Read Online Town In a Lobster Stew by B.B. Haywood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: B.B. Haywood
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pleasantly.
“Hello yerself, young lady,” said the gentleman, not completely unfriendly.
“I’m, um, Candy Holliday. With the Cape Crier ?” She said it almost as a question. “And, um, I wonder, is the museum director around? I have just a few quick questions for her.”
“Candy Holliday, are you?” said the old gentleman, obviously a volunteer who manned the desk. “Well, I’ve heard about you. You write that column, don’t you? That community column?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, I’ve read it,” he said gruffly. “Yup, I’ve read it. You’ll have to sign in.”
He pushed an open register book toward her. “Everyone signs the log book. It’s the rule around here. Don’t matter where you come from—you have to sign it.” He slapped a pen down on the counter.
Candy gave him an amused look as she picked up the pen, signed her name, and, beside that, wrote C. W. under the Hometown column heading. As she added the date at the end of the line, she noticed that other visitors who had signed in today had come from a diverse range of places, including towns in New York, Pennsylvania, Colorado, and even California.
“My name’s Mike, by the way,” the old gentleman continued. “Captain Mike, they call me around here. I know your dad. We’ve played poker a few times. I’ve lost some money to him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Hopefully you’ll win it back someday.”
Mike snorted. “Not likely. Doc’s a tough player. Merciless, just like that sea out there. He would have made a good lobsterman. I’ll tell Charlotte you’re here. She’s a busy woman, you know. Always in a hurry.”
“I’m sure she is. I promise I won’t keep her long.”
That seemed to appease Mike, and with a grunt he tottered off toward an office at the opposite side of the building.
As Candy waited, she wandered around for a quick look at the museum’s facilities and exhibits. Behind and to the left of the reception desk was a long, dark hallway that led to the base of the tower. Nearby, attached to the wall, a TV screen showed a video of the interior of the tower, including the spiral iron staircase and the view from the outside iron watch deck at the top. Hanging on the wall beside the TV was a sign that read VISITORS ARE NOT ALLOWED ENTRY TO THE LIGHTHOUSE TOWER. At the end of the hallway was a white wooden door, apparently the entrance to the tower, and apparently locked.
Candy moved to her right, toward an open doorway, which led to another room at the rear of the cottage, facing the sea. A sign beside the door told her the room re-created the living quarters of the lightkeeper and his family as they might have appeared in the late eighteen hundreds. Candy looked in.
The room was not richly decorated but looked comfortable, with hardwood floors, dark green wainscoting with painted beige walls above, and simple furniture. To one side was a kitchen table next to an old black stove. Dishes, glasses, pots, and pans sat on open shelves. On the right side of the room, a large fireplace was surrounded by several padded chairs, including a rocking chair. A rolltop desk brimming with books, maps, and papers sat in one corner. Victorian lights and decorating accents gave the room a charming appearance.
Adding an even more realistic ambience were the lifesize mannequins standing in for the lightkeeper and his family. Dressed in period costumes, the mannequins were arranged around the room as they might have appeared on a cozy afternoon in the Keeper’s Quarters. The lightkeeper, complete with beard and moustache, sat in the rocking chair, an open nautical book upside down over his knee and a pipe on a nearby table, while his wife sat across from him mending a garment and two children played a game on the rug in front of the fireplace.
“Hello, Candy,” said a voice behind her. She turned. A petite, dark-haired, somewhat disheveled woman wearing a frown and a purple print dress approached from across the
“Hello yerself, young lady,” said the gentleman, not completely unfriendly.
“I’m, um, Candy Holliday. With the Cape Crier ?” She said it almost as a question. “And, um, I wonder, is the museum director around? I have just a few quick questions for her.”
“Candy Holliday, are you?” said the old gentleman, obviously a volunteer who manned the desk. “Well, I’ve heard about you. You write that column, don’t you? That community column?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, I’ve read it,” he said gruffly. “Yup, I’ve read it. You’ll have to sign in.”
He pushed an open register book toward her. “Everyone signs the log book. It’s the rule around here. Don’t matter where you come from—you have to sign it.” He slapped a pen down on the counter.
Candy gave him an amused look as she picked up the pen, signed her name, and, beside that, wrote C. W. under the Hometown column heading. As she added the date at the end of the line, she noticed that other visitors who had signed in today had come from a diverse range of places, including towns in New York, Pennsylvania, Colorado, and even California.
“My name’s Mike, by the way,” the old gentleman continued. “Captain Mike, they call me around here. I know your dad. We’ve played poker a few times. I’ve lost some money to him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Hopefully you’ll win it back someday.”
Mike snorted. “Not likely. Doc’s a tough player. Merciless, just like that sea out there. He would have made a good lobsterman. I’ll tell Charlotte you’re here. She’s a busy woman, you know. Always in a hurry.”
“I’m sure she is. I promise I won’t keep her long.”
That seemed to appease Mike, and with a grunt he tottered off toward an office at the opposite side of the building.
As Candy waited, she wandered around for a quick look at the museum’s facilities and exhibits. Behind and to the left of the reception desk was a long, dark hallway that led to the base of the tower. Nearby, attached to the wall, a TV screen showed a video of the interior of the tower, including the spiral iron staircase and the view from the outside iron watch deck at the top. Hanging on the wall beside the TV was a sign that read VISITORS ARE NOT ALLOWED ENTRY TO THE LIGHTHOUSE TOWER. At the end of the hallway was a white wooden door, apparently the entrance to the tower, and apparently locked.
Candy moved to her right, toward an open doorway, which led to another room at the rear of the cottage, facing the sea. A sign beside the door told her the room re-created the living quarters of the lightkeeper and his family as they might have appeared in the late eighteen hundreds. Candy looked in.
The room was not richly decorated but looked comfortable, with hardwood floors, dark green wainscoting with painted beige walls above, and simple furniture. To one side was a kitchen table next to an old black stove. Dishes, glasses, pots, and pans sat on open shelves. On the right side of the room, a large fireplace was surrounded by several padded chairs, including a rocking chair. A rolltop desk brimming with books, maps, and papers sat in one corner. Victorian lights and decorating accents gave the room a charming appearance.
Adding an even more realistic ambience were the lifesize mannequins standing in for the lightkeeper and his family. Dressed in period costumes, the mannequins were arranged around the room as they might have appeared on a cozy afternoon in the Keeper’s Quarters. The lightkeeper, complete with beard and moustache, sat in the rocking chair, an open nautical book upside down over his knee and a pipe on a nearby table, while his wife sat across from him mending a garment and two children played a game on the rug in front of the fireplace.
“Hello, Candy,” said a voice behind her. She turned. A petite, dark-haired, somewhat disheveled woman wearing a frown and a purple print dress approached from across the
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