Read Online The Light Keeper's Legacy (A Chloe Ellefson Mystery) by Kathleen Ernst - Free Book Online Page B
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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People have crawled all over Rock looking for the Spanish Ladies.” Brenda stubbed her cigarette out on a rock and carefully tucked the butt into an empty plastic prescription medication container. The container went back into her daypack. “Twice Garrett’s caught a couple of pirates from out-of-state using a metal detector, which isn’t legal in the park. Let me tell you, they’ll be sorry if I ever catch them messing around with a metal detector.”
Chloe understood why an archaeologist would have no tolerance for treasure hunters. Still, she was starting to wish that she hadn’t found Brenda Noakes at the enchanted meadow. Brenda Noakes was an enchantment-buster.
Ready to change the subject, Chloe gestured to the gnarled apple trees. “Do those trees date back to the village?”
“Local tradition says they do,” Brenda said. “Although Chester Thordarson, the guy who bought most of Rock Island in 1910, did some major landscaping in this area.”
“Oh, too bad.” Chloe flushed. “I just mean—it would be nice if the village site had been left undisturbed.” She tipped her head, considering the peaceful meadow. “How did the locals feel about Thordarson?”
“I suppose feelings were mixed. He was a genius inventor who hired a lot of Washington Islanders—carpenters, masons, landscapers, cooks. He also drank a lot and brought some guests of dubious repute here. Some people grumbled about a wealthy businessman buying so much property and bringing in all his wealthy Chicago friends.”
“Some things never change.”
“All in all, the Thordarsons were good caretakers. They left most of the island undisturbed, thank God. I’ve got a pretty good sense of what changes in the landscape came from them.”
“That’s good to know,” Chloe said. “So, do you live on Washington Island?”
Brenda shook her head. “I grew up there, and often visit my dad at the old family farm, but I live in Escanaba now.” She jerked her head in the vague direction of Michigan. “I’ve got my own boat, so it’s not too hard to come across.”
Not hard, Chloe thought, but a bit of a trip. A beautiful one, though. “Say, I saw a lit-up boat in the Rock passage about midnight. Do you know—”
“ Dammit! ” Brenda’s hands clenched convulsively.
“Um … what’s the problem?” Chloe asked, wondering if she should back away. Very, very slowly.
Brenda gave a little shake, as if ridding herself of something repugnant. “What did the boat look like?”
“I don’t really know. I didn’t have binoculars. Definitely not a freighter, though.”
Silence.
“So, what might that be?” Chloe asked.
Brenda lifted her chin. “I have no idea.”
The lie was so flagrant that Chloe almost laughed. Something told her that might not be a good idea. “Well,” she said, “I’ll let you get back to work.”
Chloe left the archaeologist to her survey. That woman is wound a little too tight, she thought. Fortunately, treasure-hunters and poorly appropriated grants were not her problem.
Learning all she could about the relationship between the village and the lighthouse, however, was her problem. And Chloe felt inexplicably disappointed to discover that—aside from a few foundation stones—there was nothing tangible left from the fisherfolk of Rock Island.
Thirteen: July, 1874
The fisherfolk of Rock Island celebrated summer with an annual picnic, and Ragna rose before first light that day. While her young son, Paul, played on the floor, she made aebleskivers in the special pan she’d brought from Denmark, and an apple cake too.
By mid-afternoon the plank table set on the beach groaned with stuffed sturgeon, steaming biscuits drenched in maple syrup, potatoes, and beans. Norwegian women brought krumkakke filled with fresh-whipped cream. The Irish women brought scones and barm brack , a German fishwife came with sugared doughnuts, and Yankee women brought snickerdoodles and gingerbread.
“Such a feast!”
Chloe understood why an archaeologist would have no tolerance for treasure hunters. Still, she was starting to wish that she hadn’t found Brenda Noakes at the enchanted meadow. Brenda Noakes was an enchantment-buster.
Ready to change the subject, Chloe gestured to the gnarled apple trees. “Do those trees date back to the village?”
“Local tradition says they do,” Brenda said. “Although Chester Thordarson, the guy who bought most of Rock Island in 1910, did some major landscaping in this area.”
“Oh, too bad.” Chloe flushed. “I just mean—it would be nice if the village site had been left undisturbed.” She tipped her head, considering the peaceful meadow. “How did the locals feel about Thordarson?”
“I suppose feelings were mixed. He was a genius inventor who hired a lot of Washington Islanders—carpenters, masons, landscapers, cooks. He also drank a lot and brought some guests of dubious repute here. Some people grumbled about a wealthy businessman buying so much property and bringing in all his wealthy Chicago friends.”
“Some things never change.”
“All in all, the Thordarsons were good caretakers. They left most of the island undisturbed, thank God. I’ve got a pretty good sense of what changes in the landscape came from them.”
“That’s good to know,” Chloe said. “So, do you live on Washington Island?”
Brenda shook her head. “I grew up there, and often visit my dad at the old family farm, but I live in Escanaba now.” She jerked her head in the vague direction of Michigan. “I’ve got my own boat, so it’s not too hard to come across.”
Not hard, Chloe thought, but a bit of a trip. A beautiful one, though. “Say, I saw a lit-up boat in the Rock passage about midnight. Do you know—”
“ Dammit! ” Brenda’s hands clenched convulsively.
“Um … what’s the problem?” Chloe asked, wondering if she should back away. Very, very slowly.
Brenda gave a little shake, as if ridding herself of something repugnant. “What did the boat look like?”
“I don’t really know. I didn’t have binoculars. Definitely not a freighter, though.”
Silence.
“So, what might that be?” Chloe asked.
Brenda lifted her chin. “I have no idea.”
The lie was so flagrant that Chloe almost laughed. Something told her that might not be a good idea. “Well,” she said, “I’ll let you get back to work.”
Chloe left the archaeologist to her survey. That woman is wound a little too tight, she thought. Fortunately, treasure-hunters and poorly appropriated grants were not her problem.
Learning all she could about the relationship between the village and the lighthouse, however, was her problem. And Chloe felt inexplicably disappointed to discover that—aside from a few foundation stones—there was nothing tangible left from the fisherfolk of Rock Island.
Thirteen: July, 1874
The fisherfolk of Rock Island celebrated summer with an annual picnic, and Ragna rose before first light that day. While her young son, Paul, played on the floor, she made aebleskivers in the special pan she’d brought from Denmark, and an apple cake too.
By mid-afternoon the plank table set on the beach groaned with stuffed sturgeon, steaming biscuits drenched in maple syrup, potatoes, and beans. Norwegian women brought krumkakke filled with fresh-whipped cream. The Irish women brought scones and barm brack , a German fishwife came with sugared doughnuts, and Yankee women brought snickerdoodles and gingerbread.
“Such a feast!”
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