Page 31 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
“One Spotted Heifer comin’ up.”
Shea was a bit surprised that Holt was going to have the Midwest ale at this time of day, but when she saw his callused fingers wrap around the bottle, it sort of completed the picture of the rugged Upper Peninsula man.
Penny interrupted her observation. “Holt told me yesterday you’re staying in Annabel’s Lighthouse.”
Shea nodded. “I am.”
“Seen her yet?” Penny’s eyes sparked.
Shea chuckled. “Well, no, not exactly. I did hear the floor creak the other night. That’s creepy enough.” She didn’t add that she could almost swear she’d heard Annabel respond when she told her to be quiet.
“And a lightbulb burned out on you, right?” Holt added.
“Oooooh.” Penny’s face contorted into a melodramatic look of caution. “Annabel is not a fan of modern conveniences. I’d light a lamp next time instead. Keeps her calmer.”
Shea smiled as she sipped her Coke. She liked the laid-back nature of today. Much better than yesterday and having her windshield shattered for no apparent reason. Which reminded her...
“I was talking to Edna Caraway yesterday,” Shea led.
“Oh boy.” Penny exchanged knowing smiles with Holt.
“Oh boy?” Shea said.
“No, no.” Penny shook her head, refusing to explain. Her little silver seashell earrings bobbed. “Tell me what story Edna told this time.”
Holt leaned over to whisper loudly, “Penny thinks Edna makes up half of her history.”
Penny swatted at Holt. “I just think she’s an old lady with nothing else to do but try to remember stuff an old lady can’t remember. She’s riddled with dementia.”
“She is?” Shea drew back. Edna hadn’t struck her as someone struggling with memory issues.
“That’s what Marnie told me. Her daughter. We went to school together back in the day.” Penny’s explanation made sense in a way, but then the fact Marnie hadn’t told Shea about her mother’s dementia seemed a bit strange. Maybe Penny wasn’t meaning to come across critical, but her blunt, inconsiderate declaration about Edna’s state of mind gave Shea a nudge of caution.
“Anyway”—Penny leaned her elbows on the bar—“what’d you learn?”
Shea didn’t want to bring up the broken windshield, although she had a feeling that Penny somehow already knew, and it dawned on Shea that Holt had to have heard from somewhere too, seeing as he’d shown up at the lighthouse last night to make sure she was okay.
“Well.” Shea hesitated, then decided to go for it. “Okay, so Edna mentioned that Annabel might be behind the vandalism to my windshield.” Stupid didn’t begin to describe how Shea felt after posing the idea.
“Ahh, yes. The ‘Annabel is protective of her story’ angle.” Penny dropped a wink in Holt’s direction. “That’s not unique to Edna, though, I will admit. It’s been said that after Annabel’s lover died decades after her own death, it always seemed as though Annabel never liked people nosing around and asking questions. Anyone digging into her story found themselves with strange things happening to warn them off.”
“Who was Annabel’s lover?” Shea had to admit, the story of Annabel and the lighthouse got odder every time she learned a little bit more.
“Shhh.” Penny’s expression lost its humor in a way that made Shea believe she truly was being serious now. “We don’t talkabout it out loud. That’s the worst thing you can do. Speak of Annabel’s lover, and her ghost goes berserk.”
Shea offered up a nervous laugh and glanced at Holt, who took a draw from his bottle and raised his brows as if to say, You’re on your own on this one.
Penny’s eyes shifted left to right as though concerned someone might overhear them. She leaned closer over the bar. “The more you dig into the story of who Annabel and her lover were, the spookier it gets. Take Jonathan Marks, for example.”
Shea straightened.
Penny tapped the glossy bar with a long, red fingernail that was chipped on the end. “He went from being a smart conservationist, lobbying the government on behalf of the environment, to hiding out in the lighthouse and eventually shooting himself in the head.”
“Was he researching the lighthouse?” Shea asked.
Penny tugged on her shirt with its beer-brand moniker. “Hewasn’tuntil he moved into it. His sole purpose for moving in was to get the place registered as a historical site and work on sprucing up the property. Of course, Annabel ... well, she seeps in slowly, like the tide, until suddenly you’re swept up in her story—good or bad.”
“I didn’t realize Jonathan Marks was into Annabel’s legend,” Holt admitted.
