by Jeramy Gates
After that, the conversation remained casual and polite, and undoubtedly tempered by the mood of the evening. It was a pleasant enough meal, but I found myself anxious and distracted. I couldn’t wait to get another look inside that lighthouse, and the fact that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it, or even broach the subject, was driving me crazy. Joe kept an eye on me, too. I had to force myself not to bring up Jacob’s death or any of the circumstances surrounding it.
When dinner was finally over, we borrowed some rain gear from Charlotte, with the explanation that we wanted to walk off our meal. No one seemed to pay much attention except for Angus, who had retired to the fireplace in the lobby with a glass of scotch and a cigar.
“Be careful,” he said as we passed through. “It’s coming down like the wrath of God out there.”
There was something ominous about that; not just in what he said, but the way in which he said it. He was drunk. With a serious drinker like Angus, it can be hard to tell, but I was sure from the glazed look in his eyes and the ever so slight slurring of his words that he was inebriated. I don’t know why his warning had the impact on me that it did, but I felt a cold chill go creeping down my spine, and for a moment, I actually hesitated to go outside.
Joe opened the door, and guided me out onto the patio. The wind was howling through the eaves, and the rain pounded down around us. The woods were dark, and the night would have been pitch black if not for the inn’s halogen lights burning into the fog. I paused, craning my head back, staring up at the black clouds racing overhead. It didn’t seem like clouds should be able to move that fast. It didn’t seem real…
“What’s gotten into you?” Joe said, looking askance at me.
I sighed. “That was awful. I thought dinner would never be over.”
“What are you talking about? I thought the food was great.”
“Not the food, everything else. Knowing that one of the people in that room may have killed Jacob, and not being able to say or do anything about it.”
“That’s sort of a stretch, isn’t it? We don’t have any proof that it was one of those people, or even that he was murdered. Let’s not get carried away with this thing.”
We crossed the patio and started the climb up towards the lighthouse. Joe had a flashlight, which he used to illuminate the path ahead of us. As we walked, my boots sloshed through the mud, and rain poured off my hood in streams. I kept my head down and my eyes fixed on the ground to keep the wind and rain out of my face. Joe’s flashlight seemed to be very little help at all. I could barely see the trail ahead of me, and the farther we got from the inn, the more the gloom closed in around us. I noted the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs. It grew louder as we approached the lighthouse, until it filled my ears. Behind us, the sound of the wind howling against the inn was like the distant mournful wail of a banshee echoing up the mountainside.
As we reached the lighthouse, Joe walked past the front door and circled to the far side. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Looking for a window to open.”
“Why not just go through the front door?”
“I don’t want to break the sheriff’s crime scene tape.”
“When did you suddenly become the cautious one? Normally, you’d be the first person to kick in the door.”
“Normally, I’m not a murder suspect breaking and entering into a crime scene.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A little uncomfortable, being on the wrong side of the law?”
“You could say that,” he grumbled.
We walked around to the back side of the building, facing away from the inn. The window there was large enough for us to climb through, so Joe pulled the screen out of the way and started prying up on the sill with his pocket knife. The window resisted for a moment, and then popped open.
Joe gestured for me to climb in first. He leaned his cane against the wall, lacing his fingers together in a cradle. I slid my knee into place and he gave me an upward boost. Unfortunately, I hadn’t had time to brace myself, and didn’t expect him to lift me so fast. The sudden burst of movement left me flailing for a handhold as I tumbled over the ledge. I somersaulted forward through the window and landed with a crash, flat on my back. I moaned, blinking into the darkness.
“Sorry!” Joe said in a loud whisper. “I thought you were ready.”
His broad silhouette appeared in the window frame. I jumped to my feet to move out of the way. He twisted and grunted his way through, and tumbled forward, hitting the floor with a thud in the exact same spot I’d landed. He groaned. I couldn’t help laughing.
“Instant karma,” I giggled.
“Very funny,” Joe grumbled as he got back on his feet. “I think I’m going to need a chiropractor. My back just popped thirty times.”
“Thirty? That’s a lot!”
Joe glared at me as he dug his flashlight out of his parka pocket. “Well, we’re here,” he said with a sigh. “What exactly did you expect to find?”
“I don’t know.” I pushed past him and moved into the kitchen. Joe followed me. The red lighthouse warning bulb flashed and then went dark again. Shadows danced across the wall as Joe cast the beam of his flashlight back and forth around us.
“Looks just like it did before,” he said.
I bent down, examining the pieces of the broken chair. “Give me some light,” I said.
Joe knelt next to me. I held up a section of the chair back, which had snapped in two. “This wood didn’t just break on its own,” I said.
Joe looked it over. “You’re right. It’s nearly an inch thick. But that doesn’t mean Jacob got in a fight. He could have gotten falling-down drunk and landed on it, or tipped it over backwards. If you want to prove he was murdered, you’ll have to do better than that.”
I turned my head and saw a folded piece of paper lying under the edge of the cabinet. It was pushed back far enough that it had been out of sight until we were down on our hands and knees.
