by Tim Myers
“I need you at the lighthouse. This is serious.”
Alex’s words instantly sobered the sheriff. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Alex knew the man was a competent sheriff; unfortunately that wasn’t all it took to get elected in Canawba County. Armstrong had barely won his primary, and there were doubts around Elkton Falls that he could beat his old crony Hiram Blankenship in the upcoming general election. The only qualification required to run for sheriff was a pulse. Blankenship was the town barber, and really seemed uninterested in being sheriff at all. An argument over what Armstrong still described as the worst haircut of his life had prodded Hiram Blankenship to throw his hat into the political arena and “…show that uppity son of a mutt he’s not the King of Canawba County.” Whatever that was supposed to mean. The way the scissors and clippers had been flying that day, Alex had resolved to let his hair grow long until after the election; it just wasn’t safe sitting in the barber’s chair during one of Hiram’s tirades. Alex had to admit that the barber was more qualified to be sheriff than some of the candidates that county had seen in the past. At least Hiram had been a member of the military police when he’d served his stint in the armed forces.
They would have to hose down the whole county after the November balloting to get rid of all the mud being slung between the two candidates.
Alex paused on the phone for a moment as one of his guests entered the lobby. He wanted to get Reg’s body out as discreetly as possible. Out of respect, he wanted to protect his friend from prying eyes. And in the process, just maybe he wouldn’t lose all of his paying guests that way. A dead body was an innkeeper’s worst nightmare; Alex couldn’t bear to think about what it meant to him personally losing Reg.
The sheriff prodded him again. “Get on with it, Alex. What’s so all fired important?”
Keeping his voice to a near-whisper, Alex said, “I’ve got a body up here, and I need you to send someone out to pick it up. It has to be done quietly, Calvin.”
Alex almost never used the sheriff’s first name, and that finally seemed to get the sheriff’s attention as much as the news that there was a body at Hatteras West. “Was it foul play?”
Truthfully, the thought hadn’t even occurred to Alex. “I sincerely doubt it. It looks like one of my guests had a heart attack climbing the lighthouse stairs.”
The sheriff sounded a little disappointed. “As soon as I round up Doc Drake we’ll head out your way. Just in case, though, don’t touch anything, Alex.”
“I mean it about keeping quiet, okay? I don’t want to disturb my other guests any more than I have to. Can you forget the flashing lights and the siren for once?”
Armstrong chuckled. “Come on, Alex. I’ve got to let folks know I’m out doing my job. It’s my duty.”
Alex shuddered thinking about the sheriff tearing up the gravel road in front of the inn, driving like a demon possessed and scaring his guests half to death. “How about shutting all the bells and whistles off when you came up Point Road? None of your voters live out here but me.”
“Okay, I’ll do it your way. Doc Drake just came in the door for lunch. We’ll be right out.”
After Alex hung up the telephone, he hastily scrawled a “Closed” sign on the back of an old flyer and took a few pieces of Scotch tape from the desk. Grabbing his keeper’s key for the lighthouse’s main door on the way out, he hurried down the gravel path that led to the tower.
Barb Matthews had her hand on the lighthouse door when Alex shouted out her name. She was dressed in her usual attire: sensible khaki pants, a maroon blouse and the sturdy brown hiking boots she always wore. She didn’t wear any makeup that he could see, and her
graying hair was tucked up under a badly abused hat. He wondered briefly when the woman had last smiled.
Certainly not since she’d come to Hatteras West.
He called out, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Matthews. We’ve got to close the lighthouse for a few hours.”
The woman spun around and waited impatiently for Alex to join her. When he got within reach, she started tapping him forcefully on the chest with her cherry walking stick. Perched on top of the slender shaft was a cast-metal dragon’s head painted an unnatural shade of gold. The expression on the dragon’s face reminded Alex of the woman herself. He had to fight the urge to grab the stick out of her hands as she repeatedly prodded him with it. Instead, he stepped back two paces, putting himself safely out of her reach.
