Page 24 of Fire Island
“Why’d you do that for?”
“Oh, it’s probably nothing. I’ll call her back after.”
She bounces a leg, her red flat shoe scuffing the old tile with every harried movement. A door down the hallway opens, and the large man we spoke to last time waves us in.
My sister takes off like a shot, and I amble after her.
“Iris. Lovely to see you again,” Mullins says, a hand on his oversized gut and a radiant smile on his face.
“Sure. Hi,” she replies, disappearing inside.
“McCreary. Good to see you in one piece, lad.”
Sweet Jesus.
The man must be barely ten years older than me. “Lad” is a bit on the nose.
“Mullins, living the life, I see.”
With a rough chuckle, he follows me into the office and closes the door before rounding the desk and dropping into an enormous plush leather office chair.
“You had some further concerns regarding the Fire Island services?” he says to Iris.
“Yes, we would like to appeal the last decision regarding the lighthouse.”
The mayor, who has stayed silent until now, raises a hand. “Before we get into the logistics and finances one more time,” he glances to Iris, “I want to commend Callum on a brave attempted rescue. How are you holding up, son?”
God, another one.
Attempted. That’s a low blow.
“Fine,” I say.
This small office is starting to feel like a trap. The mayor, the bait. The McCrearys, the prey. The fallout, my lighthouse. The predator sits behind his shiny desk with his big gut and cushy damn chair.
Less lighthouse means more budget for other projects he wants to back.
Hell, Irry was right, these assholes are playing us.
“The lighthouse not only saves lives and is a part of our heritage, it’s a permanent feature of the coastline, drawn into maps, waypoints for vessels. It is also my brother’s home. Surely you can understand that?” Iris leans forward, talking to Mullins.
Who responds by steepling his hands over his stomach. “I understand you have a sentimental attachment to the island and the lighthouse, but that doesn’t justify the expense of keeping it operational. Let alone the maintenance it desperately needs to remain active.”
“I understand it costs money to run and maintain, I’m not arguing that. But it’s a required coastline feature. Not a static communal installation like a memorial or such. You must see this?” Iris says.
“It’s outdated. It’s practically redundant, Miss McCreary.”
Iris sighs.
I have nothing useful to add that would appeal to Mullins, so I keep quiet.
The mayor leans forward. “Bay Shore would like to thank you for years of service on Fire Island, Callum.”
“No!” Iris stands. She moves toward the door, stalking away before pacing in a circle. “Cal, out. Now.”
“Iris,” I growl.
She implores me with fiery eyes I can’t refuse. With a sigh, I rise and leave the room. She closes the door and turns back to the men, the door slipping open an inch.