“What’s that?” I said.
Joe followed my gaze. He grabbed it, and unfolded the paper. “It’s a receipt. Looks like Jacob made a bank withdrawal yesterday.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five hundred bucks. This bank is in Eureka.” He handed it to me, and I looked it over.
“Did you see the balance? This withdrawal was almost every penny Jacob had. I wonder what he needed that much cash for.”
“The timestamp is just two hours before we arrived. That was just enough time to get back here.”
“Do you think that’s where he was coming from yesterday when he almost rammed us?”
“Could be. Still doesn’t explain what his hurry was.”
My eyes widened. “Joe, he must have had the money with him. It has to be here, somewhere.”
“What if it’s not?”
“Then that’s a motive, isn’t it?”
“You think he was murdered for twenty-five hundred dollars?”
“People have been killed for a lot less.”
Joe had to agree. “What doesn’t make sense,” he said, “is that it happened here. If Jacob had been mugged leaving the bank, or followed back to his boat, I would understand. But why here? Why would he withdraw all that money and just bring it home? And how is it connected to his death?”
A silence fell over the room as we considered that. “Drugs?” I said.
“Doubtful. He wasn’t the type.”
“Blackmail?”
“For what? He was a fisherman, and twenty-five hundred bucks is hardly worth blackmailing someone over. His boat is worth ten times that.”
I racked my brain, trying to figure what other transaction might have cost him his life. Why would he have needed that money? A loan? A bribe? No, it just wasn’t enough. I thought of something else:
“What if it had something to with the sale?”
Joe shook his head. “This place must be worth millions. What difference could a couple thousand dollars make?”
; I sighed. “I don’t know. You’re probably right. Let’s keep looking, maybe there’s some other clue in here.”
I started going through the kitchen drawers. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but it seemed as good a place as any to start. Joe followed my lead. We started pulling drawers open, rifling through the contents, moving on to the next. After several minutes of searching, we had discovered little more than silverware and cleaning products. We moved into the living room.
There was a small writing desk in the north corner, next to the television. I pulled on one of the drawers, but it was locked. Joe produced his picks and went to work. Seconds later, he had all three drawers open. I started shuffling through the folders inside.
“These are his business records,” I said. “It looks like he made most of his money selling fish to local restaurants.”
“Did he do business with Charlotte?”
“Yes. In fact, that’s where more than half of his income came from-”
I stopped short as I heard a noise outside the building. I waved for Joe to put out his light. We stood there in the darkness for a few seconds before I heard another sound. The knob on the front door rattled, and then I heard the unmistakable clicking sound of someone entering the house.
Joe caught me by the arm and pulled me across the living room, into the adjacent tower. He motioned for me to hide behind the door. As I ducked down, Joe squeezed himself into the tiny closet under the stairs. He left the door open just a crack, so he could peer out into the living room area.
I heard footsteps moving through the kitchen, and then into the next room. I huddled there for a few seconds, until I couldn’t take it any more. I leaned around the edge of the door, peering into the living room. My jaw dropped.
Charlotte crossed the room in front of me, waving a flashlight. She paused before the old bookshelf in the corner. She scanned the spines for a few seconds, and then pulled one out. As she turned to leave the room, the red light flashed, and I got a good look at what she had taken. In the crook of her arm, Charlotte held a large book with a black cover. She took one last reluctant glance around the room before she disappeared back into the kitchen. A moment later, I heard the front door latch shut.
I crept out of my hiding space and hurried into the living room with Joe following behind me. I pulled back the curtains just far enough to glimpse the trail leading back to the inn. Charlotte’s dark figure hurried over the edge of the hill and vanished from sight.
“She’s gone,” I said in a hushed voice.
“What did she steal? A book?”
I walked over to the bookshelf. “There,” I said, pointing at the empty space on the far right of the top shelf. “Whatever she took came from there.”
“Any idea what it was?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe it wasn’t a book. It was big, like a binder.”
“Like a scrapbook?”
“Or a photo album. Something like that.”
“What could have been in it?”
I gave him a crooked smile. “I can only think of one way to find out.”
“You want to confront Charlotte?”
“What choice do we have?”
“That’s a bad idea,” Joe said, shaking his head. “It’s as good as admitting we broke in here. Besides, we don’t even know what it was. What if it has nothing to do with Jacob’s death?”
“Do you really believe that?”
“No, but I’m not about to incriminate myself.”
I squared my shoulders. “Then we’ll just have to find another way to find out what it was.”
Joe narrowed his eyebrows. “I’m not going to like where this is going, am I?”
“No, I don’t think you will.”
Chapter 12
Joe
We followed Charlotte back to the inn, where she disappeared into her office upstairs. The rain had tapered off, so we snuck around the outside of the building and climbed up the hill a little, trying to spy on her. We never could find a clear vantage. It didn’t help that the shades were partially closed, or that her desk was located in the corner adjacent to the back window. We stuck it out for a while, but then it started to rain again. More of a cold sleet than rain really, and it was coming down hard. We had little choice but to go back inside.
