by Lena Gregory
“Yup. And some, not as many, mind you, but some, swore he was murdered by the ghost of a pirate named Thomas who fell in love with Samuel’s oldest daughter, Kitty.” He gestured again toward the corner. “Go ahead, see for yourselves. Then let me know what you find out, because I have no doubt if anyone can dig up gossip from almost three hundred years ago, it’s you, Bee.”
Cass had to admit, the story had piqued her interest. “I don’t know, Levi, but I think you missed your calling. Maybe you should ask Fred for a job as a tour guide.”
He laughed, long and loud. “Honey, trust me when I tell you, I am not Fred’s type. Now, I’ve gotta run and get a coupla things done upstairs before Fred’s group shows up. I’ll catch you guys later. You all have fun now.”
He started toward the door.
“Hey, wait,” Bee called after him. “Why is the display shoved in the corner over there where it’s all but hidden from view? I’d think Fred would want everyone to know the story to prove his tours are historically accurate.”
“See, that’s the thing about Fred, he don’t much care what’s true, only what’ll make him money. And finding that treasure, well now, that would be hitting the mother lode. And he most certainly don’t want no one getting their hands on that journal. Thing is, I think he’s angered someone’s spirit, either Thomas or Samuel, not sure which, but I seen someone out on those rocks a coupla times now, dressed in those tight pants and frilly shirts they used to wear back in the day . . .”
Bee shivered. Apparently, the late-1700s pirate look offended his fashion designer senses, even in the midst of two-hundred-year-old gossip. “And you think it’s a ghost?”
“Sure do.” He nodded emphatically.
“When did you see it?”
Resting the handle of his dust mop against his knee, he lifted his cap and scratched his head. “Oh, a few times from up in the lighthouse when I was cleaning at night, but only in the past month or so, since they posted the display. Before that, I been here nigh on thirty years, and I never seen a thing.”
“Levi.”
Bee jumped and squealed, then whirled toward the door.
Levi dropped his hat when he spun to face Fred.
Fred DiCarlo stood in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, a frown deepening his already stern features.
Cass couldn’t call Bee’s reaction dramatic this time, since he’d startled her just as badly.
Levi’s expression hardened, his grip on the dust mop tightening, belying his easy tone. “Hello there, Fred.”
Fred kept his gaze pinned on Levi. “Don’t you have something to clean somewhere?”
“Yup.”
“Then I suggest you stop playing tour guide and get to it.”
Levi turned to Cass, Bee, and Stephanie, mock bowed, then winked before scooping up his hat and starting for the door. He kept eye contact with Fred as he crossed the room. When he reached him, he leaned closer and stage-whispered, “What’s a matter there, Fred? Afraid someone’s gonna figure out what you can’t and beat you to the prize?”
Fred’s gaze shot to Bee for a moment, then returned to Levi. “Not likely, and it definitely won’t be you. You can take that to the bank.”
Levi shrugged, fitted his cap back on and whistled as he moved off toward the stairs.
Fred stared after him but made no move to leave.
Stephanie nodded toward Fred and made a shooing gesture at Cass.
Bee nodded in agreement.
They weren’t wrong. It would be foolish to waste the opportunity to talk to him when he was standing right there, only to have to hunt him down later to ask about the tour. Yet something told her she should just keep her mouth shut. Intuition? Something else?
Bee nudged her side with his elbow.
She cleared her throat.
Fred shook his head then turned to face her. “Did you want something?”
“Uh . . . well . . .”
“Spit it out. I ain’t got all day.”
Yup, should have gone with her gut, but since she’d already started, she may as well follow through. She offered her professional smile, hoping she pulled it off. “How are you, Fred? I haven’t run into you in a while.”
Bee turned his back on Fred and rolled his eyes.
“Been better, been worse. Is that all you wanted?”
