by Eva Gates
Animals were highly perceptive to the supernatural, or so I’d been told. Charles couldn’t have looked more bored, and this creature had been virtually on his doorstep.
I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, gathered my courage, and went back outside. The lamp over the door threw a pool of light onto the step, but outside its range all was dark. The Escalade was gone.
High above me the lighthouse beacon flashed. I switched on my phone’s flashlight and walked to the side of the building. I played my light across the ground. No hoof prints. No marks of any sort. I rounded the building. The soft earth was grooved as though a wheeled machine had been dragged across it. Footprints—human prints—accompanied the mark of the wheels. I placed my foot next to one of them to judge the size. Only slightly larger than mine. The treads looked like they were from rubber boots.
I followed the prints for a short distance. They headed toward the far side of the parking lot.
When Louise Jane gave talks at the library, she used no props. No sound and light show. No spooky music or ghostly effects.
Did she save those for other appearances?
I wouldn’t put it past her.
I remembered the secret look between Greg and Louise Jane. She’d been the first to leave, which was unusual for her. Greg had held off leaving until he got a text message, and then he’d abruptly hustled Julia out the door.
I kicked at the marks on the ground. Two suitors, one scared witless by the other. The only thing missing here was the shattered pumpkin; otherwise, this could have been a recreation of the end of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow when Ichabod Crane is frightened away from his pursuit of the heiress by his rival.
I went inside, locked the door, and called Charles to bed.
I’d brought a new book upstairs and was looking forward to getting into the Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng, which several patrons had recommended. But first, I checked the photos on my phone. I’d forgotten that I’d taken pictures of the hoofprints on the marsh the other morning. There might not have been a real ghostly horse outside tonight, but I had seen something over the past few days. I opened the app. The first picture that came up, meaning the last one taken, showed nothing. A black screen. I’d taken the pictures outside in daylight: something should have been recorded. But it hadn’t even picked up the marsh grasses. I scrolled backward. More nothing until I arrived at a selfie of Josie, Stephanie, and me taken in front of the lighthouse at the decorating party a couple of weeks ago.
I swung the phone toward Charles and snapped a picture. It came out okay. The tousled bedclothes, the snoozing cat, the warm light from the bedside lamp.
I put my phone on the side table and snuggled into bed. I fluffed my pillows, picked up my book, and began to read.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Connor McNeil was reelected mayor of Nags Head by a landslide.
Before going onstage to give his victory speech, he whispered to me, “I’m glad that’s over.”
“Until next time?” I asked.
“There will be no next time. I promise.” He kissed me lightly.
I watched him switch on his professional smile and bound onto the stage. The applause was deafening. Balloons poured down from the ceiling, and children chased after them. Dorothy, the campaign manager, stood in the shadows, beaming from ear to ear.
Connor’s parents joined him at the front. I’d met them earlier in the day at the crowded campaign office as we were working the phones and getting out the vote. Connor had introduced me as his “lady friend,” and his parents had been (I thought) happy to meet me. I liked them immediately. Mrs. McNeil had the same lovely blue eyes and prominent cheekbones as her son, and she spoke in a soft Southern drawl as befitted a lifetime spent on the Outer Banks. Mr. McNeil was hearty and gruff, and pumped my hand as though he were trying to start a two-stroke engine.
Connor held up his arms, asking the cheering crowd to calm down. Then he turned to me. He smiled his private smile and held out his hand. I pointed to my chest and mouthed, “Me?”
“Yes, you, dummy,” Josie said, giving me a shove in the back. “He wants you up there with him.”
Blushing furiously, I climbed onto the stage. Mr. and Mrs. McNeil greeted me with heartfelt hugs.
“Go, Lucy!” Josie yelled.
Connor hugged his parents and then he hugged me. A big, generous, enthusiastic hug. “Thank you for being here with me tonight, Lucy,” he whispered.
“Where else would I be?” I replied.
He kept his remarks short, thanking the people in the room for coming, his tireless volunteers, his friends and family. He told us that Doug Whiteside had phoned him a short while ago to offer his congratulations.
The crowd cheered.
Connor promised to work his hardest for the town and people of Nags Head, and the crowd cheered even louder.
Then he was finished, and we all trooped off the stage.
I was at the bar, ordering a glass of lemonade, when Theodore Kowalski came up to me. He was dressed in Harris Tweed, smelling strongly of pipe tobacco, and peered at me through rimless spectacles containing clear glass.
“Good evening, Lucy,” he said formally, English accent firmly in place.
“Theodore. I didn’t see you earlier. Did you just arrive?”
“Sorry to be late. I was in time to hear the mayor’s speech. Most inspiring.”
“Can I get you something?” the bartender asked.
“I’ll have a Glenlivet, my good man.”
“A what?”
Theodore sighed, “Whisky, bourbon. Whatever you have.”
Drinks in hand, we went to a quiet corner to talk. I hadn’t seen Teddy since the night Louise Jane McKaughnan and Greg Summers set out to frighten him. And succeeded. It was a mean trick, I thought. Greg must have been horrified when he found out that his rival had saved the fair Julia from Dave’s knife attack, and retaliated by trying to make Teddy look bad.
