“1885. My great-great-grandfather helped build it, and the Lockharts have been keepers ever since. Four generations, including me.” Pride colored Winnie’s voice.
“That’s remarkable. Not many families maintain that kind of continuity.”
“It’s in our blood, I suppose. The lighthouse, the Gulf, this stretch of coast. My father used to say the lighthouse called to the people who needed it most.” Winnie smiled. “Of course, he said a lot of peculiar things. I found some of his old papers while cleaning the storage room last week. They were full of the most cryptic entries about signals. Probably just the musings of someone who spent too much time alone with his thoughts.”
Her curiosity stirred despite herself. “What kind of signals?”
“Oh, who knows. Lighthouse keepers had their own language, I suppose. Most of it’s lost to time now.” Winnie shrugged and began gathering the breakfast things. “Oh, and Emily? You should take a walk this morning. The beach is lovely, and fresh air does wonders for spiraling thoughts.”
After Winnie left, Emily stood at the window with her second cup of coffee. The lighthouse beam had stopped its rotation, replaced by ordinary daylight.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She almost ignored it, but the persistence of the vibration made her check.
A text from a number she didn’t recognize:Ms. Shaw, this is Julian Holloway’s attorney. We need to discuss your continued use of techniques derived from Franklin Holloway’s intellectual property. Please contact our office immediately.
Her hands shook as she read it again. Then again. How did they get her number? She’d changed it before leaving Chicago. Had someone from her old life given it to them?
“You can’t run far enough,” Julian had threatened during their last confrontation. “I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what you are.”
She sat down hard on the couch. She was kidding herself, thinking she could hide here. Julian had found her in Tallahassee within three weeks. He’d tracked her to Mobile in less than two. He’d find her in Starlight Shores eventually.
The only question was whether she’d still be here when he did or if she’d have run again by then.
She pulled up her email app and saw three more messages from addresses she didn’t recognize, all with subject lines designed to intimidate her.
Legal Action Pending.
Urgent Response Required.
Final Notice Before Filing.
Harassment. That’s all this was. Her lawyer had been clear that Julian had no case. The investigation had cleared her completely. She’d done nothing wrong.
But wrong and guilty were different things in the court of public opinion. And Julian had unlimited resources to keep making her life miserable, even if he couldn’t win in actual court.
She thought about Winnie’s words.We tend to judge people by who they are here, not who the internet says they were somewhere else.
What if she stayed? What if, just once, he didn’t find her?
Her phone buzzed again. This time, she deleted the message without reading it. Then blocked the number. Then blocked the email addresses that had been harassing her all morning.
It wouldn’t stop Julian. But it would stop her from seeing his threats every five minutes.
Chapter3
The next morning, Winnie knelt in the soft earth of her herb garden, carefully tucking a small rosemary plant into place. Her knees protested the position, but she ignored them. Some aches were worth bearing for the satisfaction of working with her hands. The morning sun warmed her back as she patted the soil around the fragrant herb.
She glanced up at the sound of a door closing. Emily stood on the small porch of Starfish Cottage, hesitating before stepping down into the courtyard. The woman moved like someone expecting the ground to shift beneath her feet, cautious and uncertain. Winnie recognized that look. She’d seen it on countless faces over the decades.
“Good morning. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” She kept her voice light and casual. No need to spook the woman. She pushed herself to her feet and brushed the soil from her gardening gloves.
Emily nodded, her gaze darting around the courtyard as if checking for other people. “It is.” Emily hesitated, then stepped closer. “The garden. It’s beautiful. Did you design this?”
“Over many years. The garden changes with the seasons, just like the people who come here.”
“How long have you been the lighthouse keeper?”
She rose and stretched. “Officially? About fifty years now. Unofficially, I’ve been part of this lighthouse my entire life.”
