The Spyglass Portal: A Lighthouse Novel

by Coverstone, Stacey

  “And this dog belongs to him?”

  “Yes.”

  She expelled a puff of air and whipped around on her heel, feeling like a volcano about to explode. “Excuse me, but I have to go.”

  “Don’t leave,” Aidan called after her. But she dared not look back, knowing if she stayed a moment longer, she’d say something she’d really regret.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  She stormed into the lighthouse, slammed the door, and stomped up the staircase to the bedroom. “I’m not staying in this insane place one more minute,” she muttered while unzipping and tossing her empty suitcases onto the bed. “I’m going home where I belong.” After jerking open the squeaky dresser drawers, she flung clothes into the suitcases, unconcerned with folding them or packing neatly. The sooner she could get in her car and leave the lighthouse and this town, the better.

  Her hand stopped in midair when she whipped some shirts out of the top drawer and the mahogany case was revealed. “Cursed spyglass,” she grumbled.

  Cursed! Her mind began to race like flames skittering down a trail of kerosene. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the air. With her brain working like the well-oiled parts of an engine, pieces of the puzzle flew together in a frenzied rush.

  She gently lifted the box out of the drawer and sat it on the dresser top. Leaving it unopened, she stared at it; her mind replaying all the times she’d peered through the lens.

  The first time she’d looked through it, she’d seen the little girl walk into the ocean. Then she’d met Aidan, followed by Jason, who limped. Later, Aidan had stopped by with his dog and asked her to dinner. The next time she took up the spyglass was before heading out to the restaurant that evening. Claire and Jason Murphy were there, and his limp had magically disappeared. His mother and the hostess had both claimed not to know Aidan. Sam had returned home, after being stood up, and called Linda on her cell phone to talk, only to hear a message from someone named Antonio. That night before bed, she’d peered through the spyglass again. The next day Aidan had stated he knew nothing about any date, and he’d maintained he had no dog.

  She felt her throat muscles catch when she recalled the phone call she’d received from her deceased mom, as well as the conversation with Mrs. Callison, who’d told her Linda had been dead for ten years. She’d started experiencing visions in broad daylight and also saw a face in the old cottage she’d thought was abandoned.

  Each time she had looked into the spyglass, a blue mist had drifted across the glass lens. And each time something strange had taken place shortly after. What did it mean?

  Bolting up from the bed, Samantha paced the floor with a galloping heart. She remembered looking through the captain’s telescope one more time before vowing to stop spying on people. Then she hid it under her clothes in the drawer. Soon after, she’d called Dr. Teagan’s number, only to be treated like a stranger. And just now, Aidan and Jason claimed they knew each other, with both alleging Jason was the owner of the dog.

  How could she not have realized it before now? The problem wasn’t her mental stability. All these events were connected to the spyglass!

  Sinking onto the bed again, she worked her fingers over her throbbing temples. Though there was no rational understanding as to why, she’d never much cared for lighthouses. Maine was inundated with them, but she’d never had the urge to visit one in all of her growing up years. She’d always believed they were mysterious places that held secrets—and she never liked secrets. She’d grown up with a mother who had kept too many of them; the biggest one being who Sam’s father was. Now she was embroiled in something unexplainable, which had to do with this lighthouse and the spyglass, and it didn’t set well.

  Glancing around the room, she wondered once again who owned the lighthouse. Dr. Teagan hadn’t told her. A friend was all she’d said. Sam had to find out. Maybe then she’d also discover who had hidden the spyglass behind the wall, and why.

  She didn’t know where to start. The only thing certain was that she wasn’t going crazy. Whatever was happening to her was because of the spyglass, and it was supernatural in nature. Although she didn’t know how, or why, there were no other explanations. A weight that had felt like lead lifted from her shoulders.

  “There’s no use in calling Dr. Teagan,” she decided, speaking out loud. “Surely there’s someone in the village who will know the owner of this lighthouse. Or someone who can give me information about the spyglass.”

