“Be right there!” I yelled back. “Sorry, Landon, I’d better get back to work.”
He gave me a small, slightly sad smile, and nodded. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry,” I hesitated. “You were about to say something?”
“No worries, as you Californians say. It can wait. This isn’t the right moment, anyway.”
I slipped the grimy coins into my jacket pocket. I didn’t hold out a lot of hope that they were worth enough to qualify as a treasure, but what did I know?
• • •
The lath and plaster had been peeled away inside the Keeper’s House, revealing ancient plumbing and almost-as-ancient wiring. All of it would have to be ripped out and replaced. As much as I love most old stuff in historic homes, plumbing and wiring weren’t among them. Old pipes corroded and often were made of lead, and old joints were prone to bursting. Ragged wires were easily overloaded, and the old and knob-and-tube system was a fire hazard.
“Check this out,” said the head demo guy, pointing to an exterior wall. The space between the wooden studs was filled in with mortared brick.
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” I said.
“Do you suppose that was done to make the walls sturdier?” asked Stephen.
“I would expect so,” I said. “I’ve seen the original blueprints, but there were no building specs with it, so it’s hard to know exactly why they did what they did. But yes, I would imagine they wanted the house to last as long as the lighthouse tower itself. This would explain why all the walls are still so straight.”
“Unless there’s an earthquake, then it’s just unreinforced masonry,” said a new voice. I turned to see Terry Re.
“Hi, Terry,” I said. “Something I can help you with?”
She gave me a slightly mocking smile. “Am I not supposed to be on the lighthouse grounds? Sorry, Turner. We’ve had the run of the place for so long it’s habit, I suppose.”
“It’s not a problem today, but when this becomes an active construction site things will get messy—and dangerous. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
She gazed up at the tower. I wondered whether she was thinking of the last man who had been hurt here, Thorn. When she didn’t say anything further, I asked again, “Is there something I can help you with?”
That same old song started running through my head: Doe, a deer, a female deer, ray, a drop of golden suuuuuun . . . I tried to counter it with a country tune that I had just heard on the radio with the demo guys, but I doubted I’d be successful at getting the song out of my head for days.
“Yeah, uh,” she began. “I was wondering if you had come across any antiques, or collectibles or anything? In the house?”
“We found a few things in the attic, but—”
“You did?” Her eyes flickered up to the attic dormer windows. “You went up into the attic?”
“Yes . . . ,” I said, wondering what she was really asking.
“This attic?”
“Why? Have you tried going into the attic?”
“No. Of course not. That would be trespassing,” she said. “It’s clearly marked, No Trespassing.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Anyway, the thing is . . . I love antiques. Nothing I like more than antiquing. So . . . if you came across some collectibles, I’d be happy to take them off your hands.”
I didn’t say anything.
“For a good price, of course.”
“It’s not mine to sell. Everything here belongs to Ellis Elrich. As far as I know, he intends to incorporate everything into the inn.”
“There is no inn.”
“The future inn,” I clarified. “Was there something in particular that interested you?”
Her gaze shifted back to the attic’s dormer windows. “If there’s anything of historical value, it should belong to the people of California, not to the man who happened to have enough money and clout to buy this place.”
“In my experience Mr. Elrich is very sensitive to items of historical importance. Perhaps he’ll donate them to a local museum. But again, anything of this sort should be taken up with him, not me. I just rip out walls and put in flooring, that sort of thing.”
“So I see.” She shrugged. “Just thought I’d ask.”
Terry turned on her heel and strode out of the courtyard, toward the woods.
“Friend of yours?” Landon asked.
“Not exactly. Let me ask you something: Does she look like a person who does a lot of antiquing?”
“What does a person who does a lot of antiquing look like?”
“Good question. Like me, I guess, but with money.” I was more the “junk” type. By the time something was referred to as an antique, I usually couldn’t afford it.
“I honestly can’t say,” said Landon. “If you asked me to make an assessment based solely on her looks, I would probably guess she was ‘sporty.’ Why?”
“I think she’s been snooping around, but wasn’t able to get into the attic. Maybe the ghost kept her out. And if so, why didn’t the spirit keep me out?”
“Maybe she sensed she could communicate with you.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” I said. “Anyway, the spirit let us take those items from the attic. We should go through them at home tonight, see if they can tell us anything.”
He nodded. “In the meantime, presuming you are safe here for the time being . . .” He glanced around the busy scene. “I’d like to take the equipment up to the top of the tower and down to the cove, see if I can detect anything.”
“Good idea.”
Landon was no ghost buster, but he’d bought some of the high-tech accoutrements: an infrared camera, an EMF detector, and an electronic voice phenomena recorder. And his phone, of course, on which he had installed a number of interesting ghost-related apps. As I watched him hurry across the courtyard like an eager little boy conducting an experiment, I wondered if the phone—and the apps—would work on Lighthouse Island.