She snapped, “Do you care to share with me why in the world you would close the only attraction this dismal place possesses?”
The woman was one customer Alex wouldn’t mind losing. She’d done nothing but gripe since she’d first discovered Hatteras West. As usual, upon arriving the day before yesterday, Mrs. Matthews started in with her complaints. Her room had either too much light or not enough. The same was true of her mattress being too hard or too lumpy, and Alex expected to hear about the towels being too rough or too soft next. Marisa had finally refused to go into the old lady’s room at all.
But Mrs. Matthews did have a point. There had to be some reason for shutting the lighthouse down so abruptly.
“Ummm, we’re doing a routine check of the old kerosene well, and the fumes need to be vented.” The
Fresnel light’s power had been converted to electricity long ago, but Barb Matthews wouldn’t know that.
The old lady jumped off the stoop. “You mean the lighthouse could explode?”
Wonderful. Now he’d have to deal with another rumor. “No Ma’am, it’s just a routine inspection,” he said calmly. “The smell should be gone by tomorrow morning, if you want to try then.”
Pivoting on her heels, the small woman huffed off toward her room. As she was leaving, she took one last shot at Alex. “If I’m still here tomorrow, I may come see it.”
Alex muttered under his breath, “And if you’re not, the drinks will be on the house.”
He must have spoken louder than he’d intended. Either that, or the woman’s hearing was better than a basset hound’s. “Pardon me?”
“I just said, I hope you enjoy your stay here at the lighthouse.”
This mollified her slightly. “Good day to you, Mr. Winston.”
Alex bolted the entrance door to the lighthouse and stuck his homemade sign up at eye level. That had been too close. A fine mist started to fall as he examined his work, chilling the air quickly, so Alex sought shelter back in the main lobby. Marisa was at the desk, looking slightly concerned.
“I couldn’t find him,” she said.
Oh blast. How would this hysterical woman take the news of Reg’s death? Alex couldn’t handle a scene right now with his maid. Calmly, he said, “Never mind. I’m taking care of Mr. Wellington.”
Marisa looked startled. “I’d forgotten all about him.
I was talking about Mordecai. He’s nowhere to be found, so I left a message for him on his machine.” She glanced around the lobby. “Where is Mr. Wellington? Did he get his medicine on time?”
Since there were no guests within earshot, Alex decided reluctantly to go ahead and tell Marisa what had happened to their elderly guest. She’d find out sooner or later. Surprisingly, Marisa didn’t shed a single tear at the news. There was even a stiffness to her backbone that Alex had never seen before. Maybe she’d turn out to be a real trooper when things got tough. Goodness knew he could use a break.
Her next words canceled any hope Alex harbored of finding a silver lining in that particular cloud. Marisa’s voice was strong and clear as she announced, “I quit.”
“Come on, Marisa. There’s no reason for that. I need you here.”
Her voice grew louder, and Alex wondered for a moment if anyone else would be able to hear her. “Alex Winston, I’m not about to stay in a place where people die.”
As Marisa hurried to her small room near the main desk, Alex followed her, talking the whole time. “Maybe you should take a few days off, just to get a rest. With pay, of course. When you come b
ack, everything will be just like it was before.”
His words had no effect on her. During Alex’s pleading, Marisa quietly jammed her few possessions into a worn suitcase that had been tucked under her bed.
“You can’t leave me shorthanded like this,” he pleaded. “Marisa, there’s no way I can run this place without you.”
He watched in disbelief as his maid latched her suit
case firmly and headed out the door. Alex followed her out to her car, a beat-up tan Gremlin from the seventies. She got in the driver’s side without a word and started the engine. Only when she was ready to pull out of the parking lot did she roll down her window and speak.
“I’ll send my cousin out. She’s looking for work. That’s the best I can do.”
Before he could reply, she was spinning her tires on the gravel parking lot, kicking up a billowing cloud of gray dust. Alex had never met Marisa’s cousin, but she had to be better than nothing. He hoped.
