Lights Out at the Lighthouse

by Danielle Collins

  “He felt so strongly that the Starlight Lighthouse should be preserved for the next generation that he put a lot of his own money into it,” Amelia went on. “He spent weeks researching who had worked here, and even found a tie to a semi-famous Canadian writer who had taken six months to stay in the lighthouse, keeping it running at night, only to turn around and write a well-known novel that made him a decent amount of money. It was things like that that convinced my father the Starlight needed to be preserved.”

  “Was there opposition to this?” Ralph asked.

  “I wasn’t completely aware of everything that happened. My father was a private man. After my mother died, he didn’t often confide the hard things to me. He kept them to himself to deal with and only shared the good with me. Mostly.”

  “A father’s protection,” Henrietta mused.

  “Something like that.” She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her eyes seeking out the lighthouse again. “I only found out about the buyer later.”

  “The buyer?” Ralph prompted.

  “Yeah.” Amelia met his gaze. “I didn’t know—until recently—that it was my father, not the city or some private owner, who owned the lighthouse. He got some type of settlement from my mother’s death, which I knew nothing about. He said it went toward purchasing and restoring the lighthouse first, and then he’d put it into something for me. That’s how he phrased it.”

  “Perhaps the life insurance policy,” Henrietta said.

  “Now that I know about it, it wouldn’t surprise me.” She sniffed again. “Anyway, I came to see my father a few months ago and found him in a terrible mood. He said that there was ‘some guy’ offering a ridiculous sum of money to purchase the lighthouse. He raged against it, because he knew this man wanted to tear it down. He might have considered selling if it was to go to someone who appreciated history, but this person clearly wanted to tear down the lighthouse for some sort of commercial investment. I can’t remember what he said exactly.”

  Henrietta exchanged a glance with Ralph. This was exactly the type of motive they had been looking for. Someone had to have a vested interest in the lighthouse in order to kill for it, if it had been the motivation.

  “Your father didn’t mention who it was?”

  “Oh no, it was a miracle that he even told me about the person. But I do know that he wasn’t interested in selling. There was no amount that he would have settled for.”

  “You’re positive?” Ralph pressed.

  “Absolutely. Wealth wasn’t important to my father. Not like history was. Actually, I think that his plan all along was to fix up the lighthouse, get it recognized as an historic sight, and then gift it to the city.”

  “Gift it?” Ralph said, surprise showing in the orange light that played across his features.

  “Yes. That was my father, thinking about others. He would only have rested if he knew the lighthouse would be protected.” Quiet tears coursed down Amelia’s cheeks as she looked back at the lighthouse, her father’s work gone up in flames.

  “It would have been an amazing gift—” Henrietta said, then stopped. Gift. Why did that ring a bell?

  Then it hit her.

  Turning to Ralph, she gripped his wrist so hard, he winced. “What is it?” he said under his breath.

  “We’ve got to go.”

  It took Ralph only a moment to know what she was talking about.

  “We’ve got to follow up on something,” he told Amelia, patting her hand like a father. “But you’ll be all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Thank you for coming. I…I don’t know what I’ll do next.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Henrietta encouraged her. “This will all come to an end soon.”

  Sooner, Henrietta thought, than anyone realizes.

  Ralph drove just above the posted speed limit, but Henrietta wished he’d go faster, even though she knew it wasn’t advisable—or legal.

  “Oh, for the days when I had a siren,” he bemoaned.

  “There, up there,” she pointed out. The hardware store from Scott’s search appeared before them. It was getting close to closing time, but thankfully the lights were still on.

  It was a testament to Ralph’s trust in her that he hadn’t asked for full details before they took off for the opposite end of town. When she’d suggested they first go to the hardware store, he’d agreed, but she wondered if he was going to demand more details soon. Perhaps after her first hunch was verified—if it were.

  He screeched to a halt in front of the store, taking up one and a half spaces, and they jumped out.

  “Hi there,” the man behind the counter said. He wore a red-and-black buffalo plaid flannel shirt, and a cap pulled low. “How can I help ya?”

  “We’ve got a bit of a problem we think you can help us with,” Henrietta said with a kind smile.

  “All right, ma’am,” the older gentleman said. “What’s that?”

  Ralph stepped up with his phone on, a picture of William Cone enlarged on the screen. “Have you seen this man?”

  “I—I have,” the older man said. “Why do you ask? He was in not but a few hours ago.”

  They knew as much, but now Henrietta wanted to confirm her suspicions.

  “I thought so,” she said with another disarming smile. “He bought some gasoline, didn’t he?”

  “How’d you know?” the old man said, looking impressed.

  “Just a hunch.” She looked over at Ralph. “You’ll want to tell the police that when they come by.”

  Now the man’s eyes bugged. “The police?”

  “It’s a long story,” Ralph said. “But did he say anything to you? Where he was going? Where he’d been?”

  “Nah.” The man scratched behind his back, his eyes searching the ceiling as if it would help him recall the interaction better. “I just remember saying it would be cheaper for him to buy what he was getting at a gas station. I only sell some gas here to cater to a few customers who don’t want to go back up to the other side of town and the station there.”

