A Ghostly Light

by Juliet Blackwell

  “I’ll bet you’re right. You know, most people only know the Big Dipper and maybe Orion. But there’s a story for every constellation. Fascinating.”

  Duncan piloted the Callisto with his usual ease, despite the wind and rain. He reached out to adjust the radio and his sleeve caught on a knob; when it hitched up, I glimpsed long scars the length of his forearm. Ugly, puckered scars.

  He pulled the sleeve down quickly.

  I gazed at him, realizing I had never seen Duncan in short sleeves. Even in January the afternoons were often sunny and warm; dressing in layers was de rigueur in the Bay Area, and many days most of us stripped down to T-shirts by two. Also, Duncan was always so upbeat. Maybe he had a naturally sunny disposition. Or . . . could it be the result of having recently attended motivational workshops?

  I hadn’t recognized the name Callisto, but if it was related to Ursa, didn’t that mean Bear? Could Duncan have been Thorn’s roommate at the Palm Project? He was in his forties, “regular”-looking, so he could fit Thorn’s description.

  We pulled into the harbor. There were no other boats at the docks, which was a relief. Maybe the three sailors had finally moved on to bluer waters. As usual, Duncan stayed with the boat while Buzz and I disembarked.

  “Hey, Buzz,” I said as we walked up the path toward the keeper’s buildings. “I think maybe Duncan . . .”

  I hesitated to say what I was thinking. If Buzz tried to bust Duncan out here, who would pilot the boat back to port? Wouldn’t it be better to play it cool for the moment, then call Detective Santos when we returned to the mainland? I felt no threatening vibes at all from Duncan, Buzz was here, and I had a Glock in my pocket.

  Climbing the lighthouse tower wasn’t an option, so there was no risk I would be pushed down those stairs. Still, I should say something.

  “I . . . I have an idea that Duncan might be involved in things,” I said in a low voice as we headed toward the Keeper’s House. “He’ll probably stay with the boat, but maybe keep an eye out, just in case?”

  “Involved? Duncan? But he’s such a nice guy.”

  “He is. It’s true. I don’t know anything, really, Buzz, I think I’m just jumpy.”

  Buzz cast a pained eye back toward the docks. “You should wait here while I check out the house, but now I don’t want to leave you alone. I shoulda called Krauss to come with.”

  “I’m not worried, Buzz. And hey, I’m armed,” I showed him the Glock.

  He stepped back. “Aw, jeez, do you even know how to hold that thing? It’ll knock you on your ass if you’re not careful.”

  “My dad trained me. I’m a pretty good shot. You check out the house, and I’ll wait here.”

  It wasn’t going to pretend I was a particularly good judge of character. But frankly Major and Terry scared me more than Duncan. Even if he was indeed the “Bear” who had been Thorn’s roommate at the Palm Project, that didn’t mean he was involved in Thorn’s death. After all, if he had done the dirty deed for some reason, why was he still here, showing up to work every day? He could have wandered off days ago and no one would have suspected him.

  Nope, my money was on Major or Terry, or both of them.

  After another minute, I convinced Buzz to check out the house while I waited in the courtyard with one hand on the gun.

  I checked my phone: a text from Landon. You were right! Annalisa’s great-grandfather was a young wharf orphan, adopted by a shipbuilder. He married and had three children; Annalisa is the granddaughter of his youngest son. The great-grandfather’s first name was Franklin. Lived to be eighty-seven.

  “It was my fault Thorn found her.”

  I spun around at the sound of Duncan’s voice behind me. So much for keeping my hand on my gun. Foiled by that most modern of distractions: the cell phone.

  “What?” I asked, my heart pounding. Should I call for Buzz? Pull out my gun? But Duncan kept talking, with such sorrow in his eyes that I felt more curious than scared.

  “It was my fault,” Duncan repeated. “Thorn and I were roommates at the Palm Project. One day, just as I was about to graduate from the program, I found an ad for the boat ferrying job. I’m Coast Guard certified and everything; I couldn’t believe my luck. But when I showed Thorn the article describing the Lighthouse Island project, he was beside himself. He recognized his ex-wife.”

