A Lighthouse for the Lonely Heart: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series Book 5)

by Scott William Carter

  I been alone ever since. Lots of years alone. Boys grew up and didnt want nothing to do with me and I cant blame them much since I wasnt very good to them after I took to the drinking. Sad right? I chose Kathy because I wanted to be there for the boys and I wasnt anyway. I worked the diner for a while but really lost heart. Sold it at a good price. Sold everthing really. The house had a lot of painful memories. I moved into this little apartment and just lived off what I had. Amazing how long you can do that if you dont spend much.

  I did eventually get so bored I started volunteering at Heceta Lightouse. It was something to do in a place where nobody knew me. Not that anybody really knows me in Barnacle Bluffs either. They did once. I was Ed at Ed's Diner.

  Its okay though. I just wanted you to know who your real father is. I know your mother didnt put down my name on the birth certificate so Im not sure there is a way to prove it except through a DNA test so you can do that if you want. Im sorry, Nora. I watched you become a star and many times I thought of writing you but I just didnt know how. I wish I could have been better. Not just for you but for everybody.

  Please forgive me. Itd be nice to have at least one person who doesnt hate me when Im gone.

  Sincerly,

  Ed (your father)

  P.S. I have a little money saved. I know you dont need it so Id like to donate it to the library here in town. I wrote up a will saying so and Im leaving it on the bookshlef.I named you Executor. Its in an envelope filed under Boone between the books. The library was real good to me. I dont want my boys to get it since they dont even care whether I live or die. I also heard from some people that they became real bad sorts. Anything else I have can be given to Goodwill. Its not worth nothing. But your the Executor so you decide whats best.

  Gage looked up when he was finished. "Wow," he said. "That's quite a letter. You lived here?"

  Nora nodded. "Until I was thirteen."

  "You'd think that would be known around these parts. It's not like we have all that many famous people from Barnacle Bluffs."

  "Well, I didn't go to school a whole lot back then, and Mom didn't care. Plus I was still Nora Storm-Tree."

  "Nora what?"

  She laughed. It was more of a sharp snort than a laugh, but considering how out of sorts she'd appeared moments ago, he was glad to see any expression of levity from her. "My mother was part of the Kayok tribe. You know, the ones behind Golden Eagle Casino? I was born on the reservation. Storm-Tree was my actual last name until I changed it when I turned eighteen."

  Gage glanced at the letter. "Do you have reason to think this is true?"

  "I don't know. It could be. Why would he make it up? That's why I'm here. I want to hire you to find out. You're going to keep all this to yourself, right? Based on your reputation, I kind of figured you would keep it confidential. I really don't want all this stuff out right now. I guess I should have asked this before. This whole thing is so impulsive. Kind of stupid of me, talking so much about everything before—"

  "Don't sweat it, Nora. Your secret is safe with me. What did your mother tell you about your father?"

  "Not much. She said he was a fisherman out of Newport. She said they were only together a little while before he died in a bad storm at sea. I asked her his name many times, but she said his family didn't approve of them and she didn't want me to go snooping into their business. I always kind of figured it was a lie, but I didn't know how to go about finding out the truth. She was pretty stubborn about it."

  "How'd your mom die?"

  "House fire," Nora said. "But she always drank and smoke. She'd fall asleep with a cigarette in her hand. I told her how dangerous it was—at least when I was still living with her. That was a long time ago. I ran away from home when I was sixteen and never looked back. Mom was … a difficult woman. And that was before Larry split. After that, she was difficult and a drunk."

  "Larry?"

  "Oh, that's the guy Ed mentioned in his letter, the guy that was kind of like my father. But it was just for a few years. We moved to Las Vegas with him because he got a job with a construction company down there. I think he did drywall. Can't remember. Anyway, we weren't even there a year and he took off to New Orleans with some stripper. He was nice to me. I remember I started calling him Dad and it kind of wigged him out, though. For a long time I blamed myself for him leaving. Figured I scared him off. At least until he tried to make contact again once I hit it big and asked for money. Then I saw him for the shallow asshole he was."

