Chapter 6
six
The darkroom at the school reeked of chemicals and potential.
Lily hung the negatives on the drying line, squinting at them through the red light filter.
Six rolls of film from yesterday’s lighthouse session represented hours of careful photography, but the images she craved lay buried somewhere in the middle of roll three.
Developer, stop bath, fixer—the familiar rhythm steadied her racing pulse as she waited to see what her camera had captured during those strange moments when she’d glimpsed someone in period clothing.
She made contact sheets first, arranging the tiny positive images in neat rows across the paper. The lighthouse photos were sharp and detailed, showing the architectural inconsistencies she’d noticed in person. But when she found the frames where she’d aimed her telephoto lens at the rocks below.
Empty. Both shots showed nothing but weathered granite and seaweed.
“Damn.” She glanced around the darkroom, then leaned closer to study the contact sheet.
She enlarged the two frames to 8x10 size, examining them under the magnifying glass. The detail was perfect—sharp focus, proper exposure, no camera shake. If someone had been standing among those rocks in a white dress, the film would have captured them.
The photographs revealed only bare stone and morning shadows.
Lily stared at the prints, her throat constricting. She’d been certain of what she’d seen. The woman had been there, clear and detailed through the lens. Her clothing, her posture, her patient watching pose—none of it had felt imagined.
Yet the camera recorded nothing.
She moved on to the architectural shots, enlarging the foundation images and laying them out in sequence. These might actually matter for her research. Different stonework patterns, subtle variations in mortar composition, sections that belonged to different time periods entirely.
One image made her pause. In the enlargement, she could see something she’d missed in person—a section of foundation where granite blocks didn’t quite align with limestone beneath. The mortar lines created a subtle but unmistakable boundary between old and new construction.
“Interesting.” She made a note to investigate that area more thoroughly.
The next frame revealed the lighthouse entrance from a different angle, and again she noticed something that hadn't been obvious through the viewfinder.
The bronze plaque marking construction dates sat oddly, as if someone had moved it from its original location.
The surrounding stonework bore faint marks that suggested different mounting points had been used over the years. .
She worked methodically through the remaining images, making notes about each one.
The photography uncovered details that casual observation had missed—inconsistencies in masonry, tool marks that suggested different construction techniques, even variations in stone that hinted at different quarries or time periods.
By the time she finished developing and printing, Lily had accumulated a stack of photographs that told a story completely different from official lighthouse history.
This wasn’t a structure built in 1851 and maintained continuously.
This building had been modified, rebuilt, and altered multiple times over decades.
But why?
The morning bell rang, cutting through her concentration.
Lily gathered her prints and negatives, her mind already shifting to the next phase of investigation.
She had forty minutes during her lunch period to reach the library and start cross-referencing these architectural inconsistencies with historical records.
Sarah would be waiting with her colored pens and timeline charts, ready to help make sense of whatever patterns emerged from the photographs.
“So what exactly are you looking for?” Sarah asked later than morning as she spread the photographs across the library table in neat rows. Her notebook lay open, colored pens arranged by hue for the visual timeline she’d started creating.
“Patterns.” Lily pulled out her own notes. “Look at these foundation shots. See how the stonework changes here?” She pointed to one enlargement. “Construction techniques are completely different between these two sections.”
Sarah leaned closer, studying the images through her wire-rimmed glasses. “Could be repairs. Old buildings get patched up over time.”
“That’s what I thought initially. But examine the scale.” Lily arranged several photos in sequence. “This isn’t patching—this is rebuilding entire sections. And the newer work is substantial enough to require foundation modifications.”
“When do you think the changes happened?”
“That’s what I need to figure out. The newer stonework uses different tools and different techniques. Sometime during the 1920s or 1930s, based on building methods.”
Sarah started sketching a timeline across the top of her page, marking the lighthouse’s official construction date and adding question marks for modification periods.
