Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
And she displayed identical behavior that had gotten them killed.
The questions she’d asked, the records she’d examined, connections she’d made—all fit the profile of previous victims. She’d visited the library regularly, studied old documents, and interviewed local residents about lighthouse history.
She’d even encountered Catherine Hartwell’s spirit, just as Catherine had probably met the spirits of researchers who’d died before her.
Everything suggested she was next.
Lily gathered her materials, hands shaking. She needed to get home, needed to process what she’d discovered. But walking through the library’s empty corridors, she couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.
The circulation desk sat empty—Mrs. Warren had gone home hours ago. The reference section lay dark. But light spilled from the librarian’s office, where someone worked late.
Lily paused at the door. Through the glass, she saw a man in a dark suit examining a stack of library request forms. Her request forms. The papers she’d filled out to access newspaper archives.
The man looked up, Gerald Aldrich, current lighthouse keeper. Third generation of the family present for every suspicious death connected to the lighthouse.
He smiled and waved, expression friendly and grandfatherly. But his eyes calculated, measured, evaluated the threat she represented.
Lily backed away from the door, sweat beading on her forehead. She’d focused so intently on historical incidents that she’d forgotten contemporary surveillance. They’d been watching her research, tracking her progress, waiting to see how dangerous she’d become.
Just like they’d watched Catherine Hartwell, Margaret Thornton, Dr. Whitmore, and all the others.
She walked quickly toward the exit, fighting the urge to run. Behind her, the office door opened, and footsteps echoed in the corridor. Gerald Aldrich’s voice called out, friendly and concerned.
“Miss Morgan? Is everything all right? You look upset.”
Lily turned, forcing a smile. “I’m fine, Mr. Aldrich. Just tired from all the research.”
“I understand you’ve been studying lighthouse history. Fascinating subject.” His tone stayed conversational, but his eyes never left her face. “Finding anything interesting?”
“Just general information for my school project. Local maritime heritage, that sort of thing.”
“Ah, yes. Your father mentioned you were working on something about lighthouse operations. Very educational.” He moved closer, his presence somehow filling the corridor. “I hope you’re not getting too caught up in old stories and legends. Sometimes historical research can lead people down paths that aren’t very productive.”
“I’m being careful to stick to documented facts.”
“Good, good. Though I should mention that some of those older records can be misleading. Things operated differently back then, and what might look suspicious to modern eyes was often just standard procedure.” His smile never wavered, but something dark flickered behind his eyes. “Our lighthouse has always been vital to this community’s safety. We’ve maintained it for generations, and we take that responsibility seriously.”
Dread crawled up Lily’s spine. He was warning her off, using identical language previous Aldriches had used with other researchers. That friendly, grandfatherly concern that preceded elimination. But this time, she heard something else—pride in his family’s “responsibility” and a subtle threat about maintaining community safety.
“I understand,” she said, backing toward the door. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Please do. And Miss Morgan? If you have any questions about current lighthouse operations, please feel free to ask me directly. I’d hate for you to rely on incomplete information.” His pause carried weight. “Your father’s been such a valuable member of our maintenance team. We appreciate families who understand the importance of discretion.”
She nodded and escaped into the night, thoughts churning. Everything was accelerating. Previous researchers had weeks or months before elimination. But Gerald Aldrich was already making contact, positioning himself to monitor her research.
She might only have days.
At home, Lily spread her materials across her bedroom floor. Newspaper articles, photographs, notes about architectural discrepancies. Everything pointed to one conclusion: the lighthouse was the center of a criminal operation protected through murder for generations.
Catherine Hartwell’s research had to be destroyed. Edmund Hawthorne had learned secrets that cost his life. Margaret Thornton died while researching.
What had they all discovered?
The answer lay within the lighthouse itself. In the tunnels she’d found, the modified foundations and equipment that didn’t belong in a historical building. But accessing those areas meant immediate danger.
She thought about her parents, asleep down the hall. Her father worked for the lighthouse authority, reporting to Gerald Aldrich. If something happened to her, would they be safe? Or would they become the next targets?
History suggested families were expendable. Edmund Hawthorne’s wife had fled town. Dr. Whitmore’s wife had died in a car accident six months after his drowning. Margaret Thornton’s roommate had transferred to another university and never spoke about her missing friend.
The Aldriches didn’t just eliminate researchers—they eliminated anyone who might continue their work. And now Gerald had made it clear he knew about her father’s employment, about their family’s connection to the lighthouse.
Lily stared at her reflection in the bedroom window, seeing Catherine Hartwell’s face superimposed over her own. Young women both who’d stumbled onto something too dangerous to ignore.