Alex couldn’t do anything about Reg that instant, but he had another pressing problem he could do something about. He walked back into the lobby and dialed Mor or Les’s business number. It galled him that he had the seven digits memorized.
Mor picked up on the first ring.
Alex said, “I hope this means you’re free to do a job for me.”
Mor chuckled softly. “I just heard Marisa’s message on the answering machine. I’m not surprised you’re having trouble with the boiler. I’ve told you a hundred times it’s long past time to replace it.”
Alex tapped a pencil on the sparsely signed logbook. “Save the lecture, my friend. Can you come right out and take a look at it?”
“Sure, just let me leave a note for Les. You know, it’s getting to the point where I hate coming out to your place. Friendship should only have to go so far.”
Alex sighed. “Listen Mor, if I had the money, I’d buy a new boiler. I swear I would.”
Mor laughed. “That’s not the problem. I’m just get
ting sick of Marisa hanging around me like a lovesick puppy.”
“Then I can guarantee that you won’t have that particular problem anymore.”
“What’s she done now?”
“Mor, it’s a long story, and I don’t have a whole lot of time. How about if we chat while you’re working.”
“See you soon then. Maybe we’ll have time for a game of Backgammon or two after I finish.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
Alex hung up the telephone and looked out the window toward the parking lot. As he stood there waiting for the sheriff to arrive, his mind went back to happier times at the inn when he had been a boy. He couldn’t remember things ever being in such a constant state of turmoil as he was growing up. His father never seemed to have the problems he had running Hatteras West, but those had been different times. With a start, he suddenly realized that it had actually been his mother who had dealt with whatever problems that came up. Alex could remember her soft and gentle way of handling difficulties as they arose. Unfortunately, he hadn’t inherited that particular skill from her.
It was more than that, though. In the old days, the lighthouse used to draw people in because of its special charm. Now, just thirty miles away, twelve million visitors traveled the Blue Ridge Parkway every year, yet Alex couldn’t keep his inn filled with guests half the time.
To most, Hatteras West was just another Carolina oddity.
But to Alex it was home.
In less than six minutes, Sheriff Armstrong pulled up in front of the inn, Doc Drake beside him. The blue lights flashed, but at least the sheriff hadn’t used his siren coming in.
Alex glanced nervously around. None of his guests were about.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Chapter 3
Barb Matthews popped out of nowhere and somehow managed to get to the patrol car ahead of Alex. Before Armstrong could make it out of the cruiser, the woman was tapping incessantly on the sheriff’s window with her walking stick.
“Why were you flashing your lights? Is it the gas leak? Is the lighthouse going to explode?”
Armstrong looked warily at the overbearing woman as he swung his door open. “I don’t know anything about a leak. I was just testing my lights out on the open road.”
Thank goodness for small miracles. Dame Matthews thought every man alive was born a fool, and the sheriff’s explanation did nothing to change her mind. She shot Alex a look of disgust, then stormed away onto a nearby wooded path as the sheriff and the doctor got out of the cruiser.
The policeman spoke first. “What’s her problem, Alex? I thought she was going to whack me with that stick for a minute.” On a taller man, Calvin Armstrong’s weight might have been reasonable. But the sheriff was closer to six feet than the nine feet he’d need to have a proportionate height/weight ratio. The khaki uniform he wore looked like its seams had been reinforced with fishing line to hold in his great bulk.
Alex looked at Barb Matthews’ retreating figure and said, “She enjoys stirring things up.”
Steven Drake, the small and wiry town doctor, hopped out of the passenger seat and offered a nod to Alex. “I hear you’ve got a body on your hands?” he said. “Can’t be good for business, can it?”
Alex lowered his voice as he spoke, hoping the two men would follow suit. “The man who died is a fellow who’s been coming here since before I was born. We were good friends. I guess his heart just wore out on the climb up the lighthouse steps.”
