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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

“Do you know what I was about to do?” Her father’s rising voice urged Amy back to the present. “I damn near called this in. I was this close to sending out a patrol to look for you.”

She shot him a stunned glare. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What did you expect? I couldn’t reach you.”

“I expect you to trust me, not order a citywide police hunt whenever I leave the house!”

“This isn’t about trust, Amy—it’s about me having some clue about where you are.” He paused to take a breath. “Look, I’m not pretending any of this is easy. I’m still trying to come to terms with the loss of your mother, just like you are. And, yes, I realize I’m doing a damn poor job of it. But despite everything that’s happened, I am still your father, and I don’t appreciate being treated as though I don’t exist.”

Amy resisted the urge to fight back and instead marched across the room and swung open her door. “Would you mind just leaving me alone? Please?”

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he said, making no effort to move. “All I want to do is help.”

“What’s the point, Dad? It’s not as if you can fix what’s happened.”

“I can’t fix anything if you won’t let me try.”

Amy rattled the door hard and pointed to the hall, a stampede of tears building behind her eyes. “I said you can’t, okay? This isn’t another case for you to solve. You can’t help, you can’t fix this—and I’m pretty sure you can’t bring Mom back—so will you please just leave me alone?”

“All right, Amy, fine—if that’s what you want.”

With his arms raised in surrender, her father turned and trudged out of the room.

And as soon as he was gone, Amy slammed the door.

2

2

That night, Kevin Tucker didn’t sleep a wink. His daughter’s words had set off a fire of disquiet in the pit of his stomach that three shots of bourbon and a handful of sleeping pills wouldn’t extinguish. Not even the arrival of morning could lessen the sting of what Amy had said.

In desperate need of a distraction, he phoned his older brother, Jack, and asked to meet for a drink. The venue was one of their regular haunts, a cozy whiskey bar in downtown Portland. Jack, also a detective in the same division of the state police, came charging in thirty minutes late, fell into his seat, and brought Kevin up to speed on what had been happening at work, beginning with a rant about one of his junior detective’s recent slipups. Kevin raised his hand for the bartender to bring over two glasses while he waited for his brother to get everything off his chest.