  “That was just chance, Duncan, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Chance, but bad luck for Alicia. I knew Thorn hadn’t changed. I don’t think a man like that can change, do you?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I think he was . . . trying.”

  Duncan shook his head. “Not good enough. Not near good enough. When he showed up in Point Moro, I knew there was going to be trouble. And then, that day, after he talked to you and Alicia, Buzz brought him back to the harbor. I watched Thorn get on his boat, and I followed him to make sure he went back to Point Moro. But he didn’t. He sailed right around to the other dock, and climbed the ladder. So I followed him into the tower.”

  “Why did he go to the top of the tower?” Where in the world was Buzz? I wondered. How long could it possibly take to check the house for intruders? And what should we do when Buzz joined us—force Duncan to pilot us back to shore, and then turn him over to the cops?

  “Thorn said he could watch Alicia—he called her Amy—from up there without anybody noticing. He kept saying they were meant to be together, that they always had been. That he had screwed things up with her, but that it would be different this time.” Duncan shook his head. “My father used to say that. They always say that.”

  “So you stabbed him and pushed him down the stairs?” That seemed like an overreaction.

  “I didn’t mean to stab him. I wanted him to leave Alicia alone, that’s all. But he refused. Then I thought, I could just push him down the stairs, make it look like an accident. I figured, how hard could it be?”

  “Harder than you thought?” I asked, quietly.

  He nodded. “Turns out, it’s not so easy to”—his voice broke—“to kill a man. I hesitated, and he swung at me. Thorn wasn’t that big, though; I had the advantage. Still, I gotta hand it to him, he put up a good fight. I landed a few good punches, figured that would be blamed on the fall, but then he brought out a knife. Tried to stab me with it, we struggled, and I managed to turn it around.” He let out a long breath, took off his Greek sailor’s hat, and ran a hand through his hair before putting it back on. “Anyway, that’s what happened.”

  I tried to take it all in, to think how to respond.

  “I hope you don’t feel bad for him,” said Duncan. “Think about it, why did he have that knife on him? My guess is he was going to use it on Alicia. I’ve known men like that; they don’t stop. He was never going to let Alicia go. Never. And she was always very kind to me, to everybody. She always made sure I had enough to eat, used to bring me the soda I liked, the Jarritos grapefruit flavor, made with real sugar. Corn syrup is bad for you.”

  “She’s very thoughtful,” I said with a nod, again wondering where Buzz was.

  “I had to be sure she was safe. Bend like a palm, and accept your responsibilities. Thorn always left that last part out. Said it was fate that he saw Alicia’s photograph in the paper, but seems to me it was fate that put me in the right place, at the right time, to help her. The way no one was able to help my mother.”

  “What happened to your mother?”

  He shook his head, a bleak look in his eye. “I tried to protect her, but I was just a kid. My father was a drunk, used to go after both of us. He finally beat someone up in a bar and went to prison. But after he was gone she ended up killing herself, finished the job for him. Someone makes you feel like trash long enough, you get to where you believe it.”

  “Duncan . . . ,” I began but trailed off. I really didn’t know what to say.

  “Here,” he said, handing me an
envelope. It was creased and slightly water-damaged. “This is a signed confession, it spells out everything. I couldn’t believe it when I heard Alicia had been arrested for what I did. That day . . . I hid in the storage closet when I heard her coming up the tower. And then I slipped out when you were all busy with Thorn. But I never thought, not in a million years, that Alicia would take the fall for my crime. I did it for her, and she winds up getting blamed? Talk about being a screwup. I’ve been walking around with this letter in my jacket pocket for days, but I just couldn’t face going to jail. You know?”

  “We’ll get you a good lawyer,” I said, brashly assuming Ellis Elrich would be willing to help. Duncan had, after all, done what he did to protect Alicia.

  He looked at me with an expression so full of grief it reminded me of Ida Vigilance mourning her son.