“Actually, I heard you were running a paranormal tour this season, and I was wondering if you’d consider making Mystical Musings one of your stops. Of course, I’d be willing to—”
“That’s not likely to happen. Why would I subject my clients to some charlatan snake oil salesman? Oh, wait, I mean saleswoman.”
Bee whirled, but Cass stepped in front of him before he could say anything.
Fred laughed. “I want them to come back, ya know.”
Cass didn’t bother being offended by the comment. Fred was known for making rude comments, then laughing them off as if he’d been joking. It was rare anyone laughed along with him. She also didn’t bother discussing the generous commission she’d been prepared to offer.
“It was good seeing youse, now if you’ll excuse me, I have people waiting.” He walked out without another word.
“Why’d you stop me from saying something to him?” Bee offered an indignant huff.
“Because he’s not worth it.” She patted his arm. “But I appreciate the gesture. Thank you.”
Bee nodded and kissed her cheek.
“So, other than Fred being his usual nasty self, what do you think, Bee?” Cass had no doubt he’d be at the library as soon as possible, digging through their extensive local history section, especially after Fred had snubbed Cass and issued what Bee would most likely view as a challenge to Levi, provided they’d been talking about searching for the treasure, which wasn’t a given. That wouldn’t matter to Bee.
Bee looked her right in the eye. “I think it’s no coincidence that Amelia alluded to Fred fooling around with someone, not very tactfully, either, and Levi found a way to slip in that he wasn’t Fred’s type, implying that someone else was.”
Cass stood dumbfounded. “That’s what you got from that whole encounter?”
“Yup.” He waved a finger in the air. “And if Fred is fooling around, trust me, it hasn’t hit the rumor mill yet, or I would have heard about it.”
Stephanie stared in the direction Levi and Fred had gone. “Or someone really dropped the ball this time, and good ole Levi wants to make sure the news hits. I definitely sensed some animosity between those two.”
“And who better to tell than Bee to make sure that rumor gets circulating?” Cass turned toward the display Levi had indicated and crossed the room. “You can barely read it here under this light.”
Bee took out his phone, turned on the flashlight, and directed its beam toward the display.
A worn book sat on a stand beneath a glass case. A card beside it read “Kitty Garrison’s Journal—the life of a lighthouse keeper’s daughter.”
“It doesn’t look like much.” Bee crossed the rope barrier set up to keep patrons from getting too close, then leaned close to the glass and squinted.
“It looks like a diary.” Cass tilted her head to try to read what was inside the book but to no avail.
Bee opened the case.
“What are you doing, Bee? You can’t open that.” Stephanie shot out a hand and pushed the small door closed.
“Well, then, how am I supposed to know what’s in it?”
“Easy,” Stephanie said. “You wait for Amelia to come back and ask her if she’ll let you read it.”
“Yeah, but your way, she might say no. At least my way I can just apologize after the fact. And then we would have seen the inside of the book, maybe gained valuable information on how to find the treasure.” He grinned. “Much better to apologize later than to ask permission now.”
“Is that what this is about, Bee?” Cass wouldn’t mind having a peek in the book, either, but she wasn’t about to upset Stephanie. �
�You want to find the treasure?”
“You bet I do.”
And somehow Cass had a feeling Levi had counted on that when he’d shared the story. “Question is, if Fred is trying to find the treasure, what does Levi have to gain by making sure everyone under the sun—or at least those living on and probably visiting Bay Island—knows about it?”
Bee shrugged off her concern. “Maybe he doesn’t want to see Fred find the treasure? Not that I can blame him. Fred DiCarlo is not a nice man.”
“I suppose, but still.” Cass looked in the direction Levi had gone.
Voices carried into the museum, and Bee deftly hopped the security rope, then propped a hand on his hip and leaned against the railing, possibly going for a nonchalant pose that ended up looking more like I just got caught doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.
When the group headed past the museum entrance and up the stairs, presumably toward the third floor, Cass tugged Bee’s arm. “Come on, we’ll climb the lighthouse before it gets too late. We can always come back here afterward, if there’s time, and talk to Amelia. Maybe she’ll let you read some of the book once everyone’s gone.”