  "I'm sorry."

  She shrugged. "Water under the bridge. The nice thing about being rich? I can afford a lot of therapy."

  "What did your mom think? You know, when you became such a big star?"

  "Honestly? I don't think she even knew who I was."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. I mean, it's not like I told her when I legally changed my last name to West, and by the time my first single went big, I think she was pretty much out of it. If she did, I'm surprised she didn't try to do what Larry did and hit me up for some cash, since she was living in this crappy trailer park in Henderson. I thought about going to her funeral, but I was too afraid the paparazzi would find me. I don't know why I wanted to go. It's not like she meant anything to me."

  Gage thought the truth was probably more complicated, as the truth about family often was, but he saw no reason to point that out. He looked at the letter again, considering.

  "So," he said, "you want my help."

  "Desperately," she said.

  "To find out if he's really your father?"

  "Yes. And everything else about him. About his life. I want to know who he was, really. I wish … I wish he hadn't done this. I wish we could have had some time together. It just doesn't make any sense. Why kill himself? He could have waited. We could have—could have had some time."

  Her voice cracked. She blinked heavily, her eyes misty. Alex produced a box of tissues and placed them on the glass counter in front of her. She took one, mumbled a thank you, but didn't use it, balling it up in her fist instead. The tears didn't come.

  Outside, a big RV rumbled up the highway. The neon open sign pulsed a brighter orange, mirrored in the deepening black of the window.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I cried a lot on the way up here, but I thought I was past it."

  "You're entitled," Gage said. "Look, I'm happy to help you. But I do wonder, why not just do it yourself?"

  She sniffled. "I can't. Think about who I am. I mean, I'm not trying to sound egotistical or anything, it's just—"

  "The press," Gage said, nodding.

  "The paparazzi," she said. "All those vultures. I start asking around as me, and … well, it'll turn this city into a madhouse. I don't want that for me. I don't want that for Barnacle Bluffs either."

  "If it's true what he said about the will," Gage said, "your name's going to get out there soon enough."

  "Yeah, but they don't have to know I'm here. If I'm not here, it can look like some crackpot fan made it all up. But if I'm here …"

  "I get it," Gage said. "If you're here, the press will automatically treat it like it's true. I don't know how long that will work, but at least it might buy you a little bit of time."

  "That's all I'm hoping for," Nora said.

  Alex, who'd been silent for most of the conversation, drummed his fingers on the counter. "I wonder about that will," he said. "It doesn't sound like he had witnesses or had it notarized. I redid mine last year, and I know from what my lawyer told me that Oregon is a terrible state for wills without solid proof. He said without good witnesses, an estate will go to probate in Oregon for sure, and it's almost guaranteed to be a messy and expensive. I think his boys would get his money no matter what he wrote."

  Gage said, "He called it a 'new will.' Which, of course, implies that there's an old one."

  "Which means it will be even messier," Alex said.

  "I'll worry about that later," Nora said. "If it's true, if he is who says he is, I'll just write a che
ck to the library for whatever he had. I mean, it can't be much, right?"

  "Probably not," Gage said, though something about the note made him wonder. Why would Ed make a point of expressing that he didn't want his sons to get the money if there wasn't much money to have? "Like you said, we can worry about that later. Right now we want to find out if any of this is true."

  "So you're really going to do it?" Nora said. "You're really going to help me?"

  Hopeful, eyes bright, she leaned forward and squeezed his arm. It wasn't much of a touch, most likely an automatic gesture, but there was still something electrifying about it. Even through his jacket's leather sleeve, he felt the sparks. There was definitely an attraction. Or was it just the thrill of being touched by the famous Nora West? He didn't know. In any case, she must have felt something, too, even if it was the mild embarrassment that accompanied unconsciously overstepping social norms, because she dropped her hand.

  "Yes," he said, "I'm going to help you."

