THE LIGHTHOUSE

The

LIGHTHOUSE

•••

Christopher Parker

Beacon Press

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Christopher Parker

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
or used in any manner without written permission of the
copyright owner except for use of quotations in a book review.

Cover design by James T. Egan (bookfly.com)
Book design by Anna B. Knighton (annaknighton.com)
Map illustration by Karl Whiteley (who587.com)

ISBN 978-0-9951495-0-2 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-9951495-1-9 (ebook)
ISBN 978-0-9951495-2-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-9951495-3-3 (audiobook)

Beacon Press Limited

christopherparker.com

3014 Dauphine Street
New Orleans, LA
70117

For Lucy

THE LIGHTHOUSE

In the town of Seabrook, there stands a lighthouse.

Perched on an outcrop of jagged rocks, the derelict tower was condemned over half a century ago and has been bruised and battered by the wind and sea ever since.

Some say she’s a relic of a bygone era, an eyesore that should be torn down. Others believe she’s a symbol of the town’s heritage, a pillar of the past that should be protected and saved. And there are those who think she should be left to the mercy of Mother Nature.

Crumbling brick by brick, the building is too dangerous to enter, and longstanding rumors of a ghost lurking within have meant that it’s been years since anyone has stepped inside.

Few even remember the last time she shone.

But the horizon has yet to see the last of her light, and just as she once helped sailors navigate the treacherous waters off the bay, Seabrook’s famous lighthouse will soon be called upon one more time, to help those in need find their way home.

PART ONE

PART
ONE

1

1

Amy, where on Earth have you been?”

Amy didn’t know what had given her away—the security light, the creak of the gate, or the sound of her footsteps as she’d snuck along the pebbled path. The truth was that she hadn’t meant to come home so late. She had been visiting her mother and simply lost track of time, a mistake she instantly regretted when she discovered her father anxiously waiting for her on their front porch.

“Well?” he growled. “Speak up.”

Amy stuck her head down and tried to squeeze through the narrow gap between him and the door. “I’m sorry,” was all she could say.

“You’re sorry? That’s it?”

“I’m tired, Dad. I just want to go to bed.”

Amy pushed her way inside and made straight for her room, desperately hoping that he would save his interrogation for morning. But considering her father’s line of work—he was a detective in the Criminal Investigations Division of the Oregon State Police—that seemed highly unlikely.

“I asked you a question. Where were you?”

“Can we do this tomorrow? Please?”

“No, we can’t.” He chased Amy down the hall and into her bedroom, his tone growing more tempestuous. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

Amy drew her curtains shut, plugged in her phone, switched on her lamp—whatever she could do to avoid eye contact.

“Amy, are you hearing me?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “I hear you.”

“Well? Will you tell me where you disappeared to?”

“I didn’t disappear. I was visiting Mom.”

“You can’t be serious. You mean to tell me you’ve been at the cemetery this whole time?”

She turned to face him. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Aside from the fact that you should have called to let me know? Why haven’t you been picking up your phone?”

“The battery died. I didn’t realize it was so late. I didn’t know you’d be so worried. I’m sorry, all right?”

“Sorry isn’t good enough, Amy. You’re eighteen years old. I know you miss your mother, but it’s completely irresponsible for you to be wandering around the cemetery by yourself at this ridiculous hour.”

And there it was again, thought Amy, the beginning of yet another lecture. He’d been like this since the day of the funeral: critical of almost everything she did. If he wasn’t micromanaging how much she was eating, or fussing over how much sleep she was getting, then he’d be second-guessing her every decision, just as he was doing tonight, or like yesterday when he’d urged her to “take some more time” and not to “jump the gun” after she’d announced her plans to withdraw from college. They’d sparred over it for the better part of the day, and Amy wasn’t even sure why. The decision wasn’t permanent; it was, as the university soberly called it, a “special dispensation for a life-changing event,” which meant she could return to her studies whenever she wanted, and yet the most her father could offer in response was a resigned, “All right, Amy, whatever you think is best.”

On the one hand she shouldn’t have been surprised. The two of them weren’t close, hadn’t been for a long time. Still, she’d never thought they’d end up like this, that they would become so . . . distant. It was as though the death of her mother had left a crater so wide and pushed them so far apart that neither one of them knew who the other was anymore.

“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.

“I tell ya, Kevin,” Jack said, slurping his drink between breaths, “damn Rodney screwed up the wording of the warrant so bad that Judge Norton tore it up and threw it straight back in his face—­literally ripped it in two—and the task force that was all geared to rock ’n’ roll at dawn had to park up for another twenty-four hours. Cap was spitting tacks like you wouldn’t believe, and the feds were too. I’d have written the warrant myself, except it’s not the only thing I’ve got going on, you know?”

To underscore his point, Jack then summarized everything else he had on his plate: a double homicide in East Burnside, an ongoing drug ring investigation, and, finally, a missing person case he’d been overseeing down the coast.

“Anyway,” he said, straightening his back, “you don’t need me bleating on about work. Tomorrow you’ll be back with me at the grind, so how about we save the unpleasantries till then.”

Kevin stared ahead, throwing back the last dribble of his drink. He had completely forgotten that it was a mere twenty-four hours before he was due back at CID. The thought landed in his gut like a heavy rock. He’d been trying to reassure himself that work would help distract from the grief of losing his wife, but the truth was that he felt apprehensive about returning to the bleak realities of his job. With Helen gone and the way things were with his daughter, he wasn’t sure he was ready, wasn’t sure how he was going to cope.

He raised the empty glass in the air, signaling the bartender for another.