Bee stared longingly at the journal, then sighed. “Sure thing. Whatever you say, Mum.”
They headed out of the museum and followed the concrete walkway toward the lighthouse. The salty sea breeze rustled the bushes lining the path. The mild wind carried the softest hint of a whisper, tantalizingly close, yet just out of reach.
Cass paused. An illusion created by the wind funneling along the walkway? It had to be. It’s not like she was giving a reading, and that’s the only time the voices called to her, assailed her as they competed for her attention. At least, that’s the only time they’d reached out to her so far.
Stephanie looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming, Cass?”
Bee stopped and turned, then frowned. “Is something wrong?”
Shaking off whatever apprehension had stopped her, Cass moved on. “Sorry, daydreaming, I guess.”
“It’s a beautiful day. I bet you’ll be able to see for miles.” Stephanie dug through her bag and pulled out her phone.
“Oh, definitely.” Bee pointed past the bushes and over the choppy waters of the bay. “Look, you can see the south fork of Long Island from here.”
The height of the bluff the lighthouse stood on offered an amazing view across the bay. A foghorn sounded from somewhere in the distance, seagulls circled and dove, occasionally coming up with a prize, and the ferry chugged toward Long Island, only about half full from the looks of it.
They entered the tower and started up the circular staircase, the clang of their shoes against the iron steps echoing off the sandstone walls.
“Not what it seems . . .”
“What do you mean?” Cass studied Bee’s back as he climbed a few steps ahead of her, though how he did it in his signature platform shoes was beyond her.
He paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. “Huh?”
“You said something, but I didn’t quite catch—”
“Stop.” The man’s voice seemed to come from all around her at once.
This time she’d been staring straight at Bee, and he’d been in the middle of saying something else when the male voice had interrupted him.
A woman’s voice joined the man’s. “Why don’t you . . .”
A chorus of voices answered in unison.
Cass shook her head, willing the voices to retreat. “Nothing, Bee. Sorry, I thought you said something.”
Though the scowl remained firmly imprinted on his features, Bee turned and resumed his trek up the stairs, seemingly content to ignore whatever was happening with her. Probably for the best, anyway. If he thought for one minute ghosts haunted the lighthouse, he’d probably plow both Cass and Stephanie over in his haste to leave.
“Watch . . . go . . . stop . . . please . . .” The voices continued unsolicited, demanding, insistent.
“What do you want?” Cass yelled and covered her ears.
Bee stopped again and looked back. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, please . . .” She lowered her hands, taking a firm grip on the railing to steady her shaking hands. “Just go.”
Bee shook his head and picked up the pace.
Fear skittered along Cass’s spine as she tried to open herself up, make sense of what the voices wanted from her. She focused intently on one voice, that of a man, more demanding that the rest, just a bit louder. “. . . lighthouse . . . rocks . . . look . . . back . . .”
Look back? Look back where? Did he mean literally? She glanced over her shoulder at Stephanie bringing up the rear. She seemed okay. Maybe figuratively? Look back. But at what? The past? The story of the lighthouse keeper, maybe. Is that what the voice was trying to tell her?
They stepped onto the observation deck, the wall of windows opening up an even more incredible view than offered from the bluff. She closed her eyes and concentrated.
“You know,” Bee said, “you could try to block the voices out, ignore them. That’s what I do when I don’t feel like hearing what people are saying.”
“Bee!” Stephanie’s mouth dropped open.
He held up a hand, his eyes wide, as if just realizing what he’d said. “Other people, I mean. You know, when I don’t want to hear what other people are saying. Never you two.”
Stephanie pointed a finger past Cass at him. “That had better be what you meant, buddy.”
Bee grinned and held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Of course that’s what I meant.”
“Uh-huh.” Eyeing him out of the corner of her eye, Stephanie returned to admiring the view. She snapped a few pictures with her phone.