  “Of course.” Ralph nodded congenially. “And his reply?”

  “Mostly said that it was just what he needed. He thanked me and left. That was it.”

  Henrietta’s heart felt heavy. If they’d known looking at the record of his purchase at the hardware store that William had planned on burning down a piece of history, she would have demanded they act more quickly. Then again, there would have been no way to trace him.

  “Did you happen to see what he was driving?” Ralph asked.

  “Yup. Had an old white truck. Real beat up, you know?”

  “Got it.” They thanked the man and headed back to Ralph’s truck. “He’s definitely not driving his registered car. Could be a friend’s, or something he bought without registering.”

  “Seems risky, but then again, there’s a lot we don’t know about this man.” Henrietta thought back to what Amelia had said, and she knew where they needed to go next. “Okay, you’ve gone with me this far. How about a little further?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing as he backed out of the hardware store parking lot. “Tell me where to go,” he said good-naturedly.

  “The marina.” Henrietta rested her head back against the seat. “And Ralph? We may want to call the police to meet us there. I think I know where William Cone is staying.”

  13

  Ralph took the curve into the marina parking lot at a fast speed and Henrietta latched on to the door handle, her teeth gritted. She didn’t begrudge Ralph his fast pace, though. It was only a matter of time before William disappeared for good, if her hunch was correct.

  As they barreled toward the dock access of the marina, she spotted an old white pickup truck that fit the description the man at the hardware store had given. It sat on the edge of the parking lot, looking for all the world as if it were abandoned.

  “You going to tell me how you knew he’d be here?”

  Her stomach clenched in knots. So, she
was right.

  “I started to have an idea back when we were talking to Amelia,” she began. Ralph pulled up next to the truck, and they both got out.

  He went to the back and began sniffing around. “It’s faint,” he finally said. “But there’s been gas back here. I’ll bet you anything he drenched the lighthouse and tossed the cans over the cliff. But why?”

  “We’d have to talk to Daryl Quinn, but I’ve got a feeling that William Cone was the one who wanted to purchase the lighthouse land. I’m guessing, but I have a feeling that there was more behind Gerald’s death than a jealous husband.”

  “And now that Gerald is gone and his daughter had the property—”

  “Why keep a piece of property with a burned lighthouse?”

  “I’ll be,” Ralph said, shaking his head. “All to get a piece of property, even after his wife’s death.”

  They returned to the car and drove back toward the dock area. “Why the marina though, Henri?”

  “Something that Amelia said made me think back to when I was reading through those love letters. Amelia said that Gerald had meant for the lighthouse to be a gift to the city. The word ‘gift’ lodged in my mind, and I couldn’t think of why.”

  “But obviously you remembered what it was,” he said, looking at her with a quick sidelong glance before he pulled his truck to a stop near the entrance to the ramp that led down to the docks.

  “Yes. I remembered that Dee had mentioned something about a gift. It came up several times, along with the name The Starlight. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but one letter hinted at the fact that it was a boat.”

  “A boat?” Ralph pulled her to the side before they could go down the ramp. “Gerald gave her a boat?”

  “I know,” Henrietta shook her head, “extravagant. But perhaps, as Amelia said, he had no use for money aside from helping others. It really seemed as if he wanted to do things that would help others. To reclaim the lighthouse for the future generation. Have a life insurance police for his daughter. Give a boat to Dee.”

  “But how would a woman who couldn’t leave the house get to a boat in the marina?”

  “I have no idea,” Henrietta admitted, “but I think that William must have found out about it.”

  “You think he’s hiding out on her boat.”

  “I do. And what better place to hide than on a boat where someone else’s name is on the title?”

  “Gerald,” Ralph guessed.

  “I would assume. I doubt he’d put it in Dee’s name and risk her husband finding out.”

  “Even though it seems like he did. Find out, that is.”

  “Exactly.”

  They both turned toward the ramp, moving as one. “We’ve got to play this one safe, Henri.” Ralph placed a hand on the small of her back.

  “I know. Obviously, William has gone to great lengths to ensure that whatever was left behind of that lighthouse wouldn’t implicate him. Assuming that’s why he burned it down.”

  “Right. He sounds unstable to me, not to mention controlling. We find this boat and leave the rest to the authorities.”

  “I agree,” she said.

  They stepped from the stable ramp to the floating docks, and Henrietta looked up and down. “If only we had some sort of manifest for the docks.”

  “I’ve got something better,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her down the first row of slips. They stopped at an old boat, the name mostly rubbed off by time and water damage. “Hank? You in there?”

  The next moment an old man, his features weathered by the ocean and sun, popped his head out. “That you, Ralphie?”

  “Sure is.” Ralph ignored her inquisitive look and continued. “Got a second to help me find a boat?”

  “You know I do. Anything for you, Ralphie.”

  He stepped close to the man, as if sensing that their voices could carry further than either of them would wish and began to explain the boat they were looking for.

  Henrietta turned and looked over the marina. Most slips were devoid of activity, with only a few showing signs of life. She pulled out her phone and called the police station, asking to be put through to Detective Paige, thinking this was her only chance to talk to the man directly before Ralph forbid the ‘newbie’s’ involvement.

