Reading Up a Storm (24 page)

Sunday dawned bright and clear. And that was a good thing because it was decorating day at the Bodie Island Lighthouse.

Charlene had bought up all the red, white, and blue bunting available in half the state; the fire department arrived with a truck, a ladder, and numerous volunteers; library patrons brought excited kids and picnic baskets. Doug Whiteside and his wife were there, him in white shirt and dark tie, grinning though gritted teeth, her looking perfectly bored in a pink suit. Bill Hill rushed around, trying to get Doug in the center of every photograph. Bill's wife was with him, a stout, red-faced woman dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. I noticed Bill pointing me out to her, and she came over.

“Do you work at the library?” she asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“I'd like to pick up my book when you have a chance.”

“What book?”

“The one on ocean currents around here? Someone
called to tell me it was in. I didn't ask for it, but it reminded me that I've not been out in our boat for a long time. Bill's not keen on the sea, but I used to enjoy it so much.”

“Oh, that book. I . . . uh. You weren't interested, so someone else took it out. Sorry.”

“That's okay,” she said. “I'll reserve it again.” She looked around her, at the happy crowds, the laughing children climbing all over the fire truck. I started to edge away. I couldn't remember if we even had a book on ocean currents. “I've missed this, you know,” Jill said. “I'm sorry about that. I love this library, but Billy told me Doug wants to close it down so it would be better if I stopped coming.” She gave me a smile. “I think I'll tell him that Doug needs to get rid of that idea instead.”

“Thanks,” I said.

She wandered away. I saw Ralph Harper, rolling across the grass as though he was on the deck of his boat, and gave him a wave. He came over at his usual leisurely pace.

“She's pleased,” he said.

“Who is?”

“The sea. The lighthouse is honoring her, and she likes that.”

“This isn't . . .” I was about to explain the purpose of the decorations, but I decided to let Ralph believe what he wanted. “I'm glad to hear it.”

“It'll be good weather for the next couple of weeks.” He touched the brim of his salt-encrusted hat and strolled away.

“Quite a crowd.” Connor slipped up behind me. He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I snuggled against him. It had been very late by the time
we finally left the police station the night of Mike's arrest. Connor had driven me home, and he'd come inside with me. We sat downstairs for a long time surrounded by my beloved books, sipping hot tea, playing with Charles, talking about all that had happened, and so much more.

“Now that I've found you again, Lucy,” he'd said, as he stood at the door, ready to leave, “I'm not going to let you go.”

“No worries,” I said, smiling up at him. “I have no plans to leave.”

Charles had meowed his approval.

“A photo, Mr. Mayor,” a man shouted now, “of you and your fair lady.”

Connor and I smiled at the camera. “Am I your lady?” I asked, once the photographer had moved off.

“I certainly hope so,” he said with a hearty laugh. He took my hand in his, and it felt so very right being there.

Most people had come out ready to pitch in and help in shorts and T-shirts, but some families looked as though they'd come directly from church. Mrs. Fitzgerald was dressed as though she were presiding over a garden party, in a belted pastel dress, stockings, pearls, and a wide-brimmed hat. She even carried a parasol. A small circle consisting of Diane, Curtis, and Louise Jane was gathered around the folding chair at which she held court, talking intently. I did not want to know what the topic under discussion might be.

Ronald, dressed in purple shorts, an orange shirt, and a pink tie, was attempting to entertain a group of children with card tricks. He was a mighty poor magician, and all but the smallest kids soon found something more interesting to take their attention. Charlene was with the fire
chief, both of them gesturing wildly and studying the lighthouse structure with the same intensity as if they were planning a campaign to storm the fortress. Men were gathered around them, offering helpful advice. Charity, the eldest Peterson girl, had joined them, her eyes shining with interest. The eyes of the baggy-panted boy from the YA book club were also shining, but he was watching Charity rather than the preparations.

Sam and CeeCee Watson spotted Connor and me and came over. “If the idea is to get everyone talking about the election,” CeeCee said, “I think y'all have succeeded, Lucy.”

“Talking about it is one thing,” Connor said. “Getting out and voting is yet another.”