“Have you heard anything from Julia Ruddle?” I asked.
“She phoned me the other night,” he said. “She wanted to tell me the good news in person.”
“Good news?”
“She and Greg have announced their engagement.”
He sipped his drink, and I studied his face. He didn’t look too upset. I touched his arm. “Are you okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ll admit that I entertained a certain … fondness … for Julia. She’s a lovely woman, and it would have been nice for us to be friends. But I don’t think I fit into her world, Lucy. She’s a wealthy woman and will be moving in privileged circles.” He shook his head. “In other news, she’s rented an apartment for her mother in Manhattan. When Julia realized Anna was planning on moving in with her, she managed to persuade her she needed her own space.”
“Did she say anything about getting a vacation home near here?”
“No.” He broke into a smile. “She asked me for my postal address. Would you like to know why?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Julia is going to give me, completely free of charge, access to her grandfather’s entire library. I’ve been invited to the apartment in Manhattan to view it and pick out the volumes I want. As a teaser she couriered three books to me.” His smile grew. “All first editions and all in excellent condition. An Ian Fleming, a Dashiell Hammett, and—pièce de résistance—a signed copy of Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express. I haven’t been so excited for a long time. I cannot wait to see what else is in the collection.”
“It’s nice of her to give them to you.”
“I insisted on paying, although I knew I’d never be able to raise anywhere near enough money, but Julia was equally insistent that she wants me to have them. She says it’s her way of thanking me for helping her with that unfortunate incident involving Mr. White.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You saved her life. I’d say that’s worth a few books.”
“There’s Donna Raeburn. I neve
r did get a chance to reschedule our meeting about her Mickey Spillane collection. Perhaps we can do that now.” And off he bustled.
I sipped my lemonade with a good feeling. Julia had rewarded Teddy the best way she could, and he was wise enough to know it.
I spotted Louise Jane chatting to Josie, Butch, and Stephanie, and made my way through the crowd. It took a long time to cross the room as people kept stopping me to offer their congratulations, as though I’d done something important.
“Having a good time?” I asked when I joined my friends.
“Relieved,” Butch said. “The chief would never come out and say so, but everyone at the station knew he was hoping Connor would win. Doug Whiteside had some unusual ideas about how to pay for an efficient police force.”
“If I never hear the name Doug Whiteside again,” Steph said, “it will be too soon. Nice of Connor to invite you up on the stage, Lucy.”
“He was thanking everyone.”
“I didn’t hear me being asked up. And I helped with the campaign too. He was making sure everyone knows you’re a couple.”
“If you don’t need your apartment anymore, Lucy,” Louise Jane said, “I’d be happy to take it over. It shouldn’t be left vacant. Mold and mice can get out of control quickly.”
“If I have any plans to move—and I don’t—you’ll be the first person I’ll call, Louise Jane.”
“Good to know,” she said, completely missing my sarcasm. “The spirits in the lighthouse have been quiet lately. Someone being in residence must be helping keep them calm.”
“Speaking of restless spirits, that was a mean trick.”
“Whatever do you mean, Lucy, honey?” She studied me over the top of her beer bottle. Her look was serious, but she couldn’t disguise the trace of a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“Don’t give me the innocent look. When did you and Greg manage to get together to concoct that ridiculous plan?”
“I don’t know of any ridiculous plan to which you might be referring. Greg kindly came up to me after the Halloween night lecture and congratulated me. As I recall you did also. We exchanged phone numbers in case we had reason to talk again.”
“I didn’t suggest you set a trap for anyone.”
“Some people believe, and some do not,” she said. “Some need a slight nudge to believe, that’s all. You’re always telling me I’m making it all up. You’re welcome to believe so. Doesn’t mean that I am.”
Did I believe?
No, I didn’t believe Louise Jane with her magic powders and grandmother’s tales and her desire to see the back of me.
But I had seen something out on the marsh. Or at least I thought I had. Nothing else strange had happened since Halloween night. No ghostly horses reaching into my mind. No corpse candles luring me to my doom. If those had been tricks played by Louise Jane on me, she wouldn’t have been able to keep herself from gloating. I wanted to think that the combined influences of the Halloween preparations, stress over the forthcoming election, worry over the state of my relationship with Connor, Jay Ruddle’s death, and the tales of Washington Irving had done a number on my head.
But … something had happened. I had seen something and felt something out there. Not old legends embellished by Louise Jane or stories handed down from her great-grandmother, but something I believed was real.
Then there was the model of the Rebecca MacPherson. The way the captain seemed to be watching Connor and me that night, or how George, the tiny cat, moved around apparently all by himself. Was it possible the ship itself had drawn … something to the marsh?
Next Halloween I’d set myself on watch. I might ask Connor to sit up with me, so I’d have a witness. If anything appeared, that is.
As for here and now: it was over. Life could go back to normal. What passes as normal at the Bodie Island Lighthouse Library anyway.
