Firefly Beach

by Meira Pentermann

Beth sighed and returned to her vehicle. She sat in the car, her hands on the steering wheel, gazing at the house. An eerie feeling washed over her as the dark windows stared back. She started her car, quickly spun around, and headed down the driveway.

  As she turned left to go back toward town, an idea struck her.

  “Perhaps he is at the marina,” she said to herself. “What did Mary say the name of his boat was?” She thought for a moment. “The Big Blue?”

  Chapter 9

  The Bottomless Blue

  The Virginia Point marina lay at the bottom of the hill where Main Street met with Shoreline Road. One dock facing southwest provided six slips for residents and seasonal visitors. A separate, smaller dock was equipped with a fuel station. Behind the fuel station on the other side of Shoreline Road, a small store offered boatmen groceries and basic supplies.

  A fifteen-foot motorboat, Jaws, from Bar Harbor, Maine, occupied the first slip on the left. The second slip, typically reserved for boats passing through, stood empty. Two yachts from Virginia Point rested in the slips on the right – a forty-five footer named Jessica’s Sunset and a thirty-five-foot cruiser bearing the name Where’s Shamu? elaborately painted in the shape of an orca. A third boat, parked in the furthest slip on the right, was a fishing vessel from Rockland named Lob And Stir. And on the last slip to the left with its own, private access dock, a striking, thirty-five-foot sloop bobbed gracefully with the morning tide. The Bottomless Blue.

  The Bottomless Blue was the most captivating vessel in the harbor. White with blue trim and teak accents, it floated peacefully – its sails neatly wound; its deck recently polished. Sheets, halyards and lines were meticulously coiled or otherwise tidied up. That the sailboat was well maintained and never neglected was obvious, even to a novice. Apparent to all that saw her, the owner loved The Bottomless Blue like a child.

  Tentatively Beth approached the vessel. “Hello?” she called. “Mr. Thompson?” There was no response. She waited a minute before trying again. “Mr. Thompson?”

  Slowly a man emerged from the cabin, squinting in irritation.

  Beth waved from the dock. “Are you Rod Thompson?” she asked pleasantly.

  “Who’s asking?” the old man replied.

  “Beth LaMonte at your service. Finally, I meet my landlord.” Beth gently touched the side of the sloop, admiring its beauty. Rod Thompson scowled at her hand with an intensity that almost burned. Beth withdrew quickly in alarm.

  His response was brusque. “I do not consider it a service that you interrupt me this morning. What is it that you want? Didn’t that plumber fix the pipes?”

  “Yes Lou fixed the pipes, sir. I am quite pleased with his work,” she replied tartly. “And I would hardly wait a week if he hadn’t,” she added under her breath.

  “Well,” Rod huffed. “What on earth do you need, woman?”

  His harsh tone and disrespectful manners shocked Beth. Woman? I would prefer ma’am if it came down to a choice. What is wrong with this man? Then Beth became aware of something more disconcerting than his rudeness. It was as if the air all around them took on a dark chill from the moment he stepped onto the deck.

  But Beth was not intimidated. “I want to ask you a question, if I may,” she ventured.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  She cleared her throat. “I found something, a book that belongs to a former tenant of yours by the name of Katherine. I should like to return it.”

  Rod’s eyes narrowed and his brow tightened. He stared at her for a second that seemed to drag into minutes. “I have had no tenants by that name,” he snapped. “And it is none of your business who and where are the people that lived at the cottage before you. It is not your place to go meddling in the lives of others. Pay the rent and mind your own affairs.”

  Beth did not move a muscle.

  “Go along and don’t bother me. The rent is due by the fifth of the month. Please put a stamp on it and stick it in the mail. I don’t like unexpected visitors.” He retreated into the cabin and swiftly pulled the hatch closed. There was a loud thud, and then all was quiet.

  Beth remained on the dock. Her heart pounded and her hands shook unexpectedly. For a moment she froze, as if in fear. She could not move. After a couple of minutes she was able to shake the creepy sensation and compose herself. She turned, walked briskly to her car, and drove away from the dock as quickly as possible.

  Chapter 10

  With a “K”

  Mary arrived a little after twelve o’clock laden with a large pot of chicken soup, a box of crackers, and a jug of apple juice.