I started trudging down the hill behind Tanja, moving cautiously and slowly so as not to slip and fall. My hip was aching something fierce. I hadn’t said anything to her and I didn’t plan to, but the truth was that it had been hurting all day, ever since the incident with the boat. Our expedition out into the cold had only made matters worse. Hiking up and down those muddy hillsides in the dark was like asking for something bad to happen. Still, I kept my mouth shut. Why? Because… well, because I love her, and because -as morbid as it may seem- I think Tanja was actually having fun. It wasn’t my idea of a fun vacation, but for her… maybe it was just what she needed.
Halfway down the hill, my wife stopped so fast I nearly ran into her. I moaned as my weight came down on my bad leg. I steadied myself, leaning back on my cane. The tip sank a good four inches into the mud and it almost took me down with it. As I steadied myself, Tanja pointed up to the second floor and said, “Look!”
Her eyes were wide, sparkling with the reflected light of the tennis court lamps, and despite the rain and cold and the cheap green parka, she looked beautiful. I was right; she was having fun. I followed her gaze and saw that Charlotte was up and moving again. She stepped around her desk, passing in front of the window, and then suddenly fell backwards. The shades rattled, Charlotte’s dark silhouette pressing up against the window pane.
“What the-” I mumbled.
Charlotte stepped away from the window, her shadow moving forward and away from us with an awkward lurching motion. She disappeared and we heard a crash. The lights went out.
“I think she might have collapsed,” Tanja said. She took off, flying down the hill with all the speed and agility of a trained triathlete. I went lurching after her like the hunchbacked Igor following Dr. Frankenstein.
In an effort to control my descent down the muddy slope, I turned sideways and found that I could sort of skip down the slope that way, placing the bulk of my weight on my good leg. Even doing that, I was still only moving at half speed. Tanja had already made it to the inn’s entrance by the time I had reached the bottom of the hill.
I hurried across the patio as she disappeared into the lobby. I rushed inside, following her muddy trail across the lobby, and started up the stairs. My boots were slick, and so was my cane. I had the uneasy feeling that I was pushing my luck a little too far. Ignoring the danger, I put on another burst of speed. I wasn’t going to let the fear of an injury slow me down. Not when someone’s life might be at stake.
As I reached the top of the stairs, I spun around the banister and found my wife standing in the doorway at the end of the hall. She was eerily still, gazing down at the floor inside Charlotte’s dark office.
“What is it?” I said, careening towards her. My boots made squishing noises as water and mud spurted out all over the hallway. “What happened?”
Tanja didn’t answer. She stood aside to give me a clear view inside as I approached. It was dark in Charlotte’s office, and a triangle of light from the doorway fell across the floor. There, lying prone with her head turned to the side and her eyes frozen in a death gaze, was Charlotte.
I bent down to check her pulse, and winced as jolts of pain moved through my hip. I dropped to my knees, shifting my weight to reduce the pressure on my bad leg. I put two fingers to Charlotte’s throat and confirmed what we both already knew. Charlotte was dead.
I looked her over and saw trickles of blood around her eyes and nostrils, and even a rivulet streaming out of one of her ears. The lamp she had knocked over was on the floor behind her, next to her desk. Aside from the bleeding, I didn’t see any other visible wounds, but there was a broken wineglass on the floor next to her. The dark red liquid pooled out across the hard
wood like a puddle of blood. Charlotte’s lips were stained red, and I bent close, smelling them. I could still smell sweet alcohol on her lips, but nothing else.
“Was she poisoned?” Tanja said.
I was about to say I was sure of it, but at that moment Blake appeared in the hallway behind Tanja. He was dressed in white pajamas that were decorated with little red trains, and his face was bright red.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on?” he demanded, glancing back and forth between us.
Tanja stepped inside the room and hit the light switch. The overhead fluorescent bulb flickered to life. Blake came forward with his jaw hanging open. He hovered over me, looking down, unable to pull his gaze away from the body. The other guests appeared behind him. They were all wearing pajamas, robes, or nightgowns.
Nancy pushed her way through the doorframe and caught a glimpse of the body. “Oh, my word!” she said with a gasp. She spun around and buried her face in the shoulder of George’s blue terrycloth robe. He gave me a questioning look, and I nodded, indicating that Charlotte was dead.
Chef Melville was there, standing behind Blake and next to Angus, and Dana and Miguel were rushing up the hall behind them. The chef, Blake, and Angus moved forward into the room, surrounding me as they made room for the others to step inside. George remained in the hallway with Nancy, comforting her.
Dana’s eyes went wide when she saw Charlotte’s body, and a hand went to cover her mouth. “Oh my God! What happened?”
“We think she was poisoned,” Tanja said, looking her up and down. “My best guess is that someone put something in her wine. She had been drinking from that glass before she collapsed.”
I noticed a certain look on my wife’s face, realized that she was studying the others, analyzing their reactions, their body language, trying to zero in on the killer.
Dana gazed at the body with a wild, unblinking stare. “Murdered?” she said in a quiet voice. “Someone murdered Charlotte?”
