched high on the cliffs overlooking the wharf the famous Stockdale cottages marched along in a tidy row, looking down at them from on top of the world.

  Aunt Zee had owned one of the clifftop homes since her Hollywood days. Lori had always loved the pictures of the famous cottages, each with its funny little arched roofline, its pastel trim and handmade tile, and its flag flying proudly in the bay's ever-present breezes. That was the image of Pajaro Bay on all the postcards and tourist brochures, and the cottages were even cuter in person than in the pictures Aunt Zee had shown her. Even Aunt Zee's mansion, starkly different from the tiny Stockdales with its soaring white stucco walls and glossy black tile roof, fit in somehow with Pajaro Bay's quirky charm.

  But now she saw the houses on the cliff as a young boy raised in Wharf Flats might see them—out of his reach, a fantasy land far above the working wharf and the fishing boats that were the backbone of the village.

  Deputy Serrano turned the truck onto the road leading up the hill. Soon enough the truck pulled to a stop in front of Aunt Zee's house on Cliff Drive.

  "Is Ms. Zelda expecting you?" he asked.

  "No. This is Tuesday, so I assume she's playing canasta with the florist. But I've got a standing invitation to drop in any time."

  She picked up the cat carrier and then motioned to the dog, who bounded out of the truck to scamper around her, nuzzling her feet. "Of course, her invitation was to me, not to a hundred-pound dog."

  The deputy set her one suitcase beside her on the driveway. Then, with the promise that he'd be happy to take her back to the island in his boat "any time, just give me a call," he left.

  Lori picked up the suitcase, the cat carrier, and the dog's leash, and headed around the side of the house. She put Shadowfax in the back yard, a stretch of perfect green lawn ending in a black iron fence that skirted the cliff edge. While the dog rolled in the grass, she used the key Aunt Zee had given her to let herself in by the patio door.