The doctor nodded in sympathy. Moving toward the diagonal black and white striped tower, Drake quickly reached the lighthouse’s entry door. The other two men had no choice but to follow. The doctor, a vigorous man in his early forties, led every walk he ever took. Alex thought the man would have made a great drum major. They got to the “Closed” sign on the door, and Armstrong nodded. “I guess it is, for that particular guest.”
Alex kept silent, fighting the anger he suddenly felt for the sheriff. It was just sinking in that Reg was gone, not just for another season, but forever. Alex unlocked the door, then stepped out of Doc Drake’s way. No sense in having the man try to run him off the stairs.
Alex followed, with Armstrong taking up the rear. It was obvious the sheriff was not used to climbing. He barely made it to the first of the nine landings before he had to stop for a breather.
By the time Alex had climbed the last of the metal steps, the doctor had already managed to turn the body over and start his examination.
Alex said, “Was I right, Doc? It was his heart, wasn’t it?”
When Drake turned to face Alex, his expression was stern and cold. “What’s keeping the sheriff?”
“He’s taking a break, but he should be right along. Why, what is it?”
Drake shook his head sadly. “Your friend didn’t have a heart attack, Alex. Somebody jammed an ice pick into the base of his neck. Pretty nasty business. The poor fella never had a chance.”
Alex couldn’t believe it. “It’s murder? Are you sure? Who’d want to kill Reg?”
Drake turned back to the body. “That’s going to be up to the sheriff to decide. There’s no doubt it was foul play. Lean down here a second with me. See that entry wound? Someone jammed some kind of skewer in right there.”
Alex could see the clotted blood at the base of Reg’s neck now that he had been turned over.
The sheriff must have heard some of the conversation between the two men above him. He burst onto the upper balcony, his face red from exertion. “Did I hear you boys say something about murder?”
Drake nodded. “Unless Alex’s friend managed to stab himself in the back of the neck and then throw the ice pick away before he died, I’d say that’s about right.”
Armstrong removed his hat, now soaked with sweat,
and wiped the top of his bald head. “Well I’ll be. I solve this one, and I’m sure to be reelected.”
Alex asked, “I don’t suppose there’s any way to keep this quiet now, is t
here?”
Armstrong shrugged as he said, “Sorry Alex. It’s out of my hands. We’re going to have to have an official police investigation.” He turned to the doctor. “You’re willing to sign the death certificate as foul play?”
“That’s what I said, you gore hound. Have a little respect for the dead, will you?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Armstrong said apologetically. “Alex, I’ll have to shut down the lighthouse until I can get my forensic team over here and dust for prints.”
Alex was confused for a moment. “You mean your cousin Irene? Don’t you think the state police should be in on this? You might need more help than a beautician who freelances as a crime scene specialist.”
Armstrong frowned. “She’s taken all of the required courses, Alex. On our budget, we’re lucky to have her.”
Alex wondered how qualified Irene really was, but she was the only option. “Get her over here quickly then. I don’t want to leave the lighthouse shut down any longer than I have to. It’s the only real attraction I’ve got.”
Armstrong smiled slightly and nodded. “I’ll trot right down and call her now.” The big man flew down the stairs two at a time. He seemed much more spry now that he was investigating a murder.
Doc Drake stayed with Alex on the balcony. “You thought a lot of this fellow, didn’t you?”
Alex kept his eyes off Reg’s body. “He taught me more about lighthouses than my own father did. He was a good man, Doc.”
Drake patted Alex’s shoulder as the two men looked off into the surrounding hills in silence. Alex kept watching the clouds as they rolled in waves toward him. He loved the sky, and the views his lighthouse offered. Now it looked like his days of enjoying the vista would be tainted forever with the memory of Reg’s dead body sprawled on the upper platform.
Alex turned away and started down the steps, suddenly needing to get away from Reg’s body. Drake followed silently; there was obviously nothing else he could do there.
