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 what if the answer is something you don’t want to know?” Martha asked softly. “What if there are reasons why the story was never told?”
Lily stared at her parents, realizing that their discomfort differed from what she’d encountered with Mrs. Pennington and Harold. This wasn’t protective discretion—this was genuine terror.
“Do you know anything about the lighthouse?” she asked quietly. “Something you haven’t told me?”
Another exchanged look. Another silent conversation.
“We know that small towns have long memories,” Robert said finally. “And that sometimes the past is best left alone.”
“But why?”
“Because people keep some secrets for good reasons,” Martha replied. “And because young people who dig too deeply into the wrong history sometimes find more trouble than they bargained for.”
The warning rang clear, even if specifics remained vague. Lily gathered her photographs and notes, the weight of her parents’ concern pressing against her strengthening resolve.
If something worth hiding existed in the lighthouse’s history, she would find it.
But first, she needed to see what was happening at the lighthouse right now. Her parents’ terror had been too specific, too immediate. Whatever they were afraid of wasn’t just historical—it was ongoing.
Lily glanced at the clock. Eight-thirty. If she left now, she could reach the lighthouse by nine and observe whatever evening activities might be taking place there.
She grabbed her camera bag and headed for the door.
An hour later, gray clouds had rolled in during dinner, and coastal drizzle made everything appear muted and secretive. Lily crouched behind the low stone wall that bordered the lighthouse parking area, her camera’s telephoto lens trained on the building. In the cloudy twilight, the structure looked different—older, more mysterious, as if approaching darkness had stripped away its cheerful tourist facade.
Her parents’ warning echoed in her head.. Their terror had cut deep, but it had also cut specifically. Not general caution of adults worried about their teenager’s safety, but targeted concern of people who knew exactly what kind of danger she might be walking into.
Which meant they knew more concerning the lighthouse’s story than they’d admitted.
Through the viewfinder, she could see the section of foundation that had demonstrated the most obvious signs of reconstruction in her photographs. The newer stonework was subtle but unmistakable once you knew what to look for. Someone had put considerable effort into making the modifications blend seamlessly with the original construction.
But they hadn’t quite succeeded.
As she watched, a figure emerged from the lighthouse’s service entrance. Harold. He carried a toolkit and moved with purpose toward the foundation area that had caught her attention.
Even in dim light, Lily could see him clearly through the telephoto lens. He knelt beside the newer stonework, examining something she couldn’t make out from her position. Then he pulled out what looked exactly like a small electronic device—definitely not standard lighthouse maintenance equipment.
She snapped several frames, the camera’s motor drive whirring softly in the evening quiet. Whatever Harold was doing involved the modified section of foundation and equipment that appeared far too modern for routine building maintenance.
After twenty minutes, Harold packed up his tools and returned to the lighthouse. But as he passed one of the ground-floor windows, he paused and looked directly toward her hiding spot.
Directly toward Lily.
Even at this distance, she could see his expression with perfect clarity through the telephoto lens. He wasn’t surprised to see her watching. He was furious.
Lily lowered her camera, pulse hammering in her throat. Harold had known she was there. He’d known she was photographing his work. And judging by his expression, he wasn’t happy about it.
She crept back from the stone wall, staying low until she reached the road. Only then did she stand and walk quickly toward home, her mind racing with what she’d witnessed.
The lighthouse wasn’t just historically modified—it was being actively maintained by someone using modern equipment for purposes that had nothing to do with maritime safety.
As she walked through the drizzle, Lily made her final decision of the day. Her parents’ warnings, Harold’s anger, and defensive reactions she’d encountered all pointed toward the same conclusion: something important was hidden in the lighthouse’s history.
Something worth protecting.
Something worth risking everything to uncover.
She needed to get inside that building and examine the modified areas more closely. She needed to understand what kind of equipment Harold had been using and why he’d focused so intently on that specific section of foundation.
Most importantly, she needed to do it without anyone knowing she was there.
The lighthouse offered public tours on weekends, but those tours were carefully controlled and limited to specific areas. If she wanted to investigate the modified sections, she’d need to find another way inside.
Legal access would be better, but if that wasn’t possible, she’d have to consider other options.
Because whatever was hidden in that lighthouse were connected to the architectural inconsistencies she’d documented. And judging by the reactions she’d encountered, powerful people wanted to keep it secret.