“I was thinking that too.”
“Great minds think alike.”
“I just wish we had warm, dry clothes and a bed.” Brad kissed her on the forehead. “It’s really cold,” Bailey whined.
“I know.” The more he tried to comfort her, the more she felt like complaining. Sometimes she felt like a bottomless pit of need. How screwed up was that? Were all relationships this complicated?
“Maybe we should call the Realtor. Or the Coast Guard. Or nine-one-one.”
“And say what? That we need to be rescued from our own lighthouse?”
“We could report Captain Not-Jack missing.”
“You want to report a man whose name we don’t even know missing?”
“We know it’s not Jack,” Bailey said.
“Actually, it is Not-Jack,” Brad clarified. Bailey swatted him. Brad laughed. And not his polite laughter or soft chuckle, both of which were familiar to her as her own heartbeat. Brad gave a full-out belly laugh. It was nice to hear, and it felt good to feel him shake next to her. It was almost worth the bone-chilling cold working its way into her toes.
“We could put his face on a cereal box,” Brad said.
“Cap’n Crunch.” It was stupid, but it had them both in stitches. A few minutes in wet clothing, and hysteria was already setting in. “Seriously,” Bailey said. “I don’t want to succumb to hypothermia.” Suddenly, Bailey sat up.
“What?” Brad said.
“Where’s the kitchen?”
Just as quickly, Brad sat up too. “You’re right,” he said. “We never saw a kitchen.”
“Or a bathroom,” Bailey said. “There might be towels, or toilet paper, something.”
“Good point.”
“And is there only one bathroom? How can we run a B-and-B with one bathroom? I’m not sharing a bathroom with fourteen hundred strangers.”
“Calm down. Although I’m glad you’re dreaming big. I’m sure there’s one down here, and there’s probably another one in the locked room.”
“We might have to put a third one in,” Bailey said. “One on each floor. That would make two for the guests and one for us.”
“Let’s at least find one for now,” Brad said. He got up and began lurching about the room.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for the light switch.” A few seconds later, he found it, and a portion of the room came to life. And there, to the left of the fireplace, was a swinging door. How could they have missed it?
The first glance at their kitchen was a gloomy one. Every appliance looked a hundred years old. It was big enough to fit a table for ten and had a wall of windows looking out, which boded well for a future business, but right now, nobody in their right mind would have wanted to sit in there to gaze at the view, let alone eat. Bailey was relieved there was indeed a bathroom off the kitchen, but it too was in serious need of remodeling. The place was a long way from being a bed-and-breakfast.
Bailey couldn’t tell if Brad was mentally calculating what this dump was going to cost them to fix up, and at the moment she wasn’t either, because what they needed was some warm clothes or a blanket before hypothermia set in. Brad began rummaging through the drawers. Bailey found one towel in the bathroom, and whether or not it was clean was moot given that it was at least dry.
“I found a towel,” Bailey said, holding it up. The kitchen light wasn’t bright enough to see whether it was green or dark blue.
“Perfect,” Brad said.
“There’s only one, and it’s small, and it smells.”
“See?” Brad said. “Things are looking up already.”
“We won’t get dry with this,” Bailey said, waving the small, smelly towel.
“Once we take these clothes off we can’t put them back on, so let’s towel ourselves off with our clothes on for now,” Brad said. He held something up to the light. “I found a key. Maybe it unlocks the top room.” Brad headed for the stairs.
“Now?” she said. “You’re going to try it now?”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s dark,” Bailey said. “And creaky.”
“Bails,” Brad said. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”
“Of course not,” she lied. Maybe she should have let him see the obituary. Maybe she should have asked Captain Not-Jack why he wouldn’t come in. Or answer his phone. Maybe she should insist that they were not going to spend the night in a creaky, old keeper’s house. Half a million dollars. How could it have fetched such a high price? In Bailey’s humble opinion, it wasn’t worth more than two, maybe two hundred and fifty thousand. She shut down her negative thoughts and followed Brad up the stairs. They were halfway there when someone pounded on the front door. Bailey stopped. Brad kept climbing.
“Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“Someone’s at the front door.”
“I don’t hear anything.” The pounding came again, a distinct loud series of knocks.
“There it is again.” Brad looked at her as if he truly didn’t hear someone pounding on the door. “How can you not hear that?”
“You sound testy.”
“Someone is pounding on the door.”
“I believe you.”
“So let’s go answer it.”
“I want to try this key.”
“You’re going to leave me alone with some stranger? Remember the axe murderer?”
“The one you made up? Yes, he rings a bell.”
“He’s knocking.”
“I didn’t mean it literally.”