  “Thank you, Mel. But I won’t need a lawyer. Good-bye.”

  He ran toward the lighthouse.

  “Duncan, wait!” I yelled, running after him and into the lighthouse. He didn’t slow his pace. Then I shouted toward the Keeper’s House as loud as I could, “Buzz! Lighthouse tower!”

  The clanging of footsteps on metal stairs echoed off the tower walls. A surge of wind and rain added to the sense of loneliness and desolation.

  Without thinking, I started to run up the stairs after him. On the tenth step I again made the mistake of looking toward the center. I tried saying my little mantra to myself, over and over. The things that bring me joy ground me; the things that bring me hope lift me. I thought about Dr. Weng’s large, graceful hands. I thought about Caleb sitting up late reading Treasure Island, and the popcorn fight after watching Vertigo. I thought about Dad and Stan bickering over what to watch on television, and about Landon’s soft voice and tender smiles, about Luz’s fierce friendship and love of food, about Dog’s velvety head and unerring loyalty. I thought of my mother as a child playing in her grandparents’ beautiful old house, sliding down the laundry chute, and somehow managing to share her memories with me as I walked through those same rooms.

  Lost in my warm thoughts, I realized I had climbed nearly halfway up the tower. I kept one hand on the rough stone wall, away from that terrifying open hole in the center of the stairwell, and focused on looking straight ahead, not up or down the tower.

  “Duncan, please!” I yelled again. “Stop, let’s talk some more!”

  Round and round, up one step, then the next, then the next. One foot after another.

  I no longer heard the clanging of Duncan’s footsteps on the metal treads; he must have reached the top. I just hoped he would wait for me. Don’t let your fear keep you from helping him, Mel, I told myself. Don’t let your fear keep you from anything.

  At last I reached the watch room where the clockworks were, where Duncan and Thorn had fought, and where Duncan had slipped into a closet when he heard Alicia approaching. This was where Alicia had seen Thorn alive in his last moments. Had the knife truly been meant for her? If Duncan hadn’t followed him up here, and had Alicia climbed the tower alone, what would Thorn have done?

  The next level was the lantern room, with the giant lens. And the exterior balcony that ran the perimeter, unsafe and off-limits.

  Duncan was already out on that corroded little catwalk, his grip white-knuckled on the rail. The wind was fierce up here; Duncan’s Greek fishing cap was carried off by a gust.

  “Stay back, Mel,” he said. “I’m serious. I have to do this. I tried once before. It’s better for everyone that I succeed this time.”

  “Duncan, please don’t—”

  As he tried to climb up over the rail, a rusty bolt pulled out of the masonry with a loud screech and a spray of mortar. The catwalk jolted, listing downward, but still clung to the lighthouse tower.

  “No!” I yelled, grabbing for Duncan. I managed to get hold of one bicep, and held on to a strong iron safety bar with the other hand. “No, Duncan!”

  Another screech, another jolt.

  Duncan met my gaze. His eyes were terrified, as if he had changed his mind. “Mel?”

  My arms burned, my shoulder felt like it was being pulled apart.

  The balcony gave way, though still attached to the tower by a few bolts; it dangled above the sharp rocks below.

  “Mel!”

  “Hold on, Duncan!”

  But of course I couldn’t hold him. Even if he’d been a small child, it would have been a challenge to haul him up, and Duncan had at least fifty pounds on me. Gusts of wind tugged at him, and the rain beat down like pinpricks on our skin.

  It was my nightmare on the roof, all over again, except this time no one was trying to kill me. But . . . I wasn’t sure I could take another man falling to his death in front of me. How would I ever unsee the terror in Duncan’s eyes, unhear the screams as he fell?

  I closed my eyes and silently begged for help.

  • • •

  Later, I wouldn’t be able to explain what happened. Not to the police, not to Landon, not even to myself.

  As we hung there, moments from death, I felt a surge of energy envelop me. I opened my eyes to see Ida Prescott Vigilance. I’d like to say she reached out and pulled us up, but it didn’t happen like that. Somehow, though, she was able to lend me her strength. Ida had been a formidable woman, not just strong in body but forceful in spirit. She had endured years alone out on this island, tending the lamp and the clockworks and the foghorn, searching endlessly for her lost son.