Since the demolition was moving along at such a good clip, I assigned two men to start excavating an area for the state-of-the-art system to filter the rainwater from the cistern. It would be used primarily as “gray water”—for the toilets, sinks, and showers—but nonetheless needed to be filtered. The drinking water would be brought in by boat. We weren’t more than a ten-minute ride from Point Moro, but still it seemed like an expensive proposition to keep a boat, and a skipper, permanently employed for the relatively few guests the island could accommodate.
Did Ellis Elrich really think this inn and restaurant would be a moneymaking enterprise, considering the major investment it was taking just to get things up and running? Or was he doing it for the sake of saving the old buildings? Or was it simply to please Alicia?
But as a general, none of that was my problem. I was just here to renovate the place.
I sent a few texts to make sure Stan had put in the rest of the orders for lumber, cement, and other supplies, and to confirm that the plumber and electrician were set to come out tomorrow for an overview, and that their crews were still slated to start work in earnest as early as next week.
And then I started building a temporary ramp to the porch. So far the guys had just been tossing items into the sorting pile, but soon they would need to shovel dust and debris into wheelbarrows. That’s where a ramp came in.
I could have delegated this aspect of the job. But this was the fun part of construction, which I rarely got to do anymore, busy as I was with management. I like getting my hands dirty. So I carried some lumber over to the table saw that had been set up in one of the outbuildings, grabbed my tape measure and pencil, and started measuring out the beams.
Then Thorn showed up.
“You’re doing it wrong,” he said.
“Says you,” I said.
“Sorry, w
hat?” Waquisha asked, suddenly standing in the doorway. “Did you say something?”
I jumped. “Nothing. Talking to myself. What’s up?”
“Do you want to save this sort of thing, too?” she asked, holding out a few bits of shredded cloth.
“Probably old curtains,” I thought, rubbing the ruined muslin between my fingers. “No, thanks, Waquisha. I don’t think even I could find a use for rotten cloth.”
I turned back to my measurements.
“You’re not measuring that right,” Thorn said again, more strident this time.
I glanced out the door and noticed Waquisha wasn’t far away. She appeared to have paused to answer a text.
I dropped my voice. “What is your problem, Thorn? Seriously, you’re going to ‘mansplain’ this to me from beyond the veil? You don’t have anything better to do with your time?”
“But the tape measure isn’t all the way to the end right there.”
“Listen, Thorn, these may be called two-by-fours, but they aren’t two inches by four inches. They’re one and a half inches by three and a half inches.”
“Why?”
No way was I explaining modern lumber practices to a ghost like Thorn.
“Just the way it is. Take it up with the lumberyard if you must. Now go away.”
He sighed. Crossed his arms over his chest.
I put my head down and tried to ignore the fact that Thorn was floating over my shoulder. Tried to lose myself in the measuring, the sawing, the smell of fresh lumber. There is something almost magical about taking simple pieces of wood and putting them together to create something new, and useful. When I was a kid, budget cuts had eliminated funding for the school’s shop classes, but I was lucky enough to have my dad’s workshop to play in, not to mention his full-throated support. As a young adult I had tried to run from this world to pursue a graduate degree in anthropology. Now I was back, and happier than ever.
After a few minutes of silence, I thought Thorn had gone away, but when I turned around he was right behind me.
“I don’t know what to do. I keep trying to leave, but I can’t!” He reached out as though to push the table saw over in frustration, but his hand merely passed through the device. He stared at the appendage as though it had betrayed him.
I checked to make sure Waquisha was no longer lingering outside the door.
“Okay, Thorn, I’ve got a task for you. Have you met a woman ghost here on the island?”
“There’s someone here who scares the crap out of me! Not sure if she’s the one you’re referring to, but let me tell you—that woman gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
What a shame, I thought. It seemed like a bit of sweet justice that Thorn was frightened of a woman. Still, I had to admit she was more than a little frightening. The urgency of her whispers, that blank, empty stare . . . If I hadn’t had experience with ghosties, I might well have gone running into the night, myself. Of course, for all I knew there might be more than one woman ghost on the island.
“What does she look like?” I asked.
“She wears a long white dress, and climbs the tower, and then jumps off. Who does that? I don’t get suicide, do you? Hey, do you think she was the one who pushed me down the stairs, who killed me?”
“Why would you say that?”
“I get the sense she’s a man hater.”
“Is that right?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shrug. “Just a feeling I get. I’m perfectly friendly to her but she looks right through me, like I don’t even matter.”
“That must be really rough.” I tried to keep a straight face, reminding myself that Thorn was in a very strange, discomfiting situation and was finding it hard to make friends. “But listen, why don’t you talk to her, try to find out who she is? Or even ask her if she saw something the night you were killed? Maybe she knows something useful.”
“You want me to talk to her?”
“What else have you got to do? Turn on the charm, Thorn. How could she resist?”
