Read Online Town In a Lobster Stew by B.B. Haywood - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: B.B. Haywood
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investigation low-key. But at the same time she told herself that, no matter what happened, she wouldn’t let herself be scared off.
She had told Wilma Mae she would look into the situation. And she was determined to do just that.
So she backed out of her parking spot and headed down Ocean Avenue, past the opera house, which doubled as Town Hall, past the cemetery and Town Park, to the red light at the bottom of the street, where she flicked on her left turn signal.
Just ahead, past a wide expanse of black rocks, low shrubbery, and a narrow, pebble-strewn beach, lay the ocean, bright blue and moderately choppy today. She had rolled down the driver’s-side window and could almost feel the ocean’s spray on the wind. A seagull rose lazily on an updraft. Candy watched it until the light turned green, then steered the Jeep onto the Coastal Loop headed north.
It didn’t take her long to reach her destination. Just a short distance up the road she turned off into a parking lot on her right, which gave her access to the Waterfront Walk and the pathway leading to the English Point Lighthouse and Museum. She pulled out her purse, locked the door, and turned her face into the wind.
A few minutes’ walk took her through the low shrubbery and down a slope toward the rugged shore, where the lighthouse rose majestically, a round, white tower gleaming in the early afternoon sun. Around it huddled several buildings, including the Keeper’s Quarters and a maintenance shed off to one side.
As many times as she had visited the lighthouse, she still never ceased to marvel at its stateliness and beauty. It stretched nearly ninety feet into the air, with its iron balcony, or watch deck, at the top accessed by a spiraling cast-iron staircase located inside the tower.
The Keeper’s Quarters nestled at the foot of the tower, a two-story Victorian-style home that had housed the lightkeeper and his family until the early 1980s, when the light’s operation was modernized. In the mid-1980s, the town took control of both the lighthouse and the buildings surrounding it, turning the Keeper’s Quarters into a visitor’s center and museum. In the late 1990s, the building became the official home of the Cape Willington Historical Society.
Candy approached the lighthouse with her purse on her shoulder and her hands tucked deep into her pockets. She tilted her head way back and stopped for a few moments to admire it, watching the high clouds scud past its highest point, which made the tower look as if it were dipping to one side. Finally she moved on, turning toward the Keeper’s Quarters. She paused to read one of the descriptive plaques posted outside before climbing the gray-painted wooden steps and entering the museum.
Inside, she paused briefly to give her eyes time to adjust to the softer light. She had been in there a couple of times before, to peruse the exhibits, models, and memorabilia. Most impressive were the scaled-down models of the lighthouse station, including one depicting all the buildings and the surrounding landscape that occupied a large table at the center of the main room.
Candy always felt as if she were stepping back in time when she entered the Keeper’s Quarters. The place had the smell of an old home, and the bare, worn wooden floor looked much as it must have in the mid eighteen hundreds. The building’s windows were small, yet from here they provided breathtaking views of the sea just outside. Candy could hear the rush and tumble of the ocean just beyond the walls, mingling with the hushed voices of visitors as they toured the exhibits, which were located on both floors of the building.
To her left was a table with pamphlets and brochures on it, and just beyond that a long wooden counter, behind which sat a grizzled old gentleman with a scruffy white beard, wearing a patched cardigan sweater and a battered captain’s cap. He gave her a suspicious eye as she walked up to the counter.
“Hello,” she said
She had told Wilma Mae she would look into the situation. And she was determined to do just that.
So she backed out of her parking spot and headed down Ocean Avenue, past the opera house, which doubled as Town Hall, past the cemetery and Town Park, to the red light at the bottom of the street, where she flicked on her left turn signal.
Just ahead, past a wide expanse of black rocks, low shrubbery, and a narrow, pebble-strewn beach, lay the ocean, bright blue and moderately choppy today. She had rolled down the driver’s-side window and could almost feel the ocean’s spray on the wind. A seagull rose lazily on an updraft. Candy watched it until the light turned green, then steered the Jeep onto the Coastal Loop headed north.
It didn’t take her long to reach her destination. Just a short distance up the road she turned off into a parking lot on her right, which gave her access to the Waterfront Walk and the pathway leading to the English Point Lighthouse and Museum. She pulled out her purse, locked the door, and turned her face into the wind.
A few minutes’ walk took her through the low shrubbery and down a slope toward the rugged shore, where the lighthouse rose majestically, a round, white tower gleaming in the early afternoon sun. Around it huddled several buildings, including the Keeper’s Quarters and a maintenance shed off to one side.
As many times as she had visited the lighthouse, she still never ceased to marvel at its stateliness and beauty. It stretched nearly ninety feet into the air, with its iron balcony, or watch deck, at the top accessed by a spiraling cast-iron staircase located inside the tower.
The Keeper’s Quarters nestled at the foot of the tower, a two-story Victorian-style home that had housed the lightkeeper and his family until the early 1980s, when the light’s operation was modernized. In the mid-1980s, the town took control of both the lighthouse and the buildings surrounding it, turning the Keeper’s Quarters into a visitor’s center and museum. In the late 1990s, the building became the official home of the Cape Willington Historical Society.
Candy approached the lighthouse with her purse on her shoulder and her hands tucked deep into her pockets. She tilted her head way back and stopped for a few moments to admire it, watching the high clouds scud past its highest point, which made the tower look as if it were dipping to one side. Finally she moved on, turning toward the Keeper’s Quarters. She paused to read one of the descriptive plaques posted outside before climbing the gray-painted wooden steps and entering the museum.
Inside, she paused briefly to give her eyes time to adjust to the softer light. She had been in there a couple of times before, to peruse the exhibits, models, and memorabilia. Most impressive were the scaled-down models of the lighthouse station, including one depicting all the buildings and the surrounding landscape that occupied a large table at the center of the main room.
Candy always felt as if she were stepping back in time when she entered the Keeper’s Quarters. The place had the smell of an old home, and the bare, worn wooden floor looked much as it must have in the mid eighteen hundreds. The building’s windows were small, yet from here they provided breathtaking views of the sea just outside. Candy could hear the rush and tumble of the ocean just beyond the walls, mingling with the hushed voices of visitors as they toured the exhibits, which were located on both floors of the building.
To her left was a table with pamphlets and brochures on it, and just beyond that a long wooden counter, behind which sat a grizzled old gentleman with a scruffy white beard, wearing a patched cardigan sweater and a battered captain’s cap. He gave her a suspicious eye as she walked up to the counter.
“Hello,” she said
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