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)
Lily touched the camera bag slung over her shoulder, thinking about the photographs she’d developed and the evidence she’d collected in just this one day. From empty images that should have demonstrated a woman in white, to architectural inconsistencies, to Harold’s suspicious evening activities—each piece of the puzzle revealed more questions than answers.
Now she just had to figure out how to prove it without getting herself into the kind of trouble her parents’ white faces had warned against.
Behind her, the lighthouse stood against the gray sky, its beacon beginning its nightly rotation. But Lily knew that appearances could be deceiving.
Especially when someone was working very hard to maintain those appearances.
seven
October rain struck Lily’s bedroom window as she spread her latest photographs across her desk. Three weeks into her lighthouse investigation, the mystery had become something that cramped her stomach.
Fresh footprints marked the dust.
Not casual prints from tourists or maintenance workers, but deliberate tracks leading to areas where no official tour went. Modern athletic shoes with distinct tread patterns had made a path ending at what looked like solid stone—except Lily had captured the same wall from multiple angles, and the shadows revealed inconsistencies in its depth.
She lifted her magnifying glass, examining the image. The mortar lines between certain stones appeared cleaner than their neighbors. Someone had repointed them recently while leaving the surrounding wall authentically weathered.
“Lily!” Her mother’s voice carried up the stairs. “Dinner!”
She checked her watch. It was six-thirty already. The afternoon had disappeared while she’d studied the photographs, cross-referencing them with architectural plans from the historical society. Official blueprints showed a simple basement storage area, but her images revealed electrical outlets where none belonged, and modern ventilation grates disguised as historical stonework.
Downstairs, her parents had taken their usual spots at the kitchen table. Pot roast filled the air with familiar comfort, but Martha’s jaw held tension Lily had noticed for a week.
“How did your research go today?” Robert cut his meat with precise strokes. Twenty years of maintenance work had turned his hands into tools that moved with practiced economy.
“Actually, I need to show you something.” Lily pushed her fork aside, choosing words carefully. “I’ve documented unusual features in the lighthouse basement. Features that contradict the official records.”
Robert stopped chewing. “What kind of features?”
“Modern electrical work. Professional installation, probably within the last decade. Plus construction activity—fresh mortar, new hardware, areas someone accesses regularly despite the ‘sealed storage’ designation.”
“Honey,” Martha’s voice carried forced lightness, “you’re describing routine maintenance. Buildings that are old require constant upkeep.”
“This goes beyond maintenance, Mom. Someone has modified the structure extensively.” Lily spread her photograph folder across the table, selecting the most damning images. “These electrical outlets aren’t historical recreations—they’re commercial-grade installations.”
Robert examined the photographs, lines deepening around his eyes. “Where did you take these?”
“Basement areas during public tours. I documented details that contradict the historical narrative.”
“Lily.” Warning sharpened his voice. “You can’t make accusations without complete information.”
“I’m documenting observable facts.”
“Facts with reasonable explanations,” Robert countered. “The historical society upgraded the electrical systems for safety. The building still operates as a tourist site.”
Martha’s fingers found Lily’s hand across the table. “Sweetie, maybe you should reconsider your research direction? You began with such beautiful focus on the lighthouse’s maritime role.”
“This is maritime history. The physical structure tells its own story, and someone’s rewriting that story without proper documentation.”
“Or they documented everything, and you lack access to complete records,” Robert suggested. “Professional renovations demand permits, and inspections. Approval at multiple levels.”
Frustration burned through Lily’s chest. “Then why hide those records? I’ve requested maintenance documentation from the past decade. Mrs. Pennington claims they’re being ‘reorganized’ or ‘restored.’”
“Because they’re private records,” Robert’s voice carried finality. “Organizations don’t share internal documentation with high school students.”
“They operate as a historical society. They accept public funding for preservation activities.”
“That doesn’t obligate them to open files for anyone who asks.”
Martha’s expression had darkened during their exchange. “Lily, consider that your research might make people uncomfortable—not because they’re hiding secrets, but because they’re protecting you.”
“Protecting me?”
“Old buildings harbor dangers, especially in areas closed to public access. Maybe they’re limiting your research for your safety.”
Lily stared at her mother, recognizing a careful neutrality that masked deeper currents. “You think I’m creating conspiracies.”
“I think you’re thorough,” Martha corrected. “Perhaps too thorough for your own good.”
The telephone rang. Robert answered, his voice shifting into formal work mode.
“Morgan residence . . . Yes, this is Robert . . . When? . . . I see . . . I can be there in thirty minutes.”
He hung up and turned to his family. “Emergency call. One of the lighthouse’s backup generators is malfunctioning. I need to check it before the storm hits tonight.”
“Tonight?” Martha looked toward the window where rain streaked down in sheets. “Can’t it wait until morning?”
“Not if the main power fails. The lighthouse needs redundant systems for safety.” Robert reached for his jacket. “Historical building or not, it still guides ships to harbor.”