He blew out a long-suffering breath, but then nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
It was a long shot; I wasn’t sure to what extent spirits could interact. But if Thorn could help me figure out who the woman was, it might help me understand what she needed.
I worked in the shop for another hour, then had Stephen help me transport the ramp in sections to the end of the porch where the railing had already fallen. We fitted the pieces together, slipping bolts through the holes I had predrilled. It took only about twenty minutes to finish the installation. We stepped back to admire our handiwork.
“You look pleased with yourself,” I said to Stephen.
“I’ve never built anything before!” he said, taking a selfie with the ramp.
I didn’t want to break it to him that the real work had taken place in the storage building, and that we’d simply fit the modular unit together. He’d done well. Baby steps.
When I looked up, I saw Alicia coming into the courtyard.
“Hey! What are you doing here?”
“I had to check and make sure you got the catering supplies,” Alicia said after we hugged. “I tried to provide a variety, but wasn’t sure—do you have any vegans working for you? Are there any religious concerns, allergies, gluten-free folks?”
I smiled. Alicia was big on making sure people had enough to eat. “I think we’re pretty much equal-opportunity eaters, so far. I’m surprised to see you on the island, after . . . everything.”
“My lawyer said it would be all right. She says I should live life as normally as possible, until the police make a move, or formally take me off the ‘persons of interest’ list. Apparently there was forensic evidence that other people had been at the top of the tower, though that’s not surprising.”
No, it wasn’t. Probably they found fingerprint evidence of everyone on my crew, with the exception of a certain general with acrophobia. But finding evidence that others had visited the tower was miles away from naming a new suspect in Thorn’s death.
Still, Alicia had good legal representation, and there wasn’t much I could do about any of this at the moment. So I led her on a walk-through of the house, which was always exciting but also a little daunting at this stage. People who aren’t familiar with construction tend to think of buildings as permanent, secure fixtures. It could be unsettling to see them tumble so easily, the wires and pipes and insulation exposed like the entrails of some giant, gutted creature.
Despite the deplorable mess and the open walls, Alicia’s excitement for the project only seemed to blossom. We constructed a makeshift table in the courtyard out of two sawhorses and an old door, and I unrolled the blueprints to explain the electrical needs. Even if Alicia decided not to have Internet out here on the island for the time being, she should still have the built-in capability to easily install it, in case she changed her mind at any point. The time to do it was now, while the walls were open.
“Hey,” I asked, “have you noticed holes being dug around the island?”
“Holes?”
I nodded.
“A few, yes. I assumed they were made by animals.”
“Are there animals on the island?”
“Duncan says there are salt marsh harvest mice and California clapper rail. And of course egrets, herons, and other birds that live in the wetland areas. Is it possible they dig to make nests?”
“I suppose. But . . . have you ever heard of treasure on this island?”
“Buried treasure?” She smiled and shook her head, but there was a sad look on her face. I noticed her glance over at the Bay Light. It was hard not to, after all: It loomed huge from here, and was so iconic. Such a symbol of strength and safety.
And now forever tainted by Thorn’s death.
“You okay, Alicia?” I asked.
She nodded, but t
here were tears in her eyes. “I’m not . . . Sorry, I guess I’m not really okay. But, to tell you the truth . . . I don’t know. I keep going back over what Thorn said right before everything happened. That he was truly sorry, that he was sober and had been working on mending his ways. Do you think that was true?”
“I want to believe it was true,” I said carefully. “But . . . I’m not really sure.”
Thorn appeared in my peripheral vision. He stood behind Alicia, staring at her.
She shook her head. “Anyway, I just wonder what he wanted. What he really wanted. It probably wasn’t about me at all. I’ve been thinking about it . . . Maybe it was a way for him to get close to Ellis. Everyone wants access to a man of his wealth.”
“That reminds me: Did the boaters get in touch with Ellis about their objections to the building?”
She looked alarmed. “Have there been further protests? Problems of any kind?”
“No, not at all. I just wondered.”
“I believe Major Williston made an appointment to meet with Ellis next week.”
“What about Terry Re, or Paul Halstrom?”
“Not that I know of, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they all went to the meeting. Those three seem to work in concert.”
I nodded. “Hey, did you happen to mention the Palm Project to Ellis? Did he know anything about it?”
“Yes, it’s a competitor of his. As far as he knows they’re a respectable group, but focus more on overcoming addiction and substance abuse. They also work a lot with people who are suicidal or bipolar. Ellis does more generalized motivational seminars.”
“Do you have any idea what Williston’s story is, or Paul Halstrom, or Terry Re’s for that matter?” Inspector Crawford had waved me off of poking into Thorn’s background, and I imagined she would do the same with regard to any of the other possible suspects. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t encourage Ellis’s security team to do some snooping. “Has your security team done background checks on any of these characters? Or on Thorn?”
“Background checks?”
“The police are searching for someone who might have known Thorn, and right now you’re the only obvious connection.”
A Ghostly Light Page 14