  Alex chuckled. "Get it in writing."

  "And your fee?" Nora asked. "The amount isn't really a concern, but do you want me to pay you something up front? What do they call that? A retainer?"

  "We'll worry about that later," Gage said.

  "What he means," Alex said, "is that you shouldn't worry about it at all. Paying my friend here for his help is even tougher than getting him to agree to help you in the first place."

  "Oh, I won't accept that," Nora said. "I will pay you. I won't accept anybody's charity."

  She said the last part with a fierceness that surprised all three of them, because all three of them fell silent. The brief flare of defiance actually made her seem even more attractive to him, the way those big brown eyes lit up with a hidden fire. It was a stark contrast to that vibrant wholesomeness that emanated from her no matter how much she tried to play the part of the celebrity, a glimpse of determined independence behind that aura of goodness that surrounded her. She came off like a people pleaser, someone who just wanted you to like her, but the show of anger revealed a more complicated woman.

  "Sorry," she said, "that came out a little harsh."

  "No worries," Gage said. "I will send you an invoice at the appropriate time. Fair?"

  "Fair," she said.

  "Good. Now, how can I get in touch with you? I assume you're heading home in the morning."

  "No, I want to hang around here for a while. I don't have a concert for two weeks, and the other stuff I can just reschedule. I wanted time to write some songs, anyway."

  "Really? It's going to be hard to keep a low profile. Even checking in to a hotel—"

  "She can stay at the Turret House," Alex said. "But we're mostly booked up right now, meaning there will be lots of other guests around …"

  "Yeah," Gage said, "not a good option. Don't get me wrong, Nora. The B&B that he and his better half run is the best place to stay in town, no question, but not great for maintaining your privacy. I'd recommend the Inn at Sapphire Head, one of the best hotels in town, but I don't think you'd be better off there. Everyone has to come through the lobby. But if you don't mind staying in something not quite so fancy …"

  "I don't need fancy," she said.

  "Well, then there's this place down the hill from me called the Starfish Motel. Right on the beach, so you get a nice view. All the rooms have their own doors to the outside. Most of them have little kitchenettes, so you wouldn't have to eat out much. I'll book the room in my name so they'll never even see you, and I could even pick up groceries for you."

  "Wow," she said, "sounds perfect."

  "And if you like Greek cooking," Alex said, "I can almost guarantee you that my wife will be providing you with a few Meals on Wheels deliveries. She's a huge fan. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she thought you were surviving off microwave dinners or something. I just hope you like baklava."

  "I love baklava. That's so nice. Why are you both being so nice?"

  Gage looked at Alex. His friend was just as dumbfounded by the question as he was.

  "What other way would we be?" Gage asked.

  "I don't know," Nora said. "I'm just so used to people who aren't nice to me. I seem to attract them like flies. They usually want something from me. But I don't get that sense from you two."

  "I hope not," Gage said. "All I usually want from people is for them to go away."

  She laughed.

  "It's true," Alex said. "The fact that Garrison is being nice to you is even more unexpected than the fact that he's agreed to help you. It means he likes you. Treat him well and he'll be loyal forever."

  "You make me sound like a dog," Gage said.

  Alex shrugged. "Well, if the bone fits …"

  "I'll try not to take it for granted," Nora said. "And Alex, your wife? You said she's a fan. I hope you're not offended by my asking, but, well, she won't …"

  "Tell anyone?" Alex said. "God no. Your secret is safe with her, too. Once you meet her you won't worry about it either, trust me."

  "That's putting it mildly," Gage said. "Eve is the kind of person who is impossible not to like. I don't think there's an ounce of meanness in her."

  "I once heard her curse in traffic," Alex said.

  "Really?" Gage said.

  "It may have only been 'darn,' but it definitely sounded like a curse. It was only once, though. Twenty years ago."

  "I don't believe it."

  "Yeah, well, I don't either. I probably dreamed it."

