The Portrait of Doreene Gray (15 page)

As they got closer, they saw a fenced yard around the house. A swing set stood in the dry grass, its chains twisting slightly in the wind.

Suki pulled over. “We're losing light, but I should be able to get something with a tripod.”

They got out of the car and stood, zipping jackets and hunching their shoulders. The temperature wasn't that cold, but a damp wind blew. Suki went to the back of the minivan and rummaged for equipment.

“You said the lighthouse is haunted?” Michael prompted Angus.

Angus put his hands in his jacket pockets and rocked on his feet. “A wandering woman in white. It was the wives of the lighthouse keepers who mostly saw her. They thought it might be a woman whose daughter was lost in one of the many shipwrecks in this area.”

“So why doesn't the woman haunt the wreck?” Michael asked. “Do ghosts need an audience? Someplace to sit down, maybe—take a break from all that moaning and chain rattling?”

Angus gave him a sour look. “People have also heard the sound of someone rummaging through the bathroom cabinets, even though no one else was in the house.”

“I'd be looking for Valium if I had to spend my afterlife out here on the edge of nothing.” Michael blew on his hands.

“It wasn't just the bathroom,” Angus said. “Some wives also saw a woman's shadow and heard a female voice in the keeper's quarters.”

Michael gave a bark of laughter. “I can hear Mr. Lighthouse Keeper, as he's frantically buttoning his trousers. ‘Woman's voice? What woman's voice? Must have been a ghost, honey!'”

Suki came around the back of the van with a camera mounted on a tripod. “Anything in particular you want me to get, Angus?”

“Anything that looks good. And afterward, how about some video for the Web site? Michael can stand in the foreground and talk very convincingly about ghosts.”

“Aw, come on,” Michael protested.

Angus straightened the collar of Michael's coat. “And make it good.”

*   *   *

After taking photos and video, Suki and the others got back in the minivan.

“Where to next?” Suki asked.

Angus studied his map. “The road loops around. We'll park in the lot next to the RVs and walk to Battery Kinzie. There are about a dozen gun batteries, but Kinzie looks like the most accessible. Some of them are hidden in the forest above the bluffs.”

Suki steered the minivan along a road that curved through the dunes before heading back the way they had come. The light had dimmed considerably, and the wind had picked up.

“Turn right here,” Angus said as they approached a parking lot.

Suki parked on the cracked concrete, and they got out.

Before them, a path led up a sandy rise. The bluffs to the east were thickly covered with trees, but here, only a few towering fir trees stood silhouetted against the gray sky. Their sparse crowns looked like tattered umbrellas, torn by the wind.

Black birds, crows or ravens, called harshly from the treetops, jumping from branch to branch as the pecking order dictated.

Suki stood with her hands on her hips. “This is some photogenic shit.”

From somewhere behind them, a woman's voice called, “Dinner!”

“Coming, Mom!” Two children of about ten appeared over the rise and ran down the sand toward the RVs. “Hi,” they said breathlessly as they passed Angus and the others.

“Nice kids,” Angus said. “Suki, why don't you take whatever pictures you want here, and then meet us at the battery. You can see the top of it over that hill.”

Angus and Michael climbed the short slope that led to a plateau dotted with scrubby grass. Battery Kinzie stretched in front of them—two wide stories of gray concrete with square pillars on the bottom and staircases crisscrossing the front.

“Are there supposed to be ghosts in here?” Michael asked as they approached it.

“Why do you care, Mr. Skeptic?” Angus asked grumpily.

“I may not believe in ghosts, but I'm still interested as to why most cultures have some level of belief in them.”

“There's a catchy title for an article. Try selling that.”

They stepped onto a walkway that ran along the front of the building, their footsteps suddenly loud on the concrete. In the front wall, a massive iron door stood slightly open, its surface traced with orange rust.

Angus grasped the vaultlike handle and pulled on it. It swung open with a grating, metallic moan. “Hollywood sound engineers probably come here to record that.” He stepped into the relative darkness beyond. “Empty.”