“I’m going to answer it,” Bailey said. “Maybe it’s salvation.”
“You think salvation would ring the bell,” Brad said. “Now I mean it literally.”
“Are you coming?”
“I’ll be right down. I have to check this key.” Bailey nodded, then hurried to the front door. She was hoping it was salvation, but at this point she would even welcome the company of an axe murderer.
Captain Jack stood in the entryway, holding a bundle of blankets and clothing.
“Oh, thank God,” Bailey said. “Come in.” Instead he thrust the pile at her and stepped back.
“You should’ve come back to the boat,” he said. “At the appointed time.” He sounded angry, and Bailey got the distinct feeling he didn’t like being this close to the house.
“What are you talking about?” she said. “What appointed time?”
“Your husband agreed to be back at the boat at five,” he said.
“Before the storm.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I was wondering.” It was ridiculous to stand out here, yelling at each other over the rain. “You’re soaked,” Bailey said. “Please come in.”
“No,” he said. “I’ll be in the boat. You will be too, first sign of daylight, if you want to get off this island at all.”
“I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “We’ll be there.”
“You’re welcome to come now,” he said. “Sleep on the boat.”
“You have room for the both of us?”
“Who said anything about the both of you?” Even in the dark she could feel his eyes on hers. It hung in the air, a flirtation, a come-on. Was he joking? Was she actually thinking about it?
“Why won’t you come in?” Bailey said.
“Place is haunted,” Captain Not-Jack said. “See you at the boat. First sign of daylight.” Bailey stood in the doorway clutching the clothes and watched his tall frame disappear into the darkness. Then she shut the door and hurried back to Brad with the change of clothes.
Appointed time. They were supposed to have been back to the boat at an appointed time. In his excitement did Brad just forget? Or did he miss it on purpose? And what the hell was that about the place being haunted? Captain Whatever-his-real-name-was was a sarcastic man. Obviously, he was joking. Haunted. Oh, well. Every spooky lighthouse needed a good ghost story, right? Maybe it would be good for business. If they ever actually opened. Bailey thought about the obituary she’d ripped off the wall and shuddered. It was normal to shudder when you were wet and freezing, she chided herself. Still, at least she could comfort herself with proof that she wasn’t a vampire, for she could not wait for the first sign of daylight.
Chapter 12
“I
got it!” Brad yelled. “The door is open. Hurry, hurry!” Bailey had just taken a step up the stairs, clothes still in her arms, when a whir of black whizzed past her, brushing against her legs. She screamed.
“Jesus Christ,” she yelled. What was that? And where was it now? It couldn’t have been a bat, unless the bat was a cripple and could only crawl instead of fly. What happened to the light? Why was it suddenly dark in here again? Bailey immediately dropped her bravado, along with the blankets and clothes, and began to scream. Joke or not, Captain Jack had really bothered her with that haunted comment. And Brad had missed the boat on purpose, she just knew it, and now they were stuck in here with something rabid and black. “Brad, Brad, Brad!” Soon he pounded down the stairs.
“What happened?”
“Why did you turn the light off?” She was screaming at him, and she knew it wasn’t fair, but whatever that thing was, it was still in here.
“I didn’t turn it off,” Brad said. “You must have.” He quickly found his way back to the light switch. Soon the faint light above the fireplace flickered and then remained steady.
“There’s something in here,” Bailey said. “Some kind of creature.” Just saying it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
“Where did you get those?” Brad said, pointing to the clothes on the floor. Something whirled past, another flash of black. Bailey shrieked. Instantly, Brad put his arms around her.
“Bails, Bails,” he said. “It’s a cat.” He stood behind her and turned her to face the windows. At first she didn’t register anything but the blackness that was the Hudson at night. “Over there.” Brad gently turned her face to the corner of the fireplace. There, a black cat stared at her with glowing yellow eyes.
“Jesus,” Bailey said. “I almost had a heart attack.” She crept toward the cat. “You scared the shit out of me, kitty,” she said in a singsong voice, the one she reserved for animals and babies.
“Look at that,” Brad said. “Our first guest.”
“From the looks of him, he’s the original owner.”
“Poor guy.”
“When’s the last time you had anything to eat?”
“Are you talking to me or the cat?”
“I’m talking to the cat. You don’t deserve dinner.”
“I’m too excited to eat anyway,” Brad said. “Come on. I got the door upstairs unlocked.”
This time when Brad bounded up the steps, Bailey did her best to keep up with him. She no longer wanted to be anywhere in this house all alone. On their way up the steps she tried to tell Brad about the captain’s strange behavior at the door. Then she dropped a subtle hint about missing the designated meeting time. If Brad heard her, he didn’t comment. Bailey didn’t like this either, but they could have a nice long chat when they were back in their furnished, non-haunted condo in Manhattan.
