Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
I n the chilly, pre-dawn air, Ashley tucked her hands into the cuffs of her sweatshirt, seeking warmth for her icy fingers, and continued around the perimeter of the Inn. She was up early with a purpose, find Mr. Willie and return his keys. Her simple mission encountered one set back after another.
The front desk clerk spotted Mr. Willie headed to the back lawn ten minutes earlier. By the time she cut through the building, she found only a couple of employees arranging the chairs on the patio. They pointed her toward the front entrance. Once again, she arrived too late. The valet saw Mr. Willie on his way to the coach house. She tired of chasing him but refused defeat.
She turned toward the cemetery, thinking one step ahead. Hopefully. Or perhaps she needed more physical exertion and the calm that hung in the air at a higher elevation. She’d been suffering from an excess of feelings for the past week, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Yesterday, she had started to think of herself as capable. She had answers and a clear head when Steve Prim appeared. She could offer something of value and another perspective to the Inn. When her husband had been flabbergasted, she had found her strength. It was too bad her ego had burst like one of the balloons she’d overinflated at the movie matinee only minutes later. Balloon animals required skills she hadn’t mastered.
At the children’s request, and after a few tears from popped animals, she had shifted to snack duty. She couldn’t stop thinking about the Prims, her husband, the Inn, and her father. Her distraction led to burned popcorn in the kettle. The smell had dissipated somewhat but hung like a phantom in the lobby as she exited.
With a shake, she focused on the slippery grass as she climbed the last bit of the hill. Huffing and puffing, she hadn’t managed to shift from her issues to the pain in her aching muscles. She found a spot and sank onto the damp ground, drawing her knees to her chest and slipping her legs into the oversized sweatshirt for warmth.
“Dad? You out there?” she whispered. She hadn’t said that name out loud in a long time. It scratched her throat. “What did you want to happen? Why weren’t you more explicit with your will? It’s not like you.”
A weight slipped off her shoulders. The tickle in her nose disappeared. “You know what bugs me the most? We left so much unspoken. Neither of us wanted to share what we were actually going through. I don’t want that anymore. I want everyone to know everything I’m feeling and thinking. I want to be understood.”
Or maybe just one person. She gazed toward the Inn, willing him to appear. He didn’t. Christopher was busy somewhere with something more important than her whims.
“It would be so easy for Christopher and I to slip back into our old patterns. We can’t. He’s different. So am I, although I’m not sure how much of my transformation has been positive.” She untucked her legs and reached for a weed, ripping the leaf along its central vein. “You might have liked how I’ve been humbled. I wish I could get to know Christopher. You set him up to be my enemy. Or maybe you thought he’d be an ally? Why didn’t you just tell us who deserved to take over the resort and why. Then I wouldn’t have to decide…”
She couldn’t say the next part. She could barely think it. Tugging the sweatshirt lower, she searched for every ounce of warmth and protection from the chill in the morning air.
“Why is Christopher so discouraging to Steve Prim? Why not encourage him? The expansion has nothing to do with Christopher’s money. Why should he care?”
Because he knows what happens when you run out of money. She shivered. She remembered the hard days in middle school. Christopher’s parents worked hard and provided him a normal, middle-class life. Until his dad got injured on a construction job when Christopher was eleven and a string of surgeries created a mountain of medical bills. It was almost impossible for the Lewis family to ever get out of debt. Christopher became a zealot about saving for a rainy day. As a kid, he had taken every odd job he could find.
She didn’t have a healthy relationship with money either. She wouldn’t have survived without Dad’s continued financial support. What happened now that Dad was gone? What was her next step?
“Hey, stop ripping up my grass,” a deep voice called.
Startled, she scrambled to her feet, wiping her hands over dew-soaked pants and pulling the sweatshirt low. “Mr. Willie?”
“None other.” He lifted the latch on the gate and let himself inside the cemetery, hinges squealing. From a tool bag on the ground, he pulled out a canister and sprayed indiscriminately.
He wasn’t silent, making noise as he worked, and, the smell that clung to him—stale cigarettes—permeated the air. Her senses should have alerted her to his presence earlier. Lost in her thoughts, she was too easily startled.
Or was he capable of stealth?
She’d never been a kid detective, and she wasn’t a paranoid person. Days later, she couldn’t shake the awareness during the last night at the lighthouse. She hadn’t been entirely alone inside the building.
Christopher ignored her ghost claim and insisted a human was responsible. She didn’t think anyone in town could have crossed the bridge without alerting her. But Mr. Willie snuck up on her a minute ago. Had Mr. Willie started the fire?
