Read Online The Light Keeper's Legacy (A Chloe Ellefson Mystery) by Kathleen Ernst - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kathleen Ernst
Tags: Fiction, Mystery, Murder, soft-boiled, Wisconsin, ernst, chloe effelson, kathleen ernst, light keeper, light house, Rock Island
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looking for evidence of buildings.”
It was coming back now. Brenda would be making test pits every five meters or so, looking for evidence of human disturbance. “Found anything interesting?”
“Not yet.” Brenda pulled a pack of cigarettes and lighter from her pocket. She glanced at Chloe and sighed. “Don’t worry, I’m planning to quit.”
Chloe shrugged. “No business of mine.” Unless Brenda tossed her butt aside.
“Anyway, I’ve yet to secure funding for a proper dig.” Brenda lit up and took a deep drag. “A decade ago, archaeologists found evidence of native peoples occupying Rock going back centuries. Pottawatomie, Huron, Ottawa. But nothing’s been done on more recent inhabitants.”
“That’s too bad.” Chloe peered over the steep embankment. “If the fishing village was up here, how did people get down to the water?” The cobbled beach was forty, maybe fifty feet below.
“The slope was more gradual a century ago. Now, there are a couple of footpaths toward the south end.” Brenda waved one hand. “White fishermen started arriving in the 1830s. The first were just summer residents, but in 1848, a few families wintered over. In time there were maybe three hundred people living on Rock Island.”
Three hundred people, come and gone. “The village didn’t last too long though, right?” Chloe asked.
“A lot of men left during the Civil War. In the next decade even more families moved on to Washington or one of the other islands. The harbor here is very shallow. Little Mackinaw boats worked fine, but as boats got bigger, the fishermen needed a deeper harbor.”
Chloe considered the crescent-shaped shoreline below. The fishing village wouldn’t be a big part of the Pottawatomie Lighthouse story. Still, she needed to understand it. “Is there anything left of the village itself ?”
“A couple of stone foundations. A few unnatural depressions. Give me a handful of students and a month, and we’d know a lot more than we do today.”
“Funding for this kind of project must be hard to come by,” Chloe said sympathetically. She knew what it was like to grovel for dollars.
“And what little funding exists doesn’t go to excavating fishing villages.” Brenda’s tone turned bitter. “Not as sexy as shipwreck diving. And I know of two archaeologists who’ve gotten money to search for Viking ships and rune stones, for crying out loud.”
“Well, I hope the next grant application hits the jackpot.”
“Ironically, the fact that Rock is a state park works against me.” Brenda exhaled a plume of smoke over her shoulder. “I could drum up more interest if the site was about to be paved for a new strip mall.”
Even the mention of Rock Island being paved made Chloe’s stomach clench like a fist. “I’m sure there are stories of this place worth preserving in their own right.”
“Well, I think so,” Brenda agreed. “The community here was as complex as any other. You can’t study local history around here without reading about a lot of tragedies. People generally got along, helped each other out, but living in a small isolated community could also magnify problems. There was even a murder on Rock.”
“A murder on Rock?” Chloe repeated stupidly.
“It happened back in the 1850s. An islander named James McNeil somehow got his hands on some gold coins. He called them his ‘Spanish Ladies,’ or his ‘Yellow Boys.’” Brenda made air quotes with her fingers. “He talked about them whenever he got drunk. Somebody bashed him in the head.”
“Yikes.” Chloe made a face. “I assume the gold disappeared?”
“You got it. And from time to time I find new dig-holes on the island.”
“You mean people are still searching for the coins?” Chloe asked. “Didn’t whoever killed McNeil take the gold?”
Brenda gave a Who knows? shrug. “I suppose someone might conclude that McNeil got killed because he wouldn’t produce the coins when someone tried to rob him.
It was coming back now. Brenda would be making test pits every five meters or so, looking for evidence of human disturbance. “Found anything interesting?”
“Not yet.” Brenda pulled a pack of cigarettes and lighter from her pocket. She glanced at Chloe and sighed. “Don’t worry, I’m planning to quit.”
Chloe shrugged. “No business of mine.” Unless Brenda tossed her butt aside.
“Anyway, I’ve yet to secure funding for a proper dig.” Brenda lit up and took a deep drag. “A decade ago, archaeologists found evidence of native peoples occupying Rock going back centuries. Pottawatomie, Huron, Ottawa. But nothing’s been done on more recent inhabitants.”
“That’s too bad.” Chloe peered over the steep embankment. “If the fishing village was up here, how did people get down to the water?” The cobbled beach was forty, maybe fifty feet below.
“The slope was more gradual a century ago. Now, there are a couple of footpaths toward the south end.” Brenda waved one hand. “White fishermen started arriving in the 1830s. The first were just summer residents, but in 1848, a few families wintered over. In time there were maybe three hundred people living on Rock Island.”
Three hundred people, come and gone. “The village didn’t last too long though, right?” Chloe asked.
“A lot of men left during the Civil War. In the next decade even more families moved on to Washington or one of the other islands. The harbor here is very shallow. Little Mackinaw boats worked fine, but as boats got bigger, the fishermen needed a deeper harbor.”
Chloe considered the crescent-shaped shoreline below. The fishing village wouldn’t be a big part of the Pottawatomie Lighthouse story. Still, she needed to understand it. “Is there anything left of the village itself ?”
“A couple of stone foundations. A few unnatural depressions. Give me a handful of students and a month, and we’d know a lot more than we do today.”
“Funding for this kind of project must be hard to come by,” Chloe said sympathetically. She knew what it was like to grovel for dollars.
“And what little funding exists doesn’t go to excavating fishing villages.” Brenda’s tone turned bitter. “Not as sexy as shipwreck diving. And I know of two archaeologists who’ve gotten money to search for Viking ships and rune stones, for crying out loud.”
“Well, I hope the next grant application hits the jackpot.”
“Ironically, the fact that Rock is a state park works against me.” Brenda exhaled a plume of smoke over her shoulder. “I could drum up more interest if the site was about to be paved for a new strip mall.”
Even the mention of Rock Island being paved made Chloe’s stomach clench like a fist. “I’m sure there are stories of this place worth preserving in their own right.”
“Well, I think so,” Brenda agreed. “The community here was as complex as any other. You can’t study local history around here without reading about a lot of tragedies. People generally got along, helped each other out, but living in a small isolated community could also magnify problems. There was even a murder on Rock.”
“A murder on Rock?” Chloe repeated stupidly.
“It happened back in the 1850s. An islander named James McNeil somehow got his hands on some gold coins. He called them his ‘Spanish Ladies,’ or his ‘Yellow Boys.’” Brenda made air quotes with her fingers. “He talked about them whenever he got drunk. Somebody bashed him in the head.”
“Yikes.” Chloe made a face. “I assume the gold disappeared?”
“You got it. And from time to time I find new dig-holes on the island.”
“You mean people are still searching for the coins?” Chloe asked. “Didn’t whoever killed McNeil take the gold?”
Brenda gave a Who knows? shrug. “I suppose someone might conclude that McNeil got killed because he wouldn’t produce the coins when someone tried to rob him.
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