“Speaking about talking,” Watson said, “I've hardly been able to get Mike Williamson to shut up. He's got a lifetime of grievances he thinks I'm interested in hearing.”

CeeCee rolled her eyes. “No shop talk.”

“This time shop talk is okay,” I said. “I was there, remember.”

“True. In that case, I see Bertie. I'm going to ask what time we're getting under way.” CeeCee walked away, her long colorful skirt swirling around her legs, a big straw hat protecting her face.

“You've charged Mike with murder?” I asked Sam Watson.

“Yes. He tried telling us that you'd tricked him into saying things that weren't true, but once Butch reminded us that Mike obviously knew about the attempt on you the other night, the details of which are not common knowledge, he broke down and confessed all.”

“Did he say why he did it?” I asked. “I mean, kill his dad. I can assume he intended to kill me because I was getting close to uncovering the truth.”

“If it helps, he says he'd intended only to frighten you on the highway, Lucy. But I suspect after that failed, he decided he had to get serious. You hadn't figured out that he was the killer and had allowed yourself to be alone with him, so he was prepared to kill you too.”

I shivered. Connor muttered.

“As for why he killed his father. Mike had always believed his dad was wealthy, and being the only child he, Mike, would inherit it all someday. When he found out through his banking contacts that Will had lost almost everything, Mike was furious. There were a few CDs and some hard-to-redeem investments left, but Mike knew Will would tear through them soon enough. Particularly as he now had Marlene wanting to live the good life.”

I shook my head. “That's so sad. I've been wondering all along how Mike got away after leaving his dad and the boat tied up in the marsh. Did he tell you that?”

Watson nodded. “He simply tied a small rowboat behind the fishing boat. Left the bigger boat—with his dead father—at the pier and rowed himself back to the marina under cover of darkness. Will was already dead, by the way, when Mike loaded him into the boat.”

Connor felt my shudder and gave my hand a comforting squeeze.

“Why bring it here? Why didn't he just push the fishing boat out to sea?” Connor asked.

Watson shrugged. “I guess he thought it a fitting place, for some reason. He did mention that his dad had
been chattering on about some book club Marlene and he had gone to at the lighthouse.”

“Do you know how Marlene's doing?” I asked.

“See for yourself.” Watson pointed behind me.

I turned to see Marlene dashing up the path toward us. She was dressed casually and comfortably in shorts, a T-shirt, and flat sandals. Her designer sunglasses were over her eyes and her hair was pulled into its usual high, tight ponytail. “Hey,” she squealed. “Isn't this fun!” She gave me a big hug. “Did you think any more about that roommate idea, Lucy? We'll have such a great time living together! I hope it's okay if I can borrow your car sometimes. The repo men came for the Smart car last night.”

“Roommate?” Connor said.

“I . . . ,” I said.

Marlene glanced at Connor, and her eyes slid down to our clasped hands. “Oh, I guess not. You'll let me know if the room becomes free, won't you, Lucy?”

“Connor and I aren't . . .” I began.

“Oh, firemen! I wonder if they need help.” Marlene skipped off.

The fire truck was maneuvering into position underneath the lighthouse walls. Excited children ran along beside, while Ronald, helped by Theodore and various parents, tried to ensure they didn't get too close. Charlene opened boxes of flags and bunting; people packed up their picnic baskets; and everyone gathered at the foot of the lighthouse, awaiting instructions. A great cheer went up as the ladder on the fire truck began to rise into the air.

The ever-well-organized Charlene had drawn up a sketch of the lighthouse and a list of orders for everyone who would be helping. Connor and I were to be positioned
at my apartment window. He'd earlier hammered several large nails into the window frame, and when the bunting swung past us, we'd grab it, secure it to the building, and send the next section on its way. I would be given a huge rosette to hang in the window. With all the comings and goings, we'd decided that Charles had to be locked in the broom closet for the duration. His cries of protest had been heartrending to hear.

“Showtime,” Connor said. “Let's get ourselves into position.”

I glanced around the lighthouse grounds, but didn't see the faces I was searching for. “I'm so disappointed they didn't make it.”