Cass tried to ignore the bickering. She massaged her temples. If she didn’t relax, she wasn’t going to get anything.
Bee continued offering advice. “And if ignoring the voices doesn’t work, you can try doing what I do when I walk into the diner, or the deli, or Tony’s Bakery when there is an undeniable undercurrent of excitement rippling through the air, and I know before I take another step there’s really good gossip to be had.”
“What’s that?” At that point, she’d try anything to shut them up.
He turned his back to the view, leaning against the railing that would keep anyone from falling through the circular wall of windows. “Narrow them down one at a time, eliminating those that don’t seem to know anything, those who are just hanging out trying to make sense of what’s going on the same as you are, and continue to whittle away at them, ignoring those you dismiss in favor of those who seem to have knowledge, then focus in on them until you get the message.”
Cass moved to the railing lining the circular platform and leaned her hands on it. Choppy waves battered the coastline, washing up onto the large boulders lining the bluff and beach, sea foam bubbling over between crevices.
“Lighthouse . . . away . . . back . . . push . . .”
She couldn’t grab it. Something, though, so close. Like something just at the edge of her awareness, something she should be able to . . . She closed her eyes, allowing the voices to wash through her.
“Stay . . . back . . . stay away . . .”
Her eyes shot open. “I’ve got it. I know what the voices are trying to tell me.”
Bee folded his arms over his chest, no doubt over any talk of the paranormal. “Oh, and what’s that?”
Cass tried to swallow, her mouth gone to paste, and glanced from him to Stephanie and back again. “Stay away from the lighthouse.”
Bee groaned and returned his attention to the view of the bay.
Stephanie studied her. “Do you think—”
Movement in her peripheral vision caught Cass’s attention. Her gaze shifted to the third floor of the keeper’s house just as someone tumbled out the window toward the rocks below.
A silhouette backed away from the window, barely noticeable, a shadow among shadows as it slid away into darkness. Was the visio
n real? Or was she witnessing some past tragedy that had played out time and time again over the past couple of centuries? Hadn’t Levi said Samuel Garrison had been found dead on the rocks below the lighthouse, the very same jetty someone had just fallen from the keeper’s house onto?
Muffled screams in the distance assured her the man lying on the rocks was real enough, but what of the silhouette she’d seen as the man fell?
Chapter Four
Sirens wailed in the distance as Cass ignored the walkway and hurried through the beach grass covering the dunes on the fastest route to whoever lay on the rocks below the keeper’s house.
A small crowd had already gathered, screams and sobs shattering the peaceful afternoon.
Cass reached the boulders and started across the slick surfaces. While her flats were perfectly fine for climbing the lighthouse stairs, they did not work for trying to scramble across wet, slippery rocks. She kicked them off, her bare feet giving her better traction.
“Help him,” Amelia screamed, leaning over whoever lay at such an unnatural angle. “Oh, please, you have to help him.”
The lifeguard Bee had been talking about earlier, Quincy Yates, knelt over the victim, ignoring Amelia’s pleas, counting out loud as he administered chest compressions. Though he knelt on a somewhat flat rock beside the victim, his feet were braced against the boulder behind him. Amelia’s constant tugging on his arm threatened to topple him from his tentative perch.
Good, though, that he’d known not to move the victim.
Cass reached them and took over CPR while Quince jumped to his feet and struggled to keep Amelia back. Even though a quick assessment assured Cass there was no chance of reviving Fred DiCarlo, she would continue until someone official arrived to make the determination.
Bee clambered across the rocks toward her, his scowl a picture of sheer determination. “What do you need?”
She caught his gaze and discreetly shook her head once. “I’m okay here, Bee. Why don’t you and Stephanie see if you can help Amelia.”
“Ah, man . . .” He shoved a hand through his thick hair, then nodded and started backing up, leaving her and Fred with a semicircle of gawkers around them, some on the rocks, others standing on the beach just short of climbing onto the dangerous surfaces.