She feared that answer more than any other. She preferred a ghost.
“Stop messing with the grass,” he barked. “Don’t rip it. Don’t kick it. Just leave it.”
She froze with the toe of her shoe digging into the ground. Being called out like a child didn’t feel good. But she was relieved. Mr. Willie couldn’t be the ghost. He would have berated her for trespassing and disturbing the sanctity of the lighthouse. He couldn’t stay silent about any of the property under his purview. “Mr. Willie, did you track me down?”
The pinched expression he shot her as he looked over the gate chilled her. She delivered the question as tease. She’d been hunting him. His reaction was too serious.
“Can you blame me if I did?”
She reddened. No, she could not. As much as she might wish to erase some of her more spirited escapades from the community’s collective memory, she couldn’t. Part of coming home was accepting that everyone had a firm opinion of her.
The best she could do was prove she’d matured through her actions, not her words. But, right now, she needed a little clarification. “Are you acting on your own accord? Or going along with someone’s orders?”
He chuckled. “I’d forgotten how your mind fills in the blanks. You’re always so darn entertaining.”
Like a clown? She smiled weakly. He’d evaded her with skill, a worthy verbal sparring partner. She’d keep that in mind for future encounters.
He turned away. “No one told me to follow you. I saw you on my rounds and thought you might have my keys.”
She approached the fence, the top railing only reaching her waist. “I was looking for you all morning. You’re tough to stalk.” She tossed the keys.
He caught them with one hand. “Good. I’d hate to be predictable. How did you find the cottage?”
“The same.” More or less . She wasn’t sure telling him she’d been too chicken to go inside reflected well on her.
Mr. Willie attached the keys to his belt via a retractable clip. “I’ve fixed a few leaky pipes and patched the roof over there. Not much else.”
Good. The ramshackle décor had been thrown together out of necessity. Christopher had money now and could easily fix up the place. He could rip out the mismatched cabinets and tear out the broken tiles, leveling the floor. But she hated to think anything had changed. The cottage remained a perfectly intact love nest, waiting for their reconciliation. “What are you doing now?”
“Oiling the hinges and scraping off the flaky paint.” He flicked his fingers to the fence. “Touch up with a coat of spray paint for the time being. Until I can get more time.” He dropped the canister into his bag and faced her. “Why are you back?”
“Why not?” She shrugged.
“Weren’t you off having adventures? Nothing adventurous around here. Same old, same old.” He shook his head.
“Mr. Willie, do I hear regret?” She was intrigued. He wasn’t a person to her as much as a living, breathing symbol of authority. He was his role. But even Mr. Willie had hopes and dreams.
“Lass, I’m not one for wishing my life away.” He shook his head. “Why come back if not to take over? What are you going to change?”
“Why do you think I intend to shake things up?”
He chuckled. “Isn’t that your MO?”
She would have blushed. But a surprisingly cheeky grin hadn’t accompanied his rhetorical question and softened the delivery. “Well, I can assure you. I have nothing planned. Not a thing,” she said. Except everything to do with my dad’s plan. Perhaps that was unfair. Just because she was haunted by ghosts didn’t mean anyone else was. She couldn’t toss out everything that worked to satisfy her need for exorcism. And, more than likely, it was impossible. “Any suggestions?”
“Ha. Right there.” He waggled a beefy finger. “Do you see? You’ve got a clear advantage. The difference between you two. What’s lacking now? Since you left, it’s been one vision, and that’s it. Either we fall in line, or we leave. You are open to ideas. You’ll go a long way.”
It was also part of why she left. She’d grown tired of trying to get her father’s approval and be welcomed into the fold of upper management. Once Dad had taken her husband under his wing, she had had to work for Christopher as well. Had she been missed? She’d ponder the idea later.
“As long as you don’t focus on anything too trendy,” Mr. Willie said. “Of course.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your photos and posts. You seem very involved on those websites. Life is about a lot more than a pretty picture. I’d rather not chase guests out of restricted areas because they are snapping selfies.”
Her skin burned. While she happily asked for details about her husband, she couldn’t forget she was also under close observation. Her movements were open for public dissection. She’d done that. If Mr. Willie followed her exploits online, everyone in town must do the same. She’d left her profiles public, hoping to reach her husband as he scrolled online, spurring him into missing her.