Michael followed him into the dimly lit space and pointed at the low ceiling. “Look—iron tracks, set into the concrete. They hung something from the ceiling and moved it around by track.”

“Ammunition, probably. The biggest guns could fire a thousand-pound shell ten miles.”

“Holy crap!”

“That's the magic of gunpowder. Wonder what that doorway leads to.” Angus turned and took a brisk step, only to smack his head on the cement archway. “Mother of…!” he said, holding both hands to his forehead.

“Are you okay?”

“F…” Angus sputtered, bending over.

“You can cuss in front of me. I'm not five.”

“Could you … Just shut up, will you?” Angus said, his voice squeaky with pain.

A metallic squeal came from the front of the room.

Michael turned. “Suki?”

The heavy iron door slammed shut with a clang, plunging them into darkness. A rasping thump indicated that the latch had been lowered.

Angus raised his voice to a yell. “Very funny! Now let us out!”

“Hold on,” Michael said. “I have an app for this.” There was a rustle of clothing, and then the slightly blue illumination of Michael's phone came on, followed by a blinding white light.

“You could have warned me,” Angus said, shielding his eyes. “I was looking right at it.”

“Pretty bright, huh? It turns on the LED for the camera flash. Do you want me to call Suki?”

“Not yet.” Angus ducked beneath the arch on which he had hit his head. “This is just another room, but without a door.”

“There has to be a way out,” Michael said, following, “doesn't there? Otherwise, kids would be locking each other in all the time. Don't you think it was probably a kid who shut us in?”

“That, or a ghost. Excuse me—
some level of belief common to most cultures.
” Angus looked around the room, then pointed toward an aperture in the back wall. It was the height of a door, but much narrower. “Maybe we can get out through that.”

They walked to the back of the room, the light casting sharp shadows.

Michael stuck his phone through the doorway and peered into the space beyond. “Some kind of passageway. It's only about two feet wide, and the floor is wet. If I were writing this, I'd have a big hatch at the end, and when we opened it, the ocean would rush in.”

“We should be quite a bit above the ocean. Give me that thing.” Angus took the phone and stepped inside, his shoulders almost brushing the walls. He moved forward slowly, pointing the light at the floor.

The stagnant water deepened until a quarter inch rippled around their feet. Angus gave a sudden kick and dislodged something sodden from the toe of his shoe. “Candy wrapper.” He sighed in relief.

“In Boulder, it'd be condoms and rolling papers,” Michael said. “The kids here must be really wholesome.”

“Aye, it's like frickin' Brigadoon.” Angus pointed the light to the right. “We've reached a corner.” He covered the phone's screen with his hand for a moment. “It's brighter up ahead.”

The floor became drier as they progressed. Another ten feet, and they emerged into a large room. Trees were visible through the doorless arch in the front.

“Thank goodness,” Angus said, handing the phone back to Michael.

Outside, they heard voices from somewhere on the second level. Angus cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Suki?”

“Up here!”

They climbed the stairs that led to the top. The second-floor walkway was a twin to the one on the ground below, with more empty rooms along it.

“Where the hell are you?” Angus yelled.

“Over here!” Suki called.

They backtracked, and the space suddenly opened into a large rooftop area indented by what looked like a small, shallow amphitheater. Five steps led down to a semicircle backed by a wall. A beach lay on the other side, and beyond it, water.

Suki stood at the wall, next to Maxwell Thorne. She waved when they came into view, then turned back to her camera.

Maxwell walked to join them, then gestured to the view. “You're looking out at the Strait of Juan de Fuca.”

“Did you shut us in?” Angus demanded.

Maxwell grinned mischievously. “I thought it would be a thrill for you, since you're ghost hunters.”

“We're journalists,” Angus said, “and I smacked the hell out of my head thanks to your little stunt.”

Maxwell's expression sobered. “I'm so sorry.”

“Actually, he smacked his head bef—” Michael began.

“Apology accepted,” Angus interrupted loudly. He looked around. “Nice view. I wonder what that semicircular hollow was for.”

