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Back The Lighthouse Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. PART ONE
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. PART TWO
  13. 12
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 18
  18. 19
  19. 21
  20. 22
  21. 23
  22. 24
  23. 25
  24. 26
  25. 27
  26. 28
  27. 30
  28. 31
  29. 32
  30. 33
  31. 34
  32. 35
  33. 36
  34. 37
  35. 38
  36. 39
  37. 40
  38. 41
  39. 42
  40. 43
  41. PART THREE
  42. 44
  43. 45
  44. 46
  45. 47
  46. 49
  47. 50
  48. 51
  49. 52
  50. EPILOGUE

While her dad left to grab the last of his stuff, Amy hung back in the bathroom. A maid had raised the alarm? She had no reason not to believe that, and yet something felt off. Exactly what it was, she couldn’t say, but in the back of her mind there was a twinge of doubt: a niggling thought that something wasn’t right. Amy couldn’t explain it, couldn’t put her finger on what was bothering her, couldn’t even describe it except to say it was like listening to an orchestra but hearing a single instrument that was slightly out of tune. It may have been quiet and faint, but it was definitely there, lurking somewhere on the fringe of her thoughts, a lone discordant note.

46

46

The “stop on the way” was police business. Amy had assumed this would be the case since that was the main reason for their trip, but it did strike her as a little strange to be accompanying her dad while he attended to the actual job.

“Are you sure this is okay?” she asked as she got into the car and slipped on her seat belt. “Doesn’t me tagging along break a hundred different rules?”

“Not at all,” Kevin said, checking for an address in his folder before keying it into his phone. “It’s just a routine stop I have to make—a formality, nothing more. Someone went missing a couple of months back and the investigation is about to be closed. I was just sent here to notify the father.”

“Oh, I see.”

The GPS directed them to leave Seabrook and head north. They traveled for ten minutes along the highway, past fields and farms and expansive orchards, then made a left turn toward some tree-covered hills and a valley. Another left turn took them down a gravel road, which soon narrowed and turned to dirt as it wove through a dense forest. As Amy was watching the sunlight try to crack through the tops of the trees, the car made a turn and came to a stop.

She looked over and saw a driveway out her dad’s window. There was a rickety mailbox poking out from behind some shrubbery with the words Porter Ranch stenciled in white, as well as a handmade sign strung to a tree that said Horseback Riding.

“This is it?” she asked.

Her dad stared at his phone, but coverage was fading in and out and the friendly GPS lady was nowhere to be found. He reached for his folder, checked the first page of the case file, then nodded his head. “Porter. Yes, this is it.”