She had thousands of followers and interacted with many of them. But she didn’t know the commenters on a personal level. Performing for a faceless crowd was easy. Sharing her hopes and fears with the people she knew best was terrifying. She aimed for vague wording so no one saw through perfection to the loneliness.
She knew she was a lot. She had a history of doubling down on her mistakes. She wasn’t sure if she wanted redemption or a second chance. Both worked.
“I better get started on my list.”
“No more popcorn?” He winced.
She rolled her eyes. “Goodbye, Mr. Willie.”
* * *
The morning never quite dawned. With a frown, Christopher blew across the steaming mug of coffee as he surveyed the lawn behind the Inn. Under the overcast sky, the grass shone with a vibrant green more brilliant than the rest of the surroundings.
The lake, on the other hand, was gray and angry. He shared an affinity with the body of water. The choppy surface reflected his inner turmoil. He’d done so much work for so long. She pinned her future on his departure.
He raised the mug and sipped, letting the dark roast wash the bitter taste from his mouth. For so long, she’d been his motivation. When she never contacted him about a divorce, she gave him the false impression she’d return one day.
The woman haunting the lighthouse wasn’t the same that captured his heart. And yet, he wasn’t dissuaded. She changed. He had, too. But they had this time together now. Whether Xavier intended to or not, he had brought them back together. Christopher wondered if they could find something better together than the emotional stasis they’d achieved apart.
Movement across the shoreline caught his attention. He raised his hand, shielding his gaze as he squinted. She might as well have been a mirage.
Dragging a mesh bag behind her, she set up the cones along the perimeter of the swimming area.
The lake wasn’t the sole domain of the Inn. As much as he had tried to claim it, he couldn’t. And Xavier hadn’t wanted the monopoly on water sports and activities. While the Prims were frustrating, they ran a solid business alongside the Inn, catering to the guests. The Inn and the Prims squabbled over the years, but Xavier had been happy to keep the uneasy partnership.
Maybe he’d been correct. Adding a whole new set of costs to the business when it wouldn’t necessarily increase revenue was a poor choice. Christopher wanted to be the undisputed ruler of all. She wasn’t wrong when she’d called him out for micromanaging.
But now she surprised him. She’d read the schedule and didn’t need to be roused to start her work. He couldn’t fault her punctuality. Maybe she had made some changes. She remained bullheaded but listened. He strode toward her. He couldn’t be complacent. She might not be his enemy, but she was not his friend either.
“Hello.” He called, cupping both hands around his mouth as he approached.
She straightened, stretching her back and waving. “Almost set here.”
“You’ll need to wheel the lifeguard chair into place.”
“I’m on it. Once I finish setting up, I have a break. Figured I could take initiative and lead activities. I’m happy to be helpful.”
Sure, she was thrilled to help him off the property. If she needed fire to smoke him out, she’d grab the matches in a heartbeat. He darted his gaze, checking all the fire pits remained covered. “Let’s not rush into anything.”
“You don’t think I can work with the guests?”
His mouth twitched, a smile threatening to reveal itself. “Let’s review your efforts so far. How did the movie matinee go yesterday?”
She sighed. “I burned the popcorn and popped all the balloon animals.”
He swallowed his triumph. He didn’t want her humiliated, just humbled. Working at the Inn wasn’t complicated but demanding. Customer service hours were long and seldom rewarding. After standing and smiling for hours, he fought through the pain and frustration to get up and do it all again the next day. No breaks. He never vacationed.
“Sorry if I didn’t appreciate the hands-on nature of your work.” She folded her arms over her chest and eyed him from head to toe. “My mistake. I guess I pictured it as more of a leadership position on offer, considering your grand spot at the top of the world.”
He rolled his eyes. You should . “Let’s start fresh today. I gave you plenty of time off in the schedule so you can head over to the boardwalk shops and poke around. Gauge the responses as you greet old faces. Maybe your ghost will reveal themselves.”
“Fine. After I finish the manual labor, I’ll do your dirty work. Just tell me the truth. Are you inspecting the lighthouse?”
“I’m headed there right now.”
“Good. Leave the door open. Just in case.”
In case your ghost is still there? He was almost touched by her concern. But he wouldn’t give her even the hint that he believed in her fake spirit. With a wave, he turned toward the lighthouse and headed that way, sipping his coffee.
Crossing the wooden bridge, he set his empty mug on the ground and scrubbed his hands over his face. This wasn’t his first inspection of the building following the fire. But he wanted to approach it like it was. What wasn’t he seeing? What clues had he overlooked? Touring the inside of the lighthouse, he stared up at the beacon light overhead. He wasn’t going to test the strength of the metal stairs to inspect up close. From his perspective, he didn’t see anything amiss.