  A sudden burning desire to crack the mystery energized her. She cradled the box tightly under her arm and dashed down the staircase. One glance at her cell phone showed her the battery was almost dead, so she plugged it into the charger on the kitchen counter, grabbed her car keys and purse, and locked the door behind her. Her quick footsteps ignited a path to her car. The anxiety she’d felt the past couple of days melted. Finally, she was onto something feasible; something that might help her figure out what was driving her crazy. She gunned the gas pedal and the tires squealed as she motored out of the gravel lot.

  As it was close to four-thirty by the time she reached town, traffic on the cobblestone streets of Pavee Cove had thinned out, which made parking easy. Samantha remembered walking past two antique shops during her outing with Aidan that morning. Those shops seemed as good of a place as any to start with her impromptu investigation. Spotting an empty space at the curb near one of the stores, she parked the car and bounded out, carrying the box. Her hand fell on the knob and found it locked. The lights were off inside, but she could see a woman at the counter so she knocked on the glass.

  The woman shuffled to the door and flipped a sign on a string over as she announced through the glass, “Come back tomorrow. We’re closed.”

  “I’ll just take a few minutes of your time,” Sam said, knocking again. “Please. I need someone to take a look at this captain’s spyglass. It’s extremely important.”

  The woman shook her head, threw her hand into the air, and shuffled to the back of the shop and disappeared.

  Sam glanced both ways down the street, trying to remember where the other antique shop had been located. Moving down the sidewalk like a power walker, she stopped when she heard her name called.

  “Samantha! Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  Craning her neck around, she recognized the voice before glimpsing the face. Claire Murphy stood on the sidewalk with her hands on her wide hips. Claire was the last person she wanted to talk to at the moment. And frankly, the way things had changed from day-to-day and moment-to-moment, she was surprised Claire even knew her.

  “Is there a fire somewhere?” Claire chuckled, striding toward her.

  “Hello,” Sam said, reeling in her irritation with the woman who had lied to her. Apparently, it wasn’t Claire’s fault for lying. The spyglass had made her do it. Or so she guessed. She glanced at the sign above the door that Claire had exited. It read Murphy’s Market. “I’m sorry, Claire. It’s nice to see you, but I don’t have time to talk right now.”

  Claire’s quizzical gaze landed on the box in Sam’s hands. “Whatcha got there?”

  Pressing it close to her bosom, Sam had no intention of telling her about the spyglass or what she suspected of it. What did she suspect, anyway? That the captain’s telescope had paranormal powers? Or that the lighthouse held mysterious secrets and was cursed? And the combination had almost driven her mad? Suddenly, she realized the town gossip might come in handy after all. “Claire, do you know who owns the lighthouse?”

  “Don’t you know the name of your own landlord, dear?”

  “I don’t have a landlord. I’m a guest. The lighthouse belongs to someone my doc—” She stopped herself just in time. Claire didn’t need to know she’d been under a psychiatrist’s care. Amending the thought, she finished by saying, “An acquaintance of mine is a friend of the owner. I never learned the owner’s name.”

  “I see.” Claire didn’t look convinced. “Why do you want to know the name now?”

  Sa
mantha sighed. It was none of the busy body’s business. “Never mind,” she said, annoyed. “I didn’t mean to pry into the top secret files of Pavee Cove. If you’ll excuse me, I really must be on my way.” She left Claire standing on the walk, probably too surprised to retaliate with a jab of her own. Hoping she was going in the right direction, luck was with her when she found Rehobeth’s Antiques two buildings down, next to the bookstore. Even better, it was still open.

  A bell above the door tinkled when she entered. The lights were on, but the place was as quiet as fallen snow, except for the fans that whirled overhead. Seemed there wasn’t a soul around. She strolled down the center aisle past glass cases that displayed everything from old guns and knives to porcelain dolls and china. In the back of the room on the counter next to an antique cash register sat a bell. She hit it three times with her finger and a door behind the counter creaked open. An elderly man appeared. Apparently she’d startled him, because his bushy eyebrows lifted and his mouth dropped open at noticing her.