Bailey stood back as her husband tugged on the door. It didn’t budge. “It was open,” he said. “It was just open.”
“We’ll try again in the morning,” Bailey said. “We have to change out of these damp clothes.” She felt the cat brush up against her legs, weave in between them, and then start again in the other direction. “I wish Jack would’ve brought us food too,” she said. She started back to the stairs. “And I wish we hadn’t missed the designated departure time.”
At this, Brad finally stopped tugging at the doorknob. “Was that directed at me?”
“Please. Brad. Please. Can we just go change?”
“I didn’t know anything about a designated departure time.” Brad trailed behind her, his footsteps slow and heavy. Once again, he reminded her of a child. Maybe his brush with death had made him feel young again. Too young for her liking, but what could she do about it? Eventually, he would return to the land of the living.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s change out of these wet clothes and go to sleep.”
Everything will seem better in the morning,
she added silently. Yet somehow, she just didn’t believe it.
“Since when do you have a cat?” Jesse asked. Jesse didn’t like cats. Bailey suspected it was because she was a single woman living in a studio apartment. Just a couple of cats away from being dubbed a crazy lady. In the two weeks he’d been living in Manhattan, Blackie had grown fat and spoiled, and Bailey had grown surprisingly attached to him. “He’s black,” Jesse said, pointing out the obvious. “Isn’t that bad luck?”
“He came with the lighthouse,” Bailey said. She scratched him behind the ear while Jesse remained in the doorway. “Are you seriously just going to stand there?”
“You know how I feel about cats.”
Bailey scooped the cat up and shut him in the bedroom. “Better?” she asked.
“Much.” Jesse sat on the couch, as far away from where the cat had perched as she could get. She took a bottle of wine out of her purse.
Bailey waved the bottle away. “I have wine,” she said. “And it’s chilled. Save that for an emergency.”
“This was the emergency,” Jesse said. “But I’m all for saving.” She tucked the bottle of wine back in her bag. After Bailey served them some chilled Chardonnay, she finally filled Jesse in on their visit to the lighthouse.
“That’s it,” Jesse said after Bailey confessed to finding the obituary of the past keeper tacked to the wall and the captain’s offhanded comment about it being haunted. “I’m never visiting.”
“That’s too bad,” Bailey said. “I was thinking you and Captain Not-Jack might hit it off.”
“I’d probably just shorten it to Cap,” Jesse said. “Is he really cute?”
“In a Clint Eastwood kind of way,” Bailey said. “But I was kidding. He’s too old for you.”
“You sound keen on him,” Jesse observed.
“I am not. He’s a total character, that’s all.”
“If you want me to visit, you need to get an exorcist in there first.”
“And a plumber, and a painter, and an electrician, and a carpenter,” Bailey said. “It’s ridiculous how much work the place needs to become operational. Brad really got taken.”
“Can you get out of it?”
“I don’t think so—the auction clearly stated the property was ‘as is.’ I just can’t believe people bid so much on it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate it. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about the place.”
“Hauntingly. Did you hear yourself? I’ve changed my mind again. I’m not visiting.”
“Seriously,” Bailey said. “If we had the money to sink into it, I’m starting to think we could actually make a decent living. People like the allure of staying in a lighthouse. But we don’t have that kind of money. I honestly don’t know what he was thinking.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Brad’s determined he can fix it at cost. He’s on Facebook twenty-four / seven trying to round up old pals as volunteers.”
“How’s that going?”
“If you ever want to lose faith in social media, just trying posting a request for a favor. People are willing to look through your three hundred pictures trekking through a Brazilian rain forest, but they don’t want to help refurbish your lighthouse.”
“Go figure.”
“Anyway, he’s been out at the lighthouse for the past week—‘making progress.’ ” Bailey wasn’t normally an air quote type of girl, but this time, she felt it was required.
“You don’t seem happy.”
“I’m not. It’s a total nightmare. We can’t even start major renovations until the spring. The river freezes in the winter.”
“Sounds like an adventure. It could be fun.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Whoever has the most wine.”
“That would be me.”
“That inconsiderate bastard!” The women laughed, then fell into an easy silence as they sipped their Chardonnay.
“I hate to ask you this,” Bailey said. Jesse sat up straight. Everyone loved to be asked something awkward.
“Shoot,” Jesse said.
“You said you’ve seen this kind of thing before.”
“Cats?” Jesse said. She looked around in alarm.
