Page 56 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
Abel’s face darkened. He blinked repeatedly, and Rebecca thought she saw tears for a moment, and then they dissolved. “I’m not keeping Aaron from you. I’m keepingyoufrom Aaron. To keep you safe.” He took a step back and said, “Stay here. Edgar will watch over you. I’ve no doubt that if Mercer or Bear show their faces around here again, they’re dead men.”
Rebecca was stunned that Abel would refuse to tell her more, and stunned that he would leave her here, separated from her family. “Where are you going?” she demanded.
Abel hesitated before giving a reply. “I’m going to fetch my mother. You need her.”
It was a half-truth, Rebecca knew. Abel was going to fetch Niina, yes, but he was on a mission to do something else as well.
“Abel?” Rebecca stopped him, and he turned in the doorway to look at her. “Who am I?”
She knew that he knew.
“Get some rest, Rebecca,” Abel said, then disappeared into the hall.
22
SHEA
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, chilling and killing my Annabel Lee...
Annabel Lee
ANNABEL’S LIGHTHOUSE
PRESENT DAY
SHEA HAD DODGED PETEthe morning following their interlude with August Fronell while he was out combing the shore for fossils. He’d been reading a book about fossils in Lake Superior last night before she’d gone to bed, and he’d barely looked up when she said good-night. The day together had been a mixture of uninterpretable emotions. One moment she was irritated he was there, and the next moment Shea had little glimpses back into the early days of their marriage when they’d done things together, when they’d worked well together.
August Fronell was an example of that. Shea couldn’t helpbut be impressed at the way Pete had directed the conversation and won the elderly man’s friendship. That Fronell’s mind was sharp, was clear, and he hadn’t been manipulated by Pete, but genuinely won over. The only piece of the conversation that had bothered her was when they’d bidden Fronell a thank-you and goodbye, and Pete had promised to pay him a visit in the future for a game of chess.
Chess? The future?
Pete should be getting ready to go home now, despite his husbandly ambitions to protect her from ghosts and snooping tourists.
Shea bounced on the seat of Holt’s truck as it hit a pothole. Yes, Pete should go home. Although she noticed Holt was more standoffish today. Friendly, but not nearly in the warm way he had been when she’d first arrived at the lighthouse. Yet he’d been willing to pick her up this morning and take her to Ontonagon to get her car. The windshield was repaired, the message on her voicemail had stated this morning. It was a stroke of luck Holt was on the lighthouse grounds working on maintenance issues, and so Shea had left a note for Pete—so he knew where she was and wouldn’t interrupt her by trying to track her down—and garnered Holt’s assistance.
“I can drop you off at the glass repair shop first.” Holt kept his attention on the road ahead, bordered by wilderness. The trees whizzed by on either side, with Lake Superior being an occasional blue glimpse between thick trunks and forest growth.
“Thanks.” Shea smiled but suddenly felt awkward. Silence drifted between them, and then she ventured, “Do you know where I could even begin to look for Captain Gene?” He seemed to be the universal answer for who the best person was to talk to about the history of Annabel and the lighthouse.
Holt gave her a sideways glance. “Not a clue. Well, that’s not entirely true. They say he has a cabin somewhere in the Porcupine Mountains State Park.”
“You can live on state park land?” she asked.
Holt’s chuckle eased some of the tension. “Nope. You can’t. Which is why theysayCaptain Gene has a cabin there, but no one has ever found it.”
“Where else might he live?” Shea’s question followed the swift deduction that, aside from Ontonagon and Silvertown—with Silvertown being a pit stop on the way through to the Porkies—there wasn’t much else for options in the northern wilderness area.
“I personally believe he’s a drifter.” Holt checked his speedometer and let off the gas a bit. “I think he just roams and lives off the land, and no one really questions it. Even if he strays into state land, Captain Gene is just, well, a fixture of the area. Kind of like Pressie, you know? Rarely seen, debated existence, legendary intrigue and local fame.”
“So local enigma spots local lake monster and ... huh.” Shea cut off her line of reasoning.
“What?” Holt pressed.
“Well.” Shea thumbed the screen on her phone. No signal. “I’m just thinking, even if Captain Gene had a lot to tell me, how could any of it be substantiated?”
Holt’s chuckle helped Shea relax despite her skepticism about Captain Gene. “Shea, if you’re writing a historical record, then Captain Gene won’t be in the bibliography of reliable resources. But then neither would Edna, or August Fronell, or really any veteran of the area. This place is steeped in lore and legend. It was that way long before the Europeans set foot here. So if you’re wanting verifiable historical facts?” Holt clucked his tongue. “Good luck with that.”
“I’ve been deducing that very thing.” Shea opened the notes app on her phone and typed in a few key words:conspiracy,legend,theory. She’d need to contact Pat, her editor, and reassure herself that he’d be okay with the book taking a more legends-and-lore feel rather than a historical recounting like her others. “Why isCaptain Gene considered the authority on all things Annabel’s Lighthouse anyway? No one’s been able to clear that up for me.”