“What about these marks here?” She pointed to faint lines visible in one photograph.
“They appear deliberate. Someone chiseled away part of the original stone.”
Lily hadn’t noticed that detail before. She pulled out her magnifying glass, studying the image more carefully. “You’re right. Tool marks suggest deliberate removal of material. But why would someone chip away at parts of the foundation?”
“Maybe to make room for something else. Pipes, electrical conduits, structural supports.”
“Or to hide something,” Lily added quietly.
Sarah drew increasingly detailed charts while Lily cross-referenced her photographs with historical materials she’d already collected. The microfilm archives had yielded some information about lighthouse maintenance over the years, but the records frustrated them with their incompleteness.
“Hey, look at this,” Sarah said, pointing to a section of her timeline. “Newspaper archives show a major renovation project in 1923. The town council approved funding for ‘structural improvements and modernization of lighthouse facilities.’”
“That matches the stonework timeline.” Lily pulled out photographs that demonstrated the clearest evidence of reconstruction. “But the newspaper article doesn’t specify what kind of improvements they made.”
“Construction records might exist. Building permits, contractor invoices, that sort of thing.”
“Where would they keep those?”
“Town hall, probably. My mom works there—she might help us access old files.”
Lily’s pulse quickened. Official construction records would provide technical details the newspaper coverage lacked. If major modifications had been made to the lighthouse in the 1920s, the documentation should explain why.
“That would be amazing. But we should be careful about how we ask. People get uncomfortable when I bring up questions about the lighthouse’s history.”
Sarah looked up from her notes. “What do you mean?”
“Harold, the parks and rec guy, got weird when I asked about foundation work. And Mrs. Pennington at the historical society practically shut down when I mentioned wanting to research unusual incidents from the 1920s.”
“Maybe they’re just protective of local history. Small towns can be sensitive about their past.”
“Perhaps.” Lily studied the guarded responses she’d met—active concealment rather than protective discretion. “But I think they’re hiding something specific.”
Sarah capped her pen and leaned back in her chair. “Such as?”
“I don’t know yet. But architectural inconsistencies, incomplete records, and the way people react when I ask questions . . .” She gestured at photographs spread across the table. “Someone’s not telling the whole story.”
“And you want to figure out what it is.”
“I need to determine what it is. This isn’t just curiosity anymore. Something important is hidden in that lighthouse’s history.”
Afternoon sun slanted through the library windows as they packed up their materials. Lily’s manila folders were thick with photographs and documentation now, but each answer generated three new questions.
“Come on,” Sarah said, checking her watch. “If we hurry, we can grab something from the cafeteria before fifth period.”
But Lily was already thinking ahead to dinner, to the conversation she needed to have with her parents. The architectural evidence was solid, but her mother and father might know details that weren’t preserved in any official record.
The Morgan family dinner table had become Lily’s unofficial research headquarters. Her photographs were organized in manila folders, her notes were typed up and bound in a three-ring binder, and her growing collection of historical documents was arranged in chronological order.
“So what have you learned?” Martha asked, passing the meatloaf. Her tone was encouraging, but Lily caught a slight tension in her mother’s voice.
“The lighthouse has been modified extensively since its original construction.” Lily pulled out several of her best photographs. “These images demonstrate clear evidence of reconstruction work, probably in the 1920s.”
Robert examined the photographs with his methodical attention.
His maintenance background meant he understood construction techniques better than most. “The stonework is definitely different,” he acknowledged.
“But that’s not unusual for a building that old.
They probably needed to reinforce the foundation against storm damage. ”
“Examine the scale of modifications,” Lily insisted, arranging photos to demonstrate the full extent of changes. “This wasn’t routine maintenance. They rebuilt entire sections of the structure.”
“Major renovations require major funding,” Martha observed. “Did you find records of who paid for all this work?”
“Sarah thinks her mom could help us get old building permits at town hall.”
Robert’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Building permits from the 1920s?”