  “Goodness, let me get that for you,” Beth said, as she answered the door and relieved Mary of the apple juice and crackers. She placed them on the kitchen table next to the bowls, plates and spoons that she had already arranged.

  Mary carried the soup straight into the kitchen and put the pot on the stove. She turned the burner on low.

  “Would you look at this place.” Mary strolled out of the kitchen and walked around the living room. “You are settling in very nicely.” She wandered over to the fireplace and picked up the photo of Beth’s mother. Beth jumped nervously. She wanted to snatch it out of Mary’s hands. Mary, whose home was decorated with family photos, seemed curious as to why Beth had only one picture displayed in her living area. “Is this you, dear?”

  Beth’s brow crinkled slightly with surprise. It had never occurred to her how much she looked like her mother. She stammered for a moment. “Nuh…no, that is my mother.”

  “Very lovely,” Mary replied. “Do you have any current photos of her?”

  “She…she died recently.”

  Mary turned and a look of gentle compassion fell over her face. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Beth. My condolences, truly.”

  With loving care Mary returned the photo to the mantle and Beth’s anxiety faded. An awkward silence lingered as the two made their way back to the kitchen. Mary stirred the soup while Beth fidgeted with the table settings.

  Eventually Beth blurted out, “I met Rod Thompson this morning.”

  “Oh, really? Isn’t he a charmer?”

  “Man, you weren’t kidding. The guy is…he’s a downright asshole, that’s what he is.”

  Mary laughed loudly and slowly stirred the soup. “Oh my, you’ve nailed that one on the head. What happened?”

  Beth hesitated for a moment. Reluctant to tell Mary about the diary, she concocted a believable lie. “I found a box of clothing in the garage marked ‘Katherine’s.’ It looked like a young lady’s clothing. I thought she might be missing it. So I asked him for the address of a previous tenant named Katherine and he blew his stack like I asked to see him skinny-dipping or something.”

  Mary cringed. “Please don’t put such images into my head right before lunch.”

  Beth giggled. “Sorry…but I don’t know why he got so mad. He said I should mind my own business about the previous tenants. He gave me the creeps. Do you remember a Katherine living here?”

  Mary looked up at the ceiling briefly, as if recalling the names of the last couple of families she had known. “No. There was John and Cindy Messinger. That was the couple that lived here eight years, divorced, you know. Their kids were Timmy, Jennifer, and Joseph. The last family, hmm, the ones from New Jersey. What was their name? Kingsley. June, Brent, and their daughter Ashley. No Katherines.”

  Beth sighed. Perhaps the diary belonged to someone just passing through, or someone who lived elsewhere and knew about the secret beach. She hadn’t thought about that possibility. “Any girls named Katherine living in Virginia Point that you remember?”

  “Hmm, is that with a ‘C’ or a ‘K’?” Mary fetched the bowls, filled them, and carried them to the table one by one.

  “A ‘K’.”

  “Oh. That’s not it then. There is a teenager named Cathy with a ‘C’ who lives on Pine Lane two blocks from me. But I don’t recall any Kathy with a ‘K’.”

  Frustrated, Beth said nothing and
sipped her soup.

  “You can just give the clothing to the Good Will. Goodness if it is a young lady’s clothing, surely she’s outgrown it by now. Besides, why would a girl living on Pine Lane keep her clothing in your garage? Perhaps it was a friend or a cousin of the Kingsleys or even the Messingers. In any case, I doubt anyone is missing it.”

  Beth had not thought through her cover story very carefully. Of course it sounded ridiculous that she would desperately want to return a simple box of clothing to a phantom Katherine who may or may not have lived in the house in which it was found. She chastised herself. But the lie just seemed safer than sharing the diary with Mary. Mary would want to read it and tell everyone about it. That didn’t feel right to Beth. It seemed too intrusive.

  “You’re right,” Beth said, forcing a smile. “I guess it is a little silly. But it gave me a good lesson, Rod Thompson 101. There is something seriously wrong with that man.”

  “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Yes, only I didn’t realize just how creepy he was. Perhaps he murdered this Katherine and threw her body into ‘the bottomless blue,’” Beth said mockingly.

