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Authors: Karen MacInerney
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doorstep. His shoulders straightened slightly, and he smiled.
“I told you she was trouble,” Charlene murmured.
When Dirk didn’t show up by 9:10, Vanessa started up the hill at a light jog, with the rest of us puffing behind her like ducklings. Although she was interminably perky, her smile was a bit dimmer than usual, and I noticed her shooting frequent glances back toward the inn.
Despite the cool breeze off the water behind us—and despite the fact that Vanessa, once resigned to her trainer’s absence, stepped right back into motivational mode and kept exhorting us to “pick up the pace” and “really work those glutes,” it was a beautiful morning to be out attempting to jog. (By the time we got halfway up the hill, most of us were purple, so Vanessa bowed to the inevitable and slowed to a brisk walk.) The pine trees filled the air with their fresh scent, which I got ample lungfuls of, since I was gasping for breath. As we crested the hill, another robin swooped over the road in front of us.
“First robin I’ve seen since the fall,” Charlene said. “Spring really must be here to stay.”
“It’s about time,” I said. As exciting as winter had been for me, with the novelties of snow and icicles, I was glad to kiss it goodbye. We started down the other side of the hill a few minutes later, panting, and got our first view of the lighthouse in the distance. A shiver ran down my back as I remembered the light I’d seen the night before.
“Did they already get the new lamp installed?” I asked, pointing at the lighthouse.
“Not that I know of,” she said.
“We saw it last night,” I said, finally catching my breath. “At dinnertime: it flashed about a half a dozen times.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with the legend?” I asked.
“Oh, the omen thing? It hasn’t happened while I’ve been here, and lord knows we’ve seen more than our share of tragedies.” She fell silent for a moment, and I knew she was thinking of Richard McLaughlin, the rector she had dated briefly—and who had been murdered just last fall.
“By the way,” I said, hoping to get her mind off those not-so-distant memories, “any word on the skeleton?”
She sucked in her breath. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“No. You were too busy mooning about Dirk.”
“I wasn’t mooning,” she said, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I was admiring. Or bemoaning his absence.”
“Whatever,” I said. “What did they find out?”
“The results came back yesterday—or at least that’s what Matilda said.” Matilda Jenkins was the island’s historian, and had spearheaded the conservation effort. “Apparently the skeleton belonged to a man, and they think he’s been there for about a hundred and fifty years,” Charlene continued. “They said they could estimate the time period from the buckles on his shoes.”
“No wonder the population’s so small on this island,” I joked. “The murder rate appears to be well above average.”
“Actually, they do think he was murdered,” Charlene said.
“Why?”
“I’m not sure yet—Matilda didn’t tell me the details. I’m not sure she knows yet.”
A shiver passed through me when I thought of the bones that had lain hidden in secret for all those years. “Do they think it was the lighthouse keeper?”
She shrugged. “The timing’s right, so it’s a good guess, but there’s no way to know. It may just be another unsolved mystery. On the other hand, it should help the tourist trade; nothing like a good ghost story to draw visitors.” Vanessa’s throaty laugh reached us—she was shoulder-to-shoulder with my neighbor—and Charlene nudged me. “We’d better get up there,” she said.
Personally, I wasn’t sure my presence was going to make any difference; for starters, in my bulky, shapeless jacket, the whole comparison thing wasn’t exactly in my favor, and I didn’t think my turning up was
“I told you she was trouble,” Charlene murmured.
When Dirk didn’t show up by 9:10, Vanessa started up the hill at a light jog, with the rest of us puffing behind her like ducklings. Although she was interminably perky, her smile was a bit dimmer than usual, and I noticed her shooting frequent glances back toward the inn.
Despite the cool breeze off the water behind us—and despite the fact that Vanessa, once resigned to her trainer’s absence, stepped right back into motivational mode and kept exhorting us to “pick up the pace” and “really work those glutes,” it was a beautiful morning to be out attempting to jog. (By the time we got halfway up the hill, most of us were purple, so Vanessa bowed to the inevitable and slowed to a brisk walk.) The pine trees filled the air with their fresh scent, which I got ample lungfuls of, since I was gasping for breath. As we crested the hill, another robin swooped over the road in front of us.
“First robin I’ve seen since the fall,” Charlene said. “Spring really must be here to stay.”
“It’s about time,” I said. As exciting as winter had been for me, with the novelties of snow and icicles, I was glad to kiss it goodbye. We started down the other side of the hill a few minutes later, panting, and got our first view of the lighthouse in the distance. A shiver ran down my back as I remembered the light I’d seen the night before.
“Did they already get the new lamp installed?” I asked, pointing at the lighthouse.
“Not that I know of,” she said.
“We saw it last night,” I said, finally catching my breath. “At dinnertime: it flashed about a half a dozen times.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with the legend?” I asked.
“Oh, the omen thing? It hasn’t happened while I’ve been here, and lord knows we’ve seen more than our share of tragedies.” She fell silent for a moment, and I knew she was thinking of Richard McLaughlin, the rector she had dated briefly—and who had been murdered just last fall.
“By the way,” I said, hoping to get her mind off those not-so-distant memories, “any word on the skeleton?”
She sucked in her breath. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“No. You were too busy mooning about Dirk.”
“I wasn’t mooning,” she said, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I was admiring. Or bemoaning his absence.”
“Whatever,” I said. “What did they find out?”
“The results came back yesterday—or at least that’s what Matilda said.” Matilda Jenkins was the island’s historian, and had spearheaded the conservation effort. “Apparently the skeleton belonged to a man, and they think he’s been there for about a hundred and fifty years,” Charlene continued. “They said they could estimate the time period from the buckles on his shoes.”
“No wonder the population’s so small on this island,” I joked. “The murder rate appears to be well above average.”
“Actually, they do think he was murdered,” Charlene said.
“Why?”
“I’m not sure yet—Matilda didn’t tell me the details. I’m not sure she knows yet.”
A shiver passed through me when I thought of the bones that had lain hidden in secret for all those years. “Do they think it was the lighthouse keeper?”
She shrugged. “The timing’s right, so it’s a good guess, but there’s no way to know. It may just be another unsolved mystery. On the other hand, it should help the tourist trade; nothing like a good ghost story to draw visitors.” Vanessa’s throaty laugh reached us—she was shoulder-to-shoulder with my neighbor—and Charlene nudged me. “We’d better get up there,” she said.
Personally, I wasn’t sure my presence was going to make any difference; for starters, in my bulky, shapeless jacket, the whole comparison thing wasn’t exactly in my favor, and I didn’t think my turning up was
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