He pulled out his cell and powered on the flashlight app. Shining the light in every direction, he saw no change from any other walk-through.
The walls remained sound. The renovation project wouldn’t require a complete demolition and new build. The building wasn’t perfect, but it contained historic charm in its original construction that he’d hate to lose.
Named Fred’s Folly, the inoperable lighthouse had been a popular spot from the moment it opened. Tourists loved climbing to the top for a view of the whole lake. Without any extra capital for maintenance and repairs, the lighthouse transformed into a ticking bomb ready for the detonation of wrongful death and injury lawsuits. The lighthouse had been built to lay claim to the island before the Prims could build a dock off it in the 1920s. The Hales strong-armed the town’s then-mayor into signing over the deed, and construction began before the Prims knew about the change in ownership.
While a feud hadn’t erupted—most generations working well together—bad blood simmered between the families lingered. By extension, growing up on Hale property, Christopher learned to always be wary around a Prim even though he never had a reason for his vague unease.
Xavier, Ashley’s father, had closed the lighthouse in the late nineties. Then he developed the cursed treasure legend as explanation and, in doing so, inadvertently drummed up more interest. Christopher had chased off his fair share of lookie loos. By some miracle, none of the trespassers had ever been injured and sought restitution. During the Inn’s financial lean years, a single lawsuit could have threatened the entire business.
With several decades of history behind it, Christopher could understand how the line between myth and reality blurred over the years. Longevity lent credence to even the most ridiculous tale. A big part of him worried that particular story was now haunting him.
He didn’t see shovels or crowbars. No one was looking for loot that didn’t exist. And, thankfully and more importantly, he saw no evidence of sabotage.
As he exited the lighthouse, he became aware of a disaster unfolding in slow motion. Standing alone on the tiny island, he was helpless to do anything but watch in horror and shock.
The lifeguard chair rolled down the sloping lawn from the storage shed. Picking up speed, it didn’t stop on the sand or topple over. The chair rolled into the lake, only stopping as it slipped under the water’s surface. The top of the umbrella barely visible.
The scene was like a pirate riding a sinking schooner into a Caribbean port a la Hollywood. He turned toward the shed and spotted her. Her eyes were as round as her opened mouth. With his luck, the Prims’ boat would hit the thing, and then he’d have to pay for repairs. Knowing overbearing Carl Prim, the man would steer every broken-down vessel into the hazard to fleece the Inn into paying for a new fleet.
He jogged toward her. “What happened?”
“I guess I didn’t set the brakes for the wheels.” Her tone was low. Her whole demeanor shocked into stiffness.
He shook his head. “I don’t get it. You worked here in the summers. You weren’t helpless then. You were always so capable and confident.”
“Well… you know I wasn’t great about doing as I was told.”
He swallowed, appreciating her honesty. Back then, she had balked at every rule and regulation. Unless she came up with the idea. But he also remembered a girl who flitted through the Inn from one task to the next with ease. He could picture her here, there, and everywhere. Always smiling and charming the employees and guests. He didn’t remember any complaints from anyone besides Xavier.
“I don’t think I officially worked a full shift. Ever.” She sighed. “Guess I really am as helpless and aimless as Dad said.”
Christopher hated the edge in her tone. While she was often self-deprecating, the reluctance and acceptance of failure didn’t align with the capable person he knew. “We all start at the bottom.”
She snorted. “Some of us keep slipping down no matter how hard we climb.” She smoothed her hair behind her ears and pressed her hands to her cheeks.
Was she trying not to cry? He wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure how or if she’d welcome his consolation. He wasn’t pleased to see her at a disadvantage, especially not if he stood to benefit. “Okay. You’ve done enough today here. Maybe go to the boardwalk and see what you can learn.”
“You promise you’re not mad?” She wrinkled her nose.
He hated when she was so adorable. He was justifiably mad. She’d cut him off at the knees, losing a lifeguard chair. His beach had to close to his guests on an afternoon that was finally forecast to be warm enough for swimming. Guests would be displeased. His day was exponentially harder.
But how did he stay upset when she was so disappointed in herself? “I’m frustrated. It’s the second costly accident you’ve had in a week. I don’t quite understand how either happened.” He sighed. “I’m not mad.”
And he was surprised at the truth in the sentiment. But now he needed to find a couple strong swimmers to help him retrieve the chair, or he’d be in worse shape.