Chapter 10
ten
The note waited in Lily’s locker when she arrived at school Thursday morning, someone having slipped it through the vents during the night like a snake finding its way into a garden. Plain white paper, computer-printed text, no signature:
Your research interests are noted. Some local history requires special permission to access. Perhaps a meeting would be beneficial.
Come alone.
Lily read it three times, her hands shaking against the paper.
Someone knew about her investigation. Someone had tracked her movements, her schedule, her routine with surgical precision.
The casual mention of “special permissions” sounded like code—a polite way of saying she’d crossed a line she hadn’t known existed.
She jammed the note between the pages of her history textbook. During algebra, her eyes kept drifting to the windows. In English, she studied every face in the hallway, cataloging expressions, searching for tells.
At lunch, she pulled Sarah aside and showed her the note.
Sarah’s face drained of color. “Jesus, Lily. This is—who would send this?”
“I don’t know. But they know about my research. They know where my locker is.”
“Or they know someone who does.” Sarah scanned the cafeteria like a rabbit checking for hawks. “This is terrifying. Really terrifying. Maybe you should just stop the project. Choose a different topic.”
“I can’t just stop. I’ve already committed to the lighthouse for my presentation.”
“So lie. Tell Mrs. Henderson you couldn’t find enough source material. Tell her the records were damaged beyond reading. Tell her anything except the truth.”
Lily stared at her best friend. “You really think I should quit?”
“I think you should stay safe. This note—it’s not a request, Lily. It’s a summons. Someone powerful enough to come into school, someone who knows your schedule, someone who talks about ‘special permissions’ like they control access to public records.”
“All the more reason to keep digging.”
Sarah grabbed her arm. “Listen to yourself. You’re talking as if this is some movie. Like you’re a detective hunting clues. But real people with real power don’t send polite notes requesting meetings. They call your parents, or they talk to the principal, or they contact the teacher directly.”
“Then why didn’t they?”
“Because they can’t. Because whatever they’re protecting isn’t legal or legitimate. Because they need to handle this off the books.” Sarah’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Lily, what if you’ve stumbled onto something actually dangerous? What if this isn’t just about lighthouse history?”
The question hung between them. Lily had been so focused on the historical mystery that she hadn’t considered present-day implications. But Sarah was right—legitimate authorities didn’t operate through unidentified messages and hidden assemblies.
“I have to go,” Lily said finally. “I have to find out what they want.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“The note says to come alone.”
“The note came from someone who breaks into high school lockers. I’m not letting you face that alone.”
Warmth spread through Lily’s chest, but cold certainty followed. If this were dangerous, she couldn’t risk Sarah’s safety. “What if they’re watching? What if they see you there?”
“Then they’ll know you have friends who care about you. Maybe that will make them think twice about whatever they’re planning.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur of nervous energy and mounting paranoia.
Lily studied faces in the hallways, cataloging expressions.
She noticed things she’d never paid attention to before—the way certain teachers avoided eye contact, the presence of unfamiliar cars in the school parking lot, the fact that the librarian seemed unusually interested in which books she checked out.
During her free period, she went to the library and researched who might have the authority to restrict access to historical records.
The Westerly Cove Historical Society was a private organization, who worked closely with the town government and the lighthouse commission.
Property records showed that the lighthouse itself belonged to the federal government but operated through a complex arrangement involving state and local authorities.
And then there were the Aldriches. Every thread of lighthouse history led back to them—the family that had provided keepers for generations, that still held property adjacent to the lighthouse, that had connections to local politics and business.
If anyone had the power to control access to lighthouse records, it would be them.
Mrs. Warren approached her table. “Finding everything you need, dear?”
“Actually, I was wondering about access to private family records. Like, if someone wanted to research the Aldrich family history, what would they need to do?”
The librarian’s expression shifted—a barely perceptible tightening around her eyes. “That would depend on what kind of records you’re looking for. Public documents are available through the town clerk’s office, but private family papers would require permission from the family directly.”
“Have other people asked about the Aldriches recently?”
“I couldn’t share that information even if I wanted to. Patron privacy is very important to us.” Mrs. Warren’s voice carried new formality. “Is there something specific you’re looking for? Perhaps I could suggest alternative sources.”
“No, that’s okay. Just curious.”
But as Lily gathered her books, she caught Mrs. Warren making a note on a slip of paper. The librarian was documenting her questions, creating a record of her research interests. How many other people were doing the same thing?
Walking home after school, the weight of being watched pressing down on her. Cars seemed to slow as they passed. People on the sidewalk held her gaze longer than normal. The familiar streets of her neighborhood had transformed into something foreign, threatening.
At home, she found her parents in the kitchen, their conversation stopping abruptly when she entered.
“How was school?” her mother asked, her brightness artificial.
“Fine. Dad, did you ever work with any of the Aldrich family when you did lighthouse maintenance?”