  Nora laughed. "You two. Don't you ever quit? Seriously, I really appreciate all this. Maybe it's all nothing, anyway, just another crazy letter from a fan. But I have to know. And it will get out that I'm here, trust me. Plus, if Ed really turns out to be my father, well, it will really get nuts around here. I want to apologize right now."

  "No need," Gage said. "You have just as much a right to be in this city as anyone else."

  "Seriously, though—" Nora said.

  "Seriously," Gage said, "don't worry about it. If they find you at the Starfish, we'll find you another place. We'll put you in a tent in the forest if we have to. If you want to be here, you can be here. Trust me when I say, the press is not my friend. The only people I like less are the police. Any opportunity to disappoint either group is seen, by yours truly, as a pure good."

  Alex said, "I can attest to the veracity of all of that."

  "Okay," Nora said. "But if it comes to it, I do have a backup option that might be a bit better than a tent in the forest."

  "Oh?"

  "My yacht."

  "You have a yacht?"

  "Yes. La Vie Sans Regrets. That's what I named it. A life without regrets, just to remind me to focus on living now. It's one of my few indulgences, and it's not that big, nothing like what Spielberg or Clapton have. Only a hundred feet. I can even sail it myself if I had to, though I do have a two-person crew. It's down in the Bay Area, of course, but all I have to do is give them the word and they'll sail it up here. If we have to, we can just stay a few miles out in the ocean and nobody will bother me."

  Alex shook his head. "I'm stuck on the 'only a hundred feet' part."

  "Really, it sounds more impressive than it is," Nora said.

  "Oh, I imagine it's still plenty impressive," Alex said.

  "Well." She shrugged.

  "Let's hope you don't have to go to that kind of trouble," Gage said. "You've got two weeks, right? Maybe we can find out what you need to know in that amount of time. First things first. You need a room for the night."

  Chapter 4

  To Nora's credit, she didn't even wrinkle her nose when she saw Gage's van. Most people, he found, looked at his beloved Volkswagen as an alien creature, something that certainly didn't belong on the road and may not have even belonged on planet Earth. He told her just to follow him to the Starfish, then wait in her Navigator until he came back out with the keys.

  The night breeze still felt warm, and Gage drove with his window rolled down, marveling that the headlights in his side-view m
irror actually belonged to the great Nora West. It didn't feel like it was really happening. Maybe he'd dreamed the whole thing, and he was in the throes of some kind of trauma-induced hallucination due to his grief over giving up his cat. Sure, that might be it. How else to explain the surreal coincidence of the musician who'd meant so much to him, probably more than any musician in his whole life, showing up out of the blue in Barnacle Bluffs, desperate for his help?

  He didn't tell her, nor was he sure he ever could, but her third album, One True Love, had really helped him through those dark years after Janet died. That first month especially—when the image of Janet submerged in the tub, eyes unseeing, skin already turning blue, would not subside, would not fade even the slightest no matter how drunk he got himself—the title song of the album had acted as a sort of lifeline preventing him from losing his sanity altogether. It was strange that he had not recognized Nora immediately, when her pretty face was on the back of all of her albums, but then, he hadn't spent a lot of time looking at the back of her albums. Mostly he'd been sitting in the dark, carried away by her soulful voice.

  He also hadn't listened to her at all in years, at least not by conscious choice. Sometimes he'd catch one of her songs when picking up milk at Jaybee's, or on the jukebox at McAllister's Diner on one of his infrequent visits, and he'd feel the combination of gratitude and nostalgia one got toward an old friend from the past who'd been there for you when it mattered most but eventually, life being what it is, had to chart a different path. Or you did. In the end, it was all the same.

  Yet she was here now. What did it mean? Coincidence? Of course. He didn't believe in fate. Still, it was interesting. He was no big believer in psychoanalysis either, especially the self-administered kind, but he would have to be a complete idiot not to see why he'd so quickly jumped at the chance to help her, especially by his own curmudgeonly standards.