  When he answered, she jumped into her explanation, not giving him an opening to question or doubt her. She finished with, “If you want to apprehend a murderer and an arsonist, you’ll come to the marina.” She hung up the next moment, just as Ralph joined her.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “The police are on their way,” she said with a confident smile. If only she could be as confident in the fact that they were, in fact, coming. But time would tell. “Did he tell you where to go?”

  “Sure did. This way.”

  She stepped carefully behind Ralph as they made their way down the floating dock. While they were sturdy enough, it was still difficult in the areas between the lights. The overwhelming smell of salty sea water surrounded them, and Henrietta wondered if their mission would be successful, or if she’d tipped off the detective for no reason. She didn’t want to go down that route, though, not wanting to be on his bad side if her less-than-subtle hint led to nothing.

  Finally, at the last row, Ralph turned down and gave her a look that said, Be careful, Henri. As if she hadn’t thought to be careful on her own.

  Just three boats from the very end of the dock she saw it. The Starlight sat moored in her slip by thick ropes. It looked as if it was the type of boat that had two levels, one below that would allow for a sleeping area. Henrietta wondered if perhaps Gerald had bought the boat for Dee as a place for her to go if she decided to leave her husband.

  Why hadn’t Dee taken him up on it? Was it the fear that he’d ask for something she couldn’t give him in return? Then again, she had a feeling Gerald wasn’t that type of man, and Dee would have known that.

  Ralph climbed up onto the deck, and Henrietta’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Seeing if he’s on the boat.”

  There was a momentary inward struggle between what Henrietta thought she should do, and what she knew she was going to do, before she climbed up onto the boat, following behind Ralph. She tried to put thoughts of breaking and entering from her mind, but then consoled herself with one very relevant fact. Amelia was their employer, and this boat was most likely in Gerald’s name. Since he was gone now, it had likely transferred to Amelia’s possession, which meant they would likely not be prosecuted for breaking and entering.

  Feeling more confident, she stepped into the doorway behind Ralph—only to be met with a shocking sight.

  “William,” Ralph said. “Put down the gun.”

  Henrietta gasped as she saw William with a gun to Ralph’s head. He held something in his other hand, but from her vantage point, she couldn’t see what it was.

  Ralph, having been in this situation before when he was a detective, stepped forward. “William, please. Let’s just take a few moments to talk.”

  “Who are you people?” he said, his tear-filled eyes turning to look at Henrietta. “Wait, you’re the lady who was poking around the lighthouse.”

  “I’m Ralph, and this is Henri. We’ve been at the lighthouse a few times. We’re just going to chat with you a little. That’s all.”

  “There’s no use.” He looked back down at what was in his hands, and Henrietta had a feeling that whatever it was, it was important to him.

  “What do you have there?” she asked, her tone gentle.

  His gaze flicked up to hers. “A picture of my wife.”

  Henrietta met Ralph’s brief look before he turned back to William. “Why don’t you put down the gun and we’ll talk about it? You can tell us about your wife.”

  “No.” William’s voice was strained with anguish. “She’s gone now. I—it’s my fault.”

  Without knowing Deborah’s cause of death, Henrietta didn’t know if perhaps it had b
een an accident, but that was immaterial at this point.

  “Now, come on,” Ralph affected a congenial tone that was almost out of place in this tense situation. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “It is,” William said. A sudden flash of anger made him look up at Ralph. “She’s dead and it’s my fault.” His expression turned sad. “I’ll admit I did some stupid things. I…I kept her under lock and key. Maybe I should have let her go out more often.” He sounded like someone trying to reason through a problem.

  “We all have things in our past we wish we could change, but it doesn’t do to dwell on them.” Ralph took another step forward, and Henrietta’s stomach clenched in fear for him. Thankfully, William didn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s just that I didn’t trust her. I couldn’t. She was so pretty. Such a beautiful woman, and there are men all over, you know.” He looked between Henrietta and Ralph. “She your wife?”

  “No. Just a good friend.”

  Something shifted in Henrietta’s chest at this admission, but the tension of the situation pushed those thoughts away.

  “Deborah was like her. Real pretty. She couldn’t be trusted to go out on her own.”

  Henrietta resisted the urge to cringe. This man was clearly disturbed and controlling, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see him hurt himself—even if he had committed Gerald’s murder in addition to his wife’s.

  “Then you must have been a very lucky man,” Ralph said.

  “Lucky?” William looked up at him. “I was, right up until I killed her.”

  Henrietta gasped and felt a sickening turmoil in her stomach. He’d admitted it. Right there, in front of them both, he’d admitted to killing his wife.

  “I see,” Ralph said, almost as if he wasn’t sure what to say next. She wasn’t either.

  “I didn’t mean to,” William continued, the gun falling to his side as his shoulders drooped. “I just…I couldn’t make her see reason. She fought me, you know? But I—I just lost my tempter. She knew I did that. She knew better.” He was spiraling into sorry now, and he let the gun clatter to the table as he dropped his head to his hands.