  “Oh now, wouldn’t that be delicious?” Mary said.

  Beth shuddered. She hardly found such an idea delicious. She didn’t even know why she had said it. All of the late night rendezvous with a glowing marble were starting to affect her state of mind.

  “Anyway,” Mary said as she crumbled some crackers into her soup. “If you really want to find this Katherine, you should ask my mother, Abigail. She’ll be here on Sunday. And she knows everything about everyone in this town.”

  “Oh, really? More so than you?”

  Mary laughed. “Yes…much to my chagrin.”

  * * * *

  Abigail Glenn was an energetic, elderly woman. She had turned the third-generation family home into a bed and breakfast after her youngest daughter, Mary, married Lou and moved to Norfolk. When Abigail was in her mid-fifties, her husband of thirty-five years died of lung cancer, but she continued to run the inn with warmth and success. Upon turning sixty-one, she decided to move to a retirement community in Palm Beach. At that time, Mary and Lou returned to Virginia Point to take over the bed and breakfast. Every summer, June through early September, Abigail came to visit. She typically flew into Portland, and drove the coastal route to Virginia Point. Throughout the rest of the year, she enjoyed a busy and social lifestyle in Palm Beach: swimming, playing golf, hosting a book club, walking dogs for several clients, and volunteering at the assisted living facility a few blocks away.

  Abigail was slender and somewhat athletic, her short silver hair tastefully accented with faint red highlights. She stepped swiftly up the walkway of The Virginia Point Cove wearing tan pants, a matching blazer, and a cream t-shirt. When Mary opened the door Abigail dropped her bags, ran up the stairs, and embraced her daughter.

  “Welcome!” Mary said. She stood back. “Would you look at you, all tidied up and sophisticated. You’ve become too good for us humble folks in Virginia Point.”

  Abigail waived her hand. “Oh, cut it out. You know this will always be my home.”

  Mary grinned. “And you are welcome anytime, night or day.” They hugged again. “How was the drive?”

  “Absolutely beautiful as always,” Abigail replied as she stepped back. She glanced behind Mary and saw Lou approaching to greet her. “Good morning, Lou,” she said warmly.

  “Abigail. It is great to see you,” Lou said. “Let me get your suitcases.” He slipped by the gushing ladies and retrieved the discarded bags at the foot of the stairs.

  “Come in, Mom, come in,” Mary insisted, as she pulled Abigail through the doorway. “I’ve got tea all set up, and there’s someone I want you to meet. Our new resident artist.”

  “Is she the one who’s going to paint the inn?”

  “The one and only.” Mary led her mother into the sitting room where Beth and a tray of pastries were waiting.

  Beth stood up hastily, smiled awkwardly, and reached out her hand. “Hello, Mrs. Glenn. I’m Beth LaMonte.”

  Abigail grasped Beth’s outstretched hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Oh please, young lady, call me Abigail. Very nice to meet you.”

  Beth smoothed her skirt and sat down on the couch. She picked up her tea and sipped it quietly. Abigail and Mary poured themselves a cup and fussed over the pastries before making themselves comfortable – Mary on an armchair, and Abigail on the couch next to Beth.

  Abigail leaned toward Beth. “So, tell me all about yourself.”

  Beth pulled back slightly. Then she related a very brief, impersonal version of her background, her decision to paint, and her move to Maine.

  Abigail pursed her lips to one side, furrowed her brow, and examined Beth thoughtfully. Finally she said, “I’ll have to get the real story out of you later.” She waved her hand dismissively and took a sip of tea. “Anyway, how do you like Virginia Point?”

  Beth was taken aback by Abigail’s frank analysis of her reticence. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she caught herself and tried to stammer her way out of the embarrassment. “I…I’m having a lovely time here. I believe I’m finding a true home.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that,” Abigail announced with gusto as she raised her teacup in the air. “Here’s to women coming into their own.”

  Beth looked around the room. Mary raised her teacup. “Here, here.”

  Beth fumbled for a moment, raised her glass, and smiled shyly, nodding to each of the ladies in turn.

  Mary changed the subject. “Mom, our Beth has some questions about a missing damsel she’s trying to locate.” She raised her eyebrows and grinned mischievously in Beth’s direction.