  Somehow her spirit managed to help me pull Duncan back into the lantern room as the catwalk crashed and banged against the tower, buffeted by the wind, attached only by a few rungs. Duncan collapsed in a heap on the floor of the lamp room, sobbing. I held him for several minutes, before I realized: I wasn’t dizzy. I wasn’t nauseated. I didn’t have vertigo.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The trip down the long and winding staircase was a bit of an odyssey, but Duncan held on to me, and together we made it safely to the ground. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Ida played a role in my successful negotiation of the steps, as well.

  I felt a little dizzy, but I wasn’t debilitated. Either that acupuncture really was a miracle treatment, or something else was going on. Because I was better. Not cured, but better.

  Buzz burst through the tower door, his gun in his hand, and started up the stairs before halting at the sight of us. His eyes swept over me, then Duncan, then returned to me.

  “I fell through a soft patch in the floor and got stuck! I heard you calling out about the lighthouse tower. ’Bout gave me a heart attack! Everything all right?”

  I nodded. “Everything’s fine, Buzz, thank you. Please help Duncan back to the boat. I’ll text Detective Santos to meet us at the docks. Duncan, you’re ready to turn yourself in?”

  Duncan nodded. “It’s time.”

  Buzz half carried the exhausted Duncan the rest of the way down the stairs, and we left the tower.

  I turned to Buzz. “I need to take care of something in the attic. It won’t take long, and I’ll meet you at the docks. I take it the house is secure?”

  Buzz nodded. “I don’t think anyone’s on the island except us. There weren’t any boats at the docks. Still, I should go with you.”

  “I know that makes sense, but I have to go in the attic alone.”

  I stepped into the house, climbed the main stairs, proceeded down the little hall, then made my way up the steep stretch to the attic.

  The door creaked as I pushed it open.

  “Ida, I have news,” I said.

  Busy straightening the attic, she ignored me.

  “Ida, it’s big news. It’s about your son. Franklin.”

  She froze. Then she turned and looked at me, and I almost wished she hadn’t. Her eyes were vacant, disturbing. When she spoke, her voice was as hollow as her eyes, echoing slightly, as though she were making an
effort to throw her voice up out of a well. “Franklin?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you know where he is?” Again, that echoey, faraway sound. I told myself not to react in fear, but the sound sent shivers through me.

  And again, in a rage, she was suddenly right in front of me. “Tell me where he is!”

  I backed up a step, stumbled over something, and fell back into a rocking chair. It tilted wildly before sending me back toward her. I planted my feet on the floor and faced the furious specter.

  “He lived,” I said. “Ida, he lived. He didn’t die here.”

  She gave me a suspicious look. “That can’t be. That can’t be! I’ve seen him here. I see him here, on the rocks. My husband let him play on the rocks, near the water. I told him it was dangerous.”

  “That’s a . . . an apparition, brought about by your own memories,” I said, and with a start realized I was in a haunted attic, explaining the unknown to a spirit from beyond the veil. My life was way too interesting sometimes. “Here’s the truth: Franklin snuck onto the boat, La Belle France, the supply ship that docked that day, in early October. You remember La Belle France? George had locked you here in the attic, and Franklin was playing pirate. He thought it was all a game.”

  “My boy loved to play pirate,” she said, a sweet tone in her voice. “I made his pirate suit for him, you know. He looked like a little angel.”

  The pride in her long-dead voice sent more shivers through me, but I nodded. “He did. But listen, Ida. Franklin played stowaway on La Belle France. He didn’t mean to leave, he was just having an adventure. But the ship returned to San Francisco, with him still aboard. He couldn’t tell anyone where he was from, or couldn’t convince anyone, or something. It was the crazy Barbary Coast. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know he lived.”

  She looked at me with hope, and fear. How did I know? she wondered. She didn’t have to say the words for me to understand.