Winnie pulled out the other chair at the work table and sat down with a small sigh. “I’m not sure. I just know the Lockhart family has always understood their responsibilities. The lighthouse wasn’t just a beacon for ships. Sometimes it was a beacon for other purposes. Other needs.”
Emily sat back, her mind processing Winnie’s words. The journal in front of her wasn’t just a historical curiosity. It was evidence of a family legacy that spanned generations.
“The journal is part of a larger story. One I’ve been trying to piece together for years. I don’t know all of it. My father was secretive and protective. He didn’t think it was safe to share everything, even with family. Some secrets are kept for good reasons.”
“What reasons?”
“To protect people. To keep promises made long ago.” Winnie stood slowly. “You have an eye for detail, Emily. An artist’s eye. And a researcher’s mind. Those entries, the sketches, the coded references are pieces of a puzzle I haven’t been able to solve alone. I could use your help figuring it out.”
“You want my help?” Surprise washed over her.
“I’m saying that if you choose to look deeper, I won’t stop you. But I’m also warning you that some of what you might find could be troubling. There are people who would prefer certain stories stay buried. Who would rather the lighthouse’s history remain simple and sanitized.”
“The developer?” Emily remembered Winnie’s mention of pressure to sell the property.
“Among others.” Winnie moved toward the door, then paused. “The journal is yours to study, if you wish. But Emily? Be careful who you share this with. Trust isn’t something to give lightly.”
She disappeared into the gathering darkness, leaving Emily alone with the journal and a hundred new questions.
She looked down at the pages and the careful handwriting of lighthouse keepers long dead. She ran her gaze across the pages with sketches, codes, and cryptic references that hinted at secrets spanning nearly a century. Her fingers itched to keep reading, to start making notes, to apply her analytical skills to unraveling this mystery.
She turned back to the first page and began reading again.
Chapter6
The morning sun felt warm against Emily’s face as she sat on her cottage porch, cradling the pottery mug she’d gotten at the farmers’ market. The coffee inside had gone lukewarm while she’d been lost in thought, replaying her discovery of the journal and Winnie’s cryptic warnings about people who wanted the lighthouse’s secrets to stay buried.
She took a sip anyway and grimaced. Cold coffee was still coffee, though, and she needed the caffeine after staying up half the night reading through the journal’s entries. The entries, at least those she could decipher from the old-fashioned handwriting on many of the early ones, had documented decades of mysterious activities. Signal patterns. Midnight deliveries. Each entry raised more questions than it answered.
The sound of raised voices pulled her attention toward the courtyard.
“You can’t just set up wherever you want.” A man’s deep voice carried clearly across the morning air. “There are rules about common areas.”
“Clint, I’m not blocking anyone’s access.” A woman’s voice was sharp with frustration. “I need the angle from this spot. The light hits the lighthouse differently here.”
Emily set down her mug and leaned forward slightly, gazing out at the courtyard. Clint—that was Winnie’s nephew, right?—stood with his arms crossed and his broad shoulders tense beneath a faded t-shirt. Facing him was a woman with shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. She wore muted gray clothing and had one hand resting protectively on an expensive-looking camera mounted on a tripod.
That must be Melissa Reeves, the photographer Winnie had mentioned.
Clint gestured toward the equipment. “The rules exist for a reason. You can’t just claim space because it suits your artistic vision.”
“My artistic vision?” Melissa’s laugh held no humor. “That’s rich coming from someone who’s never created anything in his life.”
Clint’s jaw tightened. “I maintain this property. I protect it. That’s creating something.”
“You enforce arbitrary rules to feel important. There’s a difference.” Melissa adjusted her camera’s position slightly, as if to prove she wouldn’t be moved by his protests.
“Those arbitrary rules keep this place running. Maybe if you spent less time hiding behind your lens and more time actually living in the community, you’d understand that.”
The words hit their mark. Melissa’s hand stilled on the camera. “At least I’m creating something,” she shot back. “What are you doing besides following orders from your aunt and keeping everyone at arm’s length?”
Emily remained still. The argument had shifted from property disputes to something far more personal, though she had no idea what history lay between them.
Before Clint could respond, the lighthouse keeper’s quarters door opened.
Winnie emerged with the calm authority of someone accustomed to mediating conflicts. She wore a white shirt and a floral-patterned, flowing skirt, with her silver hair swept into a neat bun. Her gaze took in the scene with a single glance.
“Good morning. I see we’re having a discussion about the courtyard space.”Her voice carried clearly without being raised.