  Beth stammered. “Yes…ah…I was wondering if you know a previous tenant of Mr. Thompson’s, someone named Katherine?”

  Before Abigail could answer, Mary blurted out, “We think maybe old man Rod’s stashed her in the depths of ‘the bottomless blue.’ And I’m not talking about the boat, if you get my drift.” Mary raised one eyebrow. Beth resisted the urge to put her head in her hand.

  “Oh, shame on you two!” Abigail exclaimed. “You read too many novels. Katherine is Rod’s daughter. He loved her like no one on this earth.”

  Beth’s heart began to pound rapidly.

  Mary looked on in disbelief. “His daughter? Why didn’t he just tell Beth?” Then she rolled her eyes, remembering Rod’s unpleasant personality and his withdrawal from the realm of human beings. “Anyway, what do you mean by he loved her?”

  “They fell into a huge rift years ago, in the mid-seventies, when Katherine was still in her teens…over a boy, of all things. Her father didn’t approve. She was a typical teenager, of course. Things got ugly and she moved out, disappeared. As far as I know they haven’t spoken since. Oh, it is a shame. I can’t really blame the poor thing for leaving. Rod was far too protective. But to sever all contact? I’ve never understood why folks do such a terrible thing.”

  “So do you know where she went?” Beth asked.

  “No, I’m afraid not, or I’d have hunted her down myself. Rod’s become a bitter old man ever since. I tried to be a good neighbor to him, bring him out of his shell. But he’s a stubborn one. He became mean and nasty tempered, seemingly overnight.

  “See, his wife died before Katherine even started Kindergarten. But I’ll give him credit. He was solid as a rock, I tell you. Went right into the business of raising a child alone. He doted on that girl…but he also smothered her. He was so afraid something might happen to her. It is a wonder the poor girl could even breathe.

  “Anyway, it is one thing to be lovingly protected as a motherless child, but it is quite another to be stifled as a teenager. Katherine rebelled. Rod snapped. He couldn’t accept her defying his authority. He was angry. She was determined to live her own life, so one day she was gone. She probably left with the young man…and Rod hasn’t seen her since.

  “And Rod was already laden with m
ore than his share of heartache. His father committed suicide right before his eyes when he was only thirteen. Jumped off the lighthouse balcony.”

  Beth recoiled in shock. Mary looked down and away. She tapped her foot nervously.

  Abigail continued. “The Bottomless Blue is just a substitute for all that the man has lost – a father, a wife, a child. He has no one. Nobody likes him because he’s become so disagreeable. He doesn’t want friends. He won’t let anyone in that stone-cold heart of his.”

  Mary glowered. She glanced in Beth’s direction, but Beth was engaged in the story, which seemed to further irritate Mary.

  “He used to run a car repair shop. Everyone depended on him to fix their troubled vehicles. He was a fine member of the community.” She paused. “Now he fixes boats, which is also a great service, but he works typically for strangers who come and go. And he is not at all friendly to them or to the locals who need his assistance. He’s gone sour. I have tried to reach him. I remember what a nice man he was when Katherine was young – a strong, decent man. But there is a shell of a person where that man used to be. I can’t perform miracles. What can I do?”

  Mary chimed in. “No one expects you to do anything, Mother. He’s dug his own grave. It’s not your responsibility to pull him out.”

  “I know, but have a little compassion, Mary.”

  Mary huffed. “No, I don’t have any compassion for a stuffy old stinker…no matter what he’s been through.” She sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ll cut him a little slack…maybe tell less incriminating stories about him in the future.” She winked at Beth.

  Beth sat silently, sipping her tea. Her mind drifted – away from the chatter, away from the present – to a world unknown to her. Virginia Point in the nineteen-seventies, a capricious young girl, a protective father. It was a sad story. Even so, something about the whole thing warmed her heart. She had to stifle the urge to smile as a bittersweet wave washed over her spirit.

  * * * *

  Beth returned home in the late afternoon, still daydreaming about a rebellious teenager named Katherine and her hard-to-fathom loving father, Rod Thompson. She almost stumbled on the stairs, her feet knowing where she was going, her mind not fully accepting what she was about to do. When she reached the top of the stairs she remembered something that had entirely slipped her mind.