“I think whoever took your wife planned it carefully. Your presence might have deterred them, or it might have resulted in two victims instead of one.” Brooks made notes. “Did Melissa mention meeting anyone in town? Making any local contacts?”
“She talked to the woman at the historical society. Mrs. Pennington, I think? Melissa said the woman was ‘difficult’ but had access to records she needed.”
Brooks underlined the name. “What records?”
“I don’t know. Melissa didn’t share the details.” Daniel stood and paced to the window. “Detective, my wife is a good person. She doesn’t have enemies. She doesn’t get involved in anything dangerous. She takes pictures of buildings and landscapes. How does someone like that just . . . disappear?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Brooks stood. “I need you to think carefully. Did Melissa seem worried or frightened in the days before she disappeared? Did she mention feeling like someone was watching her?”
Daniel was quiet for a long moment. “The night before. We were having dinner at that restaurant on the harbor—Aldrich’s, I think it’s called. Melissa kept looking over her shoulder. I asked what was wrong, and she said she felt like someone was staring at her. But when I looked, I didn’t see anyone paying us particular attention.”
“Did she describe the person?”
“She couldn’t. Just a feeling.” Daniel turned from the window. “I told her she was being paranoid, that she was overthinking the project. God, I was such an ass.”
Brooks closed his notebook. “Mr. Clarkson, I need you to stay in town and stay available. If you remember anything else—any detail, no matter how small—call me immediately.”
He handed over one of his temporary contact cards. Sullivan had printed him a stack until Brooks made a decision on whether he wanted to stay in Westerly Cove or not. Daniel took it with shaking hands.
“You’ll find her, right? She’s still alive?”
Brooks had learned long ago not to make promises he couldn’t keep. “We’re doing everything we can.”
Outside the hotel, Brooks stood for a moment, processing. Daniel Clarkson’s grief seemed genuine, his confusion about his wife’s research consistent with someone who’d been kept in the dark. But why hadn’t Melissa shared what she was investigating? What had she discovered that required secrecy?
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of witness interviews and coordination with the Coast Guard. By the time Brooks made it to Martha Morgan’s house on Harbor Street, it was nearly two in the afternoon.
The blue house with white trim sat at the end of a quiet street, its small yard meticulously maintained. Martha answered the door before he could knock, as if she’d been watching for him.
“Detective Harrington. Come in.”
The house smelled of lavender and old books. Martha led him to a small sitting room where a box sat waiting on the coffee table.
“Lily’s research,” she said, settling into an armchair. “Everything she collected in those last weeks before she disappeared.”
Brooks opened the box carefully. Inside: notebooks filled with neat handwriting, photocopied documents from the townarchives, photographs of the lighthouse from various angles, and a map with locations marked in red ink.
“She was investigating the lighthouse’s history during Prohibition,” Martha said. “She’d found evidence of smuggling operations, tunnels connecting the lighthouse to buildings in town, records that had been deliberately hidden or destroyed.”
Brooks pulled out one of the notebooks and flipped through pages of careful documentation. Dates, names, shipping manifests. Lily Morgan had been thorough.
“Did she tell anyone else what she’d found?”
“She tried to tell her father. He worked maintenance at the lighthouse. He didn’t believe her at first—thought she was being dramatic about her school project.” Martha’s voice broke. “Then she disappeared. And Robert started asking his own questions. Too many questions. Six months after we lost Lily, he died of a heart attack. Very sudden. Very convenient for the people he’d been pressuring for answers.”
Brooks made a note. Robert Morgan’s death—another convenient timing. “Did Lily share her research with anyone before she disappeared?”
“Just what’s in this box. Her notebooks, photographs, maps. I made copies before Chief Morrison took the originals.” Martha’s hands clenched. “But I know my daughter. She was careful. If she thought she was in danger, she would have made backups, hidden copies somewhere. I’ve searched for twenty-five years and never found them.”
“What makes you think she made backups?”
“Lily documented everything twice, filed everything in multiple places. She wouldn’t have gone to that lighthouse with all her evidence in one location.” Martha met his eyes. “The last time I saw her, she said she was going to her best friends Sarah’s house. She never came home.”
“Does Sarah live in town?”
Martha shook her head. “She left after graduation and never came back.”
Brooks continued to look through things. “Did anyone ever find Lily’s camera?”