Louise Jane put her beer bottle onto a side table. “Didn’t our own Teddy quote Shakespeare just the other day? ‘There are stranger things.’” She started to walk away, and then she turned. She threw me a self-satisfied grin. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you: I won’t be around for a few weeks. I hope the library can manage in my absence. I’m going on vacation. I’ve always wanted to go to Europe, and now I have the chance. I’m leaving tomorrow and joining a tour called Haunted Castles of England. I’m so excited. The airfare cost a lot as it was a last-minute booking, but that’s not a problem. I was lucky enough to come into some money recently.” She walked away.
“What was all that about?” Steph said.
“Who knows with Louise Jane,” Butch said. “She likes to sound mysterious.”
“She certainly looks pleased with herself,” Josie said.
“Very pleased,” I said. “I can only hope she hasn’t found another line of work.”
“What sort of work?”
“Never mind,” I said.
“Here’s Bertie,” Butch said. “I don’t recognize the guy with her.”
Bertie was making her way across the room, greeting people and introducing her companion, Professor McClanahan from Blacklock College. “An old flame,” I said.
“Really?” Steph said. “Do tell. Oh, not now. They’re heading our way.”
“Good evening, everyone,” Bertie said. “Sorry we’re late, but I heard the results on the radio. This is an old friend of mine, Eddie. Eddie, you remember Lucy, who works with me.”
“Nice to see you again,” he said.
Bertie introduced the others. Eddie smiled politely and shook hands, but didn’t seem terribly excited at meeting us. I suspected he didn’t remember me at all.
Formalities over, he turned to Bertie. “Can I get you a drink, Bee?”
“That would be nice, thank you. I’ll have a glass of wine.”
They smiled at each other. They kept on smiling. Josie looked at me, raised her eyebrows, and formed her mouth into a round O.
“Never mind,” Butch said. “I’ll get you something, Bertie. Eddie, what’ll you have?”
“Have?” He tore his eyes away from Bertie.
“A drink,” Butch said. “Would you like a drink?”
“Thank you. A beer would be nice.”
“Lucy?”
“Nothing more for me, thanks.”
“It’s a good night.” Dorothy, Connor’s campaign manager, joined us. “Connor’s victory was impressive. Very impressive indeed. Thank you all for your help. This night belongs to the volunteers as much as it does to Connor.”
“I can’t imagine Doug’s concession call was terribly gracious,” Steph said.
“It didn’t choke him too badly. The results couldn’t have been all that much of a surprise to him. I heard something you might be interested in.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“My curiosity was piqued by what you learned about Jay Ruddle taking a place in Doug’s administration. Should we have been unlucky enough to have had one.” She shook her head. “No such thing. When Jay came to Nags Head looking for a home for his collection, Bill Hill gave him a call at his hotel. Jay said he’d been away so long, he had no knowledge of or interest in local politics on any level, and hung up. Billy, not being the sort to take no for an answer, decided to quietly spread word that Jay had been interested and was throwing his support behind Doug.”
“What a sneak,” Josie said.
“Bill Hill has a future in politics,” Dorothy said. “I heard that before this election was even over, he was making calls to Raleigh. Oh, well. Not my problem. I’ve done my bit. From now on I’m devoting my life to my grandchildren and doing good works.”
“Ha,” Josie said. “You’ll be back.”
“Probably. It’s like a drug. I’m off home. I’ve haven’t had a good night’s sleep for weeks. Good night.”
“Good night.”
“Speaking of sleep,” Josie said. “Time for us to be going too. Lucy, Steph, let’s have lunch one day next week and start talking wedding plans. I mean my wedding. U
nless either of you have plans too?”
Steph sputtered, and I said, “I most certainly do not. Lunch would be great.” We hugged, and Josie went to collect Jake, who’d spent most of the night arguing sports with Connor’s dad.
Butch returned with a round of drinks and said he wanted to talk to Sam Watson for a few minutes. Steph spotted a friend. Bertie took Eddie to meet Ronald, who’d dressed tonight in a conservative gray business suit and giant yellow polka dot bow tie, and Nan.
I glanced around the room. While we’d been chatting, the party had started to break up. Only a few of Connor’s closest friends, his campaign workers, and the serious partiers remained. The bartenders began putting the tops back on bottles and wiping down the counters.
Connor was surrounded by well-wishers. He’d taken off his tie and jacket, undone the top button on his shirt, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Some of the worry lines had faded from his face, and he looked relaxed and comfortable as he laughed at something Sam Watson said. He must have felt me watching him, because his head turned and he looked directly at me.
I lifted my lemonade glass in a silent toast. The smile he gave me in return lifted my heart.
Author’s Note
The Bodie Island Lighthouse is a real historic lighthouse, located in Cape Hatteras National Seashore on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. It is still a working lighthouse, protecting ships from the Graveyard of the Atlantic, and the public are invited to tour it and climb the two hundred fourteen steps to the top. The view from up there is well worth the trip. But the lighthouse does not contain a library, nor is it large enough to house a collection of books, offices, staff rooms, two staircases, and even an apartment.
Within these books, the interior of the lighthouse is the product of my imagination. I like to think of it as my version of the Tardis, from the TV show Doctor Who, or Hermione Granger’s beaded handbag: far larger inside than it appears from the outside.