“Would you calm down about the cat? I’m talking about Brad. His little journey.”
“You mean his NDE?”
“Yes.”
“It’s very common.”
“He’s spending a lot of time chatting with others online. Some NDE group. One of the women—get this—her name is Angelicka Heavens.”
Jesse laughed and rolled her eyes. “She’s probably three hundred pounds and wears blue eye shadow,” she said.
“Here’s hoping,” Bailey said. “Is there any research—you know—like explaining scientifically what happens in those few seconds of a . . . a slightly inactive brain?”
“You can’t say ‘clinically dead,’ can you?”
Bailey shivered. “I don’t like hearing you say it either.” Jesse sighed, leaned back in her seat, finished off her wine. Bailey reached over and refilled it.
“There are arguments and ‘research’ on both sides, Bail. But if you’re saying what I think you’re saying.”
“What do you think I’m saying?”
“Look. The point isn’t whether or not life after death exists. The point is, Brad believes it does. And if you swoop in and try to convince him otherwise . . .”
“Yes?”
“I just think it could backfire. Don’t you?”
“Yes, which is why I’ve kept my mouth shut. But, Jesse, I seriously think my husband could have suffered some kind of brain damage.”
“Aren’t you being a little overdramatic?” Jesse said. This coming from a woman who kept scanning the room for invisible cats. “I’ll see what I can come up with,” Jesse said as she was leaving. But her tone of voice betrayed her. Once again, she thought Bailey was the one being unreasonable.
The obituary was for a man named Trevor Penwell. Bailey typed the name into the search engine. Certainly an interesting name. It conjured up more of a butler than a lighthouse keeper. She was anxious to see what she would find.
Google was amazing. She found a Trevor Penwell who was a reporter for a small newspaper. A Trevor Penwell who was a racecar driver. A Trevor Penwell who was a boxer. They were all alive. It made her wonder who all the Bailey Jordans were out there, and if they were leading a more exciting life than she. She decided not to Google her name; she really didn’t want to know. It wasn’t until the third page of the search that she found it.
T
REVOR
P
ENWELL
L
OCAL
L
IGHTHOUSE
K
EEPER
D
IES
Trevor Penwell illuminated the Hudson River from the Sage Lighthouse for forty-five years. He died at the age of seventy-one of natural causes. Although loved for his sense of humor, endless practical jokes, and trusty black cat, Web, Trevor Penwell is most famous for his late wife, Edga. Ten years prior to his death, his beautiful Swiss wife hanged herself in the third floor of the keeper’s house. She is said to have literally died of insanity, distraught from the loneliness induced by such isolated living. She is rumored to have spent the days before her death pacing the keeper’s house and wailing. Visitors to the lighthouse have reported still hearing those mournful footsteps along with echoes of her haunting cries. With the passing of Mr. Penwell, the fate of the lighthouse remains just as much of a mystery. Rumors have it that it will be auctioned to the highest bidder next fall. I wonder if the new owners will get along with the late Mrs. Penwell. Rumor is, she’s a scream.
Bailey pulled back from the article and looked around the room. Why did Jesse have to leave before she read this? “Is it true?” Bailey asked the cat, who was studying her from the doorway to the bedroom. “Edga,” Bailey said out loud. The cat simply stared. “Web,” Bailey said. The cat came forward. So either that part was true, or the cat had simply had enough of Bailey talking to herself and was coming over to investigate. Bailey petted the cat. He looked old, all right, but was he really the keeper’s cat? Maybe he was one of his kittens. Everyone had babies but her.
Great, Bailey thought. A wife who went insane and hanged herself. In the very room that was locked. Maybe it had been boarded up from the other side. She wondered what Brad was up to right now. Probably sitting up in the lighthouse tower poring over old weather-keeping records. He’d promised her he wouldn’t go up to the third floor until she arrived the next weekend. After all, this was their adventure, not just his. Should she tell him about the obituary and the keeper’s wife?
Despite everything, Bailey actually found herself looking forward to going back. This time they would have food, and clothing, and an air mattress. She’d bring some wine; it would be like a little honeymoon. In an isolated, haunted lighthouse. Oh, well, when you were married, you took whatever scraps of romance you could get. Hopefully Edga and Trevor Penwell had their share of romantic moments before she went insane. Bailey was going to do everything in her power to make sure their lives would be different. She would contact a psychiatrist about Brad’s behavior. Once he was in his right mind, they would fix the lighthouse up, flip it, and sell it. They’d move back to Manhattan, have babies, and laugh about the day Daddy bought a lighthouse. If only she didn’t have the image in her head of lonely Swiss Edga, hanging from the third floor.