Page 19 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
“Sure. Man, that stinks. I’ll be right over.”
He hadn’t said anything much different from Pete, yet something in Shea had jump-started, even if her car hadn’t. She appreciated how Holt empathized with her frustration. It touched her soul. It was nice to have someone who cared about her.
Finally, the battery jump-started successfully, and Shea made it to Ontonagon without further incident. She was just in time for midmorning coffee at the diner, so she slipped inside andordered a basic cup that was fast-served to her in the cream-colored coffee mug most diners had. The waitress smiled down at her.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“I was wondering.” Shea took the invitation, although she was sure it wasn’t what the waitress expected. “Do you have any idea how I would go about finding Captain Gene?”
“The captain?” The waitress’s crow’s feet beside her eyes deepened as a knowing grin stretched across her face and touched the graying hair at her temples. “You and everyone’s mother’s brother want to find Captain Gene. He comes out of hiding when he feels the mind to, not before.”
“Someone must know where he lives,” Shea said.
The waitress propped her hand on her hip. “You’d think, but no one does. Man doesn’t even have an address. Not even a P.O. box. He’s like a hibernating bear that pokes his nose out when he wakes up in the spring.”
“So he comes out in spring? Like about this time of year?” Shea straightened in her booth.
The waitress, whose name tag readMarnie, gave an offhanded shrug. “I was speaking metaphorically. I don’t know when he’ll pop up. He just does. Gets a can of Folgers from the market, matches, toilet paper, and peanut butter. The man is predictable when it comes to his shopping list. But that’s about as predictable as he gets. Why do you want to talk to him? Are you a reporter or something?”
Shea took a sip of the black coffee, which was burnt and desperately needed help. She shook her head. “No. I’m a writer. I’m researching for a book surrounding the lighthouse.”
Marnie threw her head back in understanding. “Oh, gotcha! Annabel’s Lighthouse? That makes sense. You should talk to my mother, Edna Carraway. She could at least get you started.”
“Edna is your mother?” Shea perked up.
“You bet she is. I live with her. We’re just about three blocksover. The little yellow ranch house with the rusty metal bike out front. Can’t miss it. Head on over and give the door a knock. Tell her Marnie sent you, and my mother will prattle your ear off with so much info you’ll probably want to run away.”
“Oh, you’re a gem!” Shea took another sip of the coffee to be polite, then pushed it away. “I’ll head over there now if you think your mom won’t mind?”
“Not at all!” Marnie waved her hand as if to brush away any inconvenience. “Small town, and we love company.”
Shea handed Marnie a five-dollar bill for the coffee and tip and then exited the diner. Meeting Edna Carraway’s daughter—who had to be in her mid-fifties—meant she had an instant in with Edna. Always a plus when it came to building rapport.
Within a few minutes and after a short drive, Shea stood in front of the Carraway house. Sure enough, the rusted bike was in the front, a basket hanging from its handlebars and a few small sprigs of marigolds freshly planted. She walked up the slanted and cracked sidewalk to the front porch, which was also cement and certainly not fancy. She rang the doorbell and waited until the door opened and the most adorable elderly lady peered out at her from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Her lenses were so thick they made her eyes twice their actual size. Her hair was white and permed into a short, curled cap on her head. Her skin was wrinkled and soft, her hands dotted with age, and her height came to the bottom of Shea’s chin.
“Yes?” Edna’s voice quivered with age.
Shea took a moment to introduce herself, quick to add that Marnie had sent her, and she was hoping Edna had some time to spare.
Edna’s door widened, and her eyes brightened. “Come in! Come in!”
Shea stepped inside and gave the front room a quick once-over. Rose wallpaper consistent with the nineties adorned the walls. The furniture was nothing special: a La-Z-Boy recliner,a brown couch, a purple crocheted afghan folded and hanging over the arm of a rocking chair, and a tube TV that still boasted dials for changing channels. A large painting of a dog hung over the couch—a spaniel with long ears and brown eyes that looked happy.
“That’s Ralph.” Edna pointed. “Marnie painted him about ten years ago right before he passed. Such a good dog, and once Ralph crossed the rainbow bridge, I just didn’t have the heart for another one.” Edna wobbled across the living room in such a tenuous fashion that Shea found herself reaching out in case the woman fell.
“Let’s head to the dining room and sit down,” Edna directed. Soon Shea found herself at a wooden table, sitting in a wooden chair, with a plate of store-bought cookies in front of her and a glass of milk. “I don’t drink anything with caffeine,” Edna explained as she eased herself onto a chair opposite Shea. “Doctor says it’s bad for my heart.”
“I understand.” Shea smiled.
“Tell me more about your book!” Edna folded her hands in front of her, and her buggy, faded blue eyes stared intently at Shea. “And speak up ’cause my hearing isn’t the best, and those silly ear things that are supposed to help me hear just fall out, so I don’t wear them.”
Hearing aids. Shea was absolutely in love with Edna already. The woman was pure joy in a petite bundle, and her forthright conversation eased Shea’s frayed nerves. She took a few minutes to describe her career to Edna, ending with how she was staying in Annabel’s Lighthouse and researching lore from the locals.
Edna’s eyes sparkled. “I can never talk about this area too much. So much history here, and so many tales. The lake is alive with them, you know. It breathes the ghosts of the dead.”
Shea pulled out her phone. “Do you mind if I record this?”
Edna glanced at the phone and lifted her hand in welcome. “Go right ahead. No reason for me to take everything I know tothe grave with me. I highly doubt the worms and beetles will be interested.”