Robert and Martha exchanged a look that lasted a fraction too long. “Gerald Aldrich is the current lighthouse keeper,” Robert said carefully. “I work under his supervision now. His son Winston is the mayor—he handles the family’s political interests.”
“What kind of political interests?”
“Real estate development, mostly. Historical preservation projects. The family has a significant influence in maintaining the lighthouse’s operational status.” Another pause. “Why do you ask?”
“Just trying to understand the full picture for my project. The human element behind the history.”
“Lily,” her mother said gently, “your father and I have been talking about your research. We’re wondering if you might want to consider a different approach.”
“What different kind of approach?”
“Well, you’ve been focusing on the more dramatic aspects of lighthouse history.
The accidents, the mysteries, the unusual incidents.
But there’s so much positive history you could explore.
The lives saved, the families who found stability and purpose in the keeper’s role, the technological innovations. ”
“You want me to write a puff piece.”
“We want you to write something that showcases your research skills without . . .” Robert struggled for words. “Without potentially stirring up old grievances or family sensitivities.”
“What family sensitivities?”
“The Aldriches are prominent members of this community. They’ve contributed significantly to local development. If your project implied criticism of their family’s role in lighthouse history, it could be seen as unfair or biased.”
Lily stared at her parents. “Someone talked to you.”
“No one talked to us,” Martha said quickly. “We just think—”
“Someone from the Aldrich family called you. Or visited. Or had someone else contact you.” Her voice rose. “They’re trying to shut down my research, and they’re using you to do it.”
“Lily, calm down,” Robert said. “No one is trying to shut down anything. We’re just suggesting—”
“I got a note today. In my locker. Someone wants to meet with me about my ‘research interests.’ They know what I’ve been studying. They know my schedule. They know enough to get past school security.”
Her parents’ faces went pale. “What kind of note?” Martha asked.
Lily showed them the paper. Robert read it twice, his expression growing more troubled with each word.
“You’re not going to this meeting,” he said finally.
“I have to. I need to know what they want.”
“What they want is to intimidate you into dropping your research. And you should drop it.”
“Why?” Lily’s voice sharpened. “What are you afraid they’ll do?”
“Lily,” her mother said quietly, “there are things about this town’s history that are better left alone. Not because they’re dangerous, but because they involve people who are still alive, still have reputations to protect.”
“What things?”
“Old business relationships. Financial arrangements that weren’t entirely proper. Political connections that might have influenced decisions about lighthouse operations.” Robert’s voice carried new weight. “The kinds of things that could embarrass people if brought to light now.”
“You’re talking about corruption.”
“I’m talking about the way small towns functioned fifty years ago. Informal agreements, personal favors, the kind of networking that kept things running smoothly but wouldn’t look good in an academic paper.”
Lily watched the pieces click together. “You know something specific. About the Aldriches. About what really happened at the lighthouse.”
“I know enough to understand that some questions are better left unasked,” Robert replied. “And I know enough to want to protect my daughter from the consequences of asking them.”
“What consequences?”
“The kind that could affect your college applications, your father’s employment, our family’s standing in this community.” Martha’s voice carried a sadness that made Lily’s chest tighten. “We’ve built a good life here, sweetheart. A safe life. Some secrets aren’t worth risking that.”
That night, Lily sat in her room staring at the anonymous note.
Her parents’ warnings echoed in her mind, but so did Sarah’s words about people who operated “off the books.” If the Aldriches were simply concerned about family embarrassment, they would have contacted her parents directly or spoken to her teacher.
Anonymous notes and secret meetings suggested something much more serious.
She opened her laptop and began typing:
Research Log - October 22, 1999
Received an anonymous note requesting a meeting. Note writer has access to the school building and knowledge of my research. that “it’s better not to ask some questions” The pattern suggests the investigation has uncovered something significant.
Need to research: Who has the power to limit entry to historical records? What legal or political connections might the Aldrich family have? Have other researchers asked similar questions?
Decision: Attend meeting but bring backup. Document everything. Prepare for the possibility that the lighthouse project has revealed something more dangerous than historical curiosity.
As she wrote, Lily felt something shift inside her.
The curious student who had started this project was being replaced by someone more determined, more suspicious, more willing to take risks for truth.
The anonymous note writer had made a mistake—instead of frightening her away, they’d confirmed that her research was on the right track.
Tomorrow’s meeting would be a test. If they wanted to intimidate her, she’d show them that intimidation wouldn’t work. If they wanted to buy her silence, she’d make it clear that her principles weren’t for sale.
And if they wanted to threaten her, she’d make sure she was prepared to fight back.
The girl who had started researching lighthouse history was gone. In her place sat someone who understood that the most important discoveries often came with the highest costs—and who was beginning to think those costs might be worth paying.
Outside her window, the lighthouse beam swept across the harbor as it had for nearly 150 years. But tonight, instead of feeling like a protective guardian, it felt like a warning signal—a reminder that some truths were protected by more than just the passage of time.
The game had changed. The stakes had risen. And Lily Morrison was ready to play by new rules.