“That was where one of the big guns sat,” Maxwell said. “The barrel measured a foot across, and each shot required almost three hundred pounds of powder.”

“Cool.” Suki joined them, carrying her tripod. “How'd you guys get out?”

“Through a narrow little tunnel,” Michael said.

“Those passageways run throughout the battery,” Maxwell said. “They provide ventilation, but they also buffered the rooms from the tremendous shock of the guns firing.”

“What brings you here, Mr. Thorne?”

“I'm staying on the grounds.” Maxwell pointed toward the main body of the park. “I don't know if you noticed a brick tower with a crenellated top.”

“Alexander's Castle,” Angus said. “It predates the fort and was built by the Reverend John Alexander in 1883, supposedly for his prospective bride. Unfortunately, by the time he finished it and went to Scotland to get her, she'd married someone else.”

“Probably got tired of waiting for the kitchen counters to be delivered,” Suki said.

Maxwell chuckled. “It was the only lodging I could get with the boat festival in town, and that was a cancellation. But Fort Worden runs a hostel in a neighboring building. I moved from the castle to the hostel today.”

“Decided to save your company a bit of cash?” Angus asked.

Maxwell's lip quirked in an amused smile. “No. Rothwell's expense account is quite liberal, and the company expects me to make my success clear. It's more a matter of being bored, staying by myself. When I walked by the hostel last night, I could hear people laughing and singing inside. They have a piano, and I play reasonably well.”

“Won't you feel a little out of place?” Michael asked. “You're not exactly a college student on a budget.”

Maxwell smiled at him. “Isn't that what traveling is all about—being out of place?” He looked at his watch. “And now, I have to excuse myself. I offered to pick up some steak for the communal stir-fry. Have a good evening, and give my best to Doreene.”

Maxwell left, and the others walked back to the view of the water.

“What a smarmy jerk.” Michael leaned on the concrete wall. “Off he goes to grace the little people with his steak and piano playing.”

Angus chortled. “What's the matter, Michael? Been out-condescended?”

Suki looked through her viewfinder. “Maybe he's trolling for someone young to visit the bicycle shed with.”

Michael leaned forward and looked across Angus toward Suki. “Out of curiosity, how much of your time do you spend thinking about and or participating in sex? Just ballpark.”

She looked at the sky thoughtfully. “Thirty percent?”

“You know, some people might consider that an addiction.”

“It's not much when you compare it to the amount of time you spend trying to be better than everyone. And unlike your hobby, mine is enjoyable for other people.” She pointed at the water. “Hey, look—seals.”

 

Fifteen

They ate dinner at the boat festival's food kiosks, then sat under the music tent and listened to several bands.

By the time they returned to Doreene's house, it was eight-thirty. Lupita met them at the door.

“All quiet on the western front?” Angus asked. “Doreene and Reynaldo still getting along?”

Lupita shut the door behind them. “Miss Doreene had me pack all your things for leaving tomorrow.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I'm sorry.”

“Quite all right,” Angus said. “We appreciate everything you've done for us.”

She nodded and headed in the direction of the kitchen.

“I feel like we should tip her,” Michael said quietly as he and Suki followed Angus up the stairs to their bedrooms. “Is that something you do?”

“Possibly,” Angus said. “I'll call Len and ask if that's all right with him.” Len Pendergast was the orthodontist who financed
Tripping.
“After all, we did save hotel expenses. We should check in with him anyway, to see if he wants us to stay on.”

They followed him to his room, and Suki shut the door. She and Michael took the two chairs, while Angus sat on the edge of the bed.

Angus put his cell phone on speaker and dialed.

Len answered on the second ring, his New Jersey accent prominent despite years of living in Colorado. “Angus! What's going on with the creepy painting? Has Doreene with an
E
thrown any orgies or murdered anyone?”

“Not that I know of,” Angus said, “but while we've been here, she's had cryptic messages in the soup, a plague of slugs in her bedroom, and we found out she's secretly married to her young Brazilian lover.”