  “Didn’t hear ya come in,” he said, sticking a finger in his ear. As he drew closer, Sam saw he wore a hearing aide. It must have been turned down, which would have accounted for his surprise. “What can I do for ya, Miss?”

  Her gaze moved from the thin white hair on his head down to the pale blue eyes, and over the hump on his back. “My name is Samantha Landers.” She set the mahogany box on the counter and offered her hand to shake.

  “Daniel Rehobeth.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m temporarily staying as a guest at the lighthouse, and I’m hoping you can share with me some information on it.”

  “The lighthouse you say?”

  “Yes. Do you have any knowledge about it?”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as the owner’s name to start with.”

  The old man narrowed his eyes, and his gaze dropped to the mahogany case. “What’s in the box?”

  She sucked in a deep breath, wishing she’d get her questions answered regarding the lighthouse before delving into the spyglass. But it looked like the antique dealer had other ideas. “Inside is a captain’s spyglass I found in the lighthouse. I think it’s an antique, which is why I’ve come to you. I’m looking for information on it, too.”

  “You sure you’re staying in the lighthouse?”

  “Yes, sir,” she chuckled. “I’m sure.”

  “But you don’t know the name of the person who owns it? How does that make sense?”

  She smiled and felt her heart beating in her ears. “The owner is the friend of a friend, who made the arrangements for me. Not feeling it was important at the time, I didn’t think to ask the name.”

  “And now it’s important to know?” he asked.

  She could see Mr. Rehobeth was going to be a tough nut to crack. Her confidence was slipping as his probing eyes explored hers. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  He slapped his hand on the counter, which caused her to jump. “No one’s lived in that lighthouse for years, missy. O’Neill was the name of the woman who was there last. She up and disappeared one day, like a puff of smoke.” He snapped his fingers. “No one’s seen her since. Some think she walked into the ocean. Others believe she came to a bad end. Still others suspect that something supernatural happened to her.”

  Samantha’s heart seized at his mention of the supernatural. Had Dr. Teagan mentioned the name of O’Neill? She was sure she hadn’t. She certainly hadn’t told Sam about a suicide or of a disappearing woman either. The old guy must be mistaken. Someone had obviously been maintaining the lighthouse and she told him as much. “Perhaps someone else took over the lighthouse after Mrs. O’Neill…disappeared,” she suggested. “Maybe a relative, or an associate of some kind.”

  Rehobeth shook his head with vigor. “I’ve lived in Pavee Cove all my life, Miss. I know everyone who comes and goes. O’Neill left and never came back. You couldn’t be staying in the lighthouse. It’s been abandoned for over twenty years. Why are ya lying to me?”

  “Lying? I’m not,” she argued. Knowing she wasn’t crazy and struggling to maintain a polite smile, she continued. “I assure you, it’s not abandoned. Someone has lived there recently. It’s clean and bright and has nice furniture and is completely updated. My friend is the one who—”

  The old man cut her off and nodded at the box. “Can I see the captain’s spyglass now?”

  “Sure. Okay.” Swallowing down her dizzying nausea, Sam lifted the lid and retrieved the spyglass from its velvet nest and handed it to him. He scrutinized every inch of the gleaming instrument. When he extended the brass tube and examined it further, his pale eyes widened in what appeared to be either shock or disbelief.

  “Where did you find this?” he queried.

  Although he’d been rude, she felt she had no option but to tell him and hope she could trust him. She relayed her story in a nutshell. “What can you tell me about it?”

  His countenance grew dark. “You should have left this blasted thing in its hidden tomb, Miss.”

  “Tomb? What are you talking about?” Icy shivers danced down her spine.