“Me too,” he said, with a glance over his shoulder. “Hey, someone's coming. It might be them.” A van drove slowly through the crowded parking lot and stopped at the path. “It's them. I'll tell Bertie and Charlene to hold off a couple of minutes.” He ran off, and I went to meet the van. Butch had been driving, and he was now maneuvering a wheelchair out of the back while Stephanie held the passenger door open for a beaming Pat.

“Sorry we're late,” Steph said. “The rental place didn't have the van ready.”

I gave her a hug. “You're not late.”

Butch positioned the wheelchair, and he and Stephanie helped Pat into it. Bertie ran up to join us. “I'm so glad you made it,” she said. “You're right on time. Here, let me take Pat. I assume you all have jobs to attend to?”

We nodded.

“All I have to do,” Bertie said with a laugh, “is supervise.” She pushed her smiling friend down the path to the lighthouse.

I watched them go, and when I turned back to Butch and Stephanie, they were pulling apart with embarrassed grins. I hid a grin of my own as he took her hand and she gazed up—way up—at him with a radiant smile.

Butch had come to the library before opening the morning after the arrest of Mike Williamson and asked me to join him for a walk in the marsh. He'd blushed and stammered and shifted his big feet and didn't look into my face as he said he was hoping we could continue to be friends. But, he'd told me, not able to hide the look of sheer wonder on his face, he was in love with Stephanie Stanton.

I had refrained from saying, “I know.”

“I have some big news,” Stephanie said as we walked up the path. She linked her free arm through mine. A few very brave souls, Josie and Jake among them, were leaning off the top edge of the tower, preparing to unfurl the first stretch of bunting. Aunt Ellen's head was thrown back and she was facing the top of the lighthouse, but both hands were placed firmly over her eyes. The longest ladder on the fire truck wasn't long enough to reach the top; it would be used to get people in position to maneuver the bunting from one window to another and secure it in places on the outside.

“What news?” I asked.

Butch placed a kiss on top of Stephanie's head. She grinned. “I've quit my job.”

“What? Can you afford to do that?”

“I want to be close to Mom. She's doing great. The doctors say her progress is remarkable and she'll be running that marathon in no time. But it's time for me to
come home. I've been offered a partnership in a small local law firm.”

“Where?”

“O'Malley and Stanton. Like the sound of it?”

“You're going into business with Uncle Amos? That's great. He's been wanting to reduce his workload, and he's been looking for someone to help out. You guys will be so good together.”

“God help the cops and prosecutors of Dare County,” Butch said with a groan.

“Against my far better judgment,” Stephanie said, her eyes glowing with happiness, “I'm going to take a chance on this big lug.” She dug her elbow into Butch's ribs.

I smiled at them both. “I'm delighted for you.”

Connor was waving at me from the lighthouse door. “Catch you later,” I said to my friends and ran to join him.

Before I could get inside, Louise Jane slid up beside me. “You'll be awful thrilled to hear, Lucy sweetie, that I got the final approval from Mrs. Fitzgerald and the rest of the board for my Halloween exhibit. It's obvious that your silly election decorations won't last for more than a few days in the wind and salt spray.” Louise Jane looked mightily pleased with herself. I knew I should pretend disinterest, but I couldn't stop myself from saying, “I'm sure that will be fine. We can put out a few books about the paranormal history and Ronald will have his groups dress in costumes that week.”

“Oh, Lucy, honey. I always forget how small-minded you can be sometimes. It's so charming. No, Mrs.
Fitzgerald, Diane, and Curtis have approved a full Halloween display with a generous budget to match.”

I tried not to imagine Bertie's reaction to news of this budget expenditure. “A full display,” I croaked. “Of what?”

She gave me her barracuda smile. “A haunted lighthouse, of course.”

Since the publication of the first book in the Lighthouse Library series,
By Book or by Crook
, I have been overwhelmed by the enthusiastic support of the entire cozy community, authors, readers, and reviewers. What marvelous people you all are. Thanks also to my agent, Kim Lionetti, and to Laura Fazio, my marvelous editor at Obsidian, who worked hard to make this a better book.

Margaret Kramer sat at my table at Left Coast Crime in Portland and won a name placement in the book. Thanks for joining us for dinner, Margaret, and I hope you like your
character.