  “I’m talking about this Pandora’s box,” Rehobeth said, dropping the spyglass into the case and slamming the lid. “My guess is you’ve reawakened the curse, and that’s not a good thing.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Curse?” It was the same word Samantha had used to describe the lighthouse and spyglass earlier. Trying to make light of his comment, but with terror clawing at her stomach, she asked Rehobeth to explain.

  “Follow me,” he said, leading her to a maple dining set in the corner. “We’ll be more comfortable if we sit. My back hurts.”

  Though she tried, it was impossible not to stare at the man’s hump as he twisted himself into a straight-backed chair. He waved his hand impatiently and told her to sit.

  She placed the box on the table in front of her. “Please, Mr. Rehobeth. What do you mean by curse? Tell me what you know about this spyglass.”

  “Call me Daniel. Take it out again,” he ordered. When she did, he stretched out his veiny hand and she placed the instrument in his palm once more. He extended the brass tube and tapped his finger on the rim. “Look closely. See the signature?”

  Sam squinted, and for the first time saw something etched into the brass. “Yes,” she said excitedly, “but it’s so small. I can’t make out what it says.”

  “It says E. McBride. The E stands for Eamon. McBride was a master mariner, born in Ireland. He captained a vessel that laid transoceanic telegraph cables in the late 1800s. Arguably, he was one of the most important mariners in the nineteenth century, as he helped make the world a global village by connecting empires and continents. In effect, he constructed the Victorian age communication network.”

  Not understanding what all that had to do with the strange things that had been taking place since she’d moved into the lighthouse, Sam remained mute and waited for him to elaborate more.

  “Legend goes that Eamon McBride’s vessel was shipwrecked. It ran aground right here along our coastline. Most of the crew’s lives were lost, but McBride and a few of his men managed to reach the shore.”

  She wondered if McBride’s ship was the same one Aidan had told her about. The one that had brought the horses whose feral ancestors now roamed the coast.

  “When a new ship was finally procured twelve months later,” Daniel continued, “and it was time to set sail once more, a few of McBride’s surviving crew members jumped ship—no pun intended—choosing to stay here at the cove. Those who stayed were traveling men and wanted no more of the sea. But that’s skipping ahead in the story.”

  “What or who were the traveling men?” she asked.

  “Irish travelers. They’re also known as the walking people.” When she still didn’t comprehend, Daniel asked, “Have ya heard of gypsies?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, the travelers are sort of like gypsies, only they originated in Ireland. They settled in the United St
ates in the nineteenth century, migrating to different parts of the country, starting their own clan groups. The travelers are still around today. They’re a suspicious people and have gained a reputation through the decades for being con artists. They call non-travelers country people, and refer to themselves as Pavees. Some of McBride’s sailors decided to form a clan and settled in this village.” Daniel chuckled when it became clear to Sam.

  “You’re telling me that’s where Pavee Cove got its name?”

  “Yep.”

  This was fascinating history, but she still didn’t know what it had to do with the spyglass and how it had made her reality shift each time she looked through it. “How would Eamon McBride’s spyglass from the 1800s end up in the wall of the light tower?” she wondered aloud.

  “That’s the ten thousand dollar question,” Daniel said, slapping his knee. “I don’t have the answer to it, but McBride’s captain’s log is on display at the historical museum on Beehive Street. When I was a member of the historical committee, I had the privilege of reading that journal. McBride continued to write in the log after the shipwreck. He kept notes each day while he was living here. Let me tell you, there are some very interesting passages in that book.”

  “Do any of the entries mention this spyglass or the lighthouse?”

  “As a matter of fact, they do,” he said, winking. “Would you like to know what I remember of his unusual story?”

  “Yes, I would.” She leaned forward with anticipation.

  The old man’s eyes sparkled under bushy eyebrows. “It wasn’t long before McBride took up with a local girl. He moved her into his makeshift shack on the beach and she soon became great with child. I remember reading in McBride’s own hand that this girl was so enchanted by his spyglass that she used to gaze into it at all hours of the morning and night. She’d come from a poor family and had never seen anything like it before. She believed it held magic powers.”