Jack folded his arms and rested them squarely on the table, as though to communicate disapproval at the vigor with which Kevin was putting away his liquor. “How are you doing, buddy? Are you okay?”

Kevin winked and raised a thumb. “Superb,” he drawled.

“I’m serious. I’m asking as your brother, not as a cop. How are you holding up . . . in general, I mean?”

“In general? What exactly do you want to hear?”

“How about the truth? How are things at home?”

The question made Kevin retreat into the pit of his seat and start picking at the edges of his soggy coaster.

“Not good, huh?” Jack said.

“Let’s put it this way—after what happened last night, I’m not sure things can get much worse.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

Kevin shook his head, his expression grim as the bartender arrived and poured a fresh glass.

“Damn, Kev, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Besides, I shouldn’t be surprised. Amy and Helen were very close, and now all she’s got left is me, and, well, let’s face it, we both know I’m not exactly father of the year.” He tipped his head back and took another generous gulp.

“It won’t last forever, Kev. Amy is dealing with some heavy stuff right now. You both are.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m actually getting really worried about her. She’s becoming more and more withdrawn. She spends all her time either locked inside her room or down at the cemetery.”

“Tried talking to her?”

“Of course, but whenever I do, we just end up arguing. I only want to help her, you know? I’m her father. I want to be there for her. The problem is I haven’t the slightest clue what to say to an eighteen-year-old girl who’s just lost her mother.”

“Hey, if it’s any consolation—and I know it’s not—I’ve got a forty-five-year-old brother who’s just lost his wife, and I haven’t got a clue what to say to him either.”

Kevin managed a small smile. “Well, Jack, you’re doing a damn sight better than me.”

Jack reached across the table and put his hand on his brother’s arm. “Doubt that very much. But do you know what? I think I’ve just had an idea, something that might help.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a bit out of left field, but will you hear me out?”

“Right now, I’d consider anything.”

Jack gave a tense smile and reached for his keys. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Two minutes later, Jack returned from his car clutching a manila folder. He dropped it in front of Kevin and sat back down.

Kevin studied the front cover. It was a case file—the emblem of the Oregon State Police was emblazoned at the top, and there was a file number scribbled in red at the bottom. Kevin didn’t recognize the number, but he did recognize the handwriting—it was Jack’s.

“Say hello to your new assignment,” Jack said.

Kevin’s eyebrows ticked up. “My new assignment?”

“Before you say anything more, just take a look.”

Confused, Kevin flipped the cover and started reading. It was the missing person case Jack had mentioned a moment ago. The file was two months old and wafer thin, containing only a half-dozen pages that for the most part consisted of interview transcripts and county search reports. From what Kevin could gather, the investigation had been coordinated from Portland, despite the fact that the disappearance had taken place in a small town a couple of hundred miles to the south. Straightforward enough, but it begged the obvious question: What did any of this have to do with him and Amy?

“I’m lost, Jack. Why are you trying to pawn off one of your cases?”

Jack shifted his drink to one side. “I won’t bore you with all the details, but this one’s a dead end. The consensus among the team is that the kid has skipped town. I was supposed to be driving down there tonight to formally notify the family that state police are shutting up shop, but . . .” Jack paused and cleared his throat. “I think you should be the one to go instead.”

“Me?” Kevin looked down at the file again and reread the notes, just to make sure he wasn’t missing something. “Jack, this is a copy-boy errand. You actually want me to get in the car and drive three hours to a town in the middle of nowhere, just to pass that message on in person?”

“Yes, I do.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I think it might be a good idea if you got out of the city.”

Kevin leaned back in his chair and gave his brother a long, dubious glare. “You must be kidding. What is sending me away going to achieve? I can’t leave Amy on her own, not now.”

“Of course not. I’m not suggesting you do.”

“Then what are you suggesting?”

“That you take her with you.”

Kevin would have laughed had his brother not sounded so serious. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“No, I’m not. And I think you should take your time too. Take a couple of days.”

Kevin flipped the folder shut and slid it back across the table. “Sorry, I know you mean well, but the last thing Amy will want to do is pack a bag and go on a holiday.”

“It’s not a holiday. It’s work.” Jack slid the folder right back. “Tell her you’ve got to go away to close down an investigation—which is the truth—and tell her that you want her to go with you.”

“And this is somehow going to bring us closer together? That’s your great plan?”

“I never said it was great, but it’s the best I can come up with.”

“Jack, I’m not sure.”

“Come on, think about it. Some time away from the house and a bit of ocean air might be just what you both need.”

Kevin rested his elbow on the table and sat quietly for a moment, mulling the idea over. He did have to admit, begrudgingly, that his brother might have a point. Perhaps a change of scenery would do him and his daughter a world of good. After all, what did he have to lose? Persuading Amy wasn’t going to be easy, though, and there was a high chance it could all backfire the moment they stepped out the door, but Jack was right—it could be worth a shot.

“All right, Jack. But if this whole thing goes south, I’m blaming you.”

Jack winked as he threw back the rest of his drink. “Happy to take responsibility.”

Kevin opened the folder and glanced over the case notes one last time, just to remind himself where he and Amy were headed. Then, to acquaint himself with the shortest possible route, as well as to defer the task of heading home and convincing his daughter of their impromptu road trip, he pulled up the map function on his phone and typed in the name of the town.

Point of destination: Seabrook.

3

3

It had been three weeks since the accident, and not a moment went by when Amy didn’t feel like bursting into tears. All she could think about was her mother—about how much she loved her and missed her, and how much it hurt that they never got a chance to say goodbye.

The funeral hadn’t helped, not that Amy thought it would. No amount of flowers, kind speeches, or sympathetic hugs could possibly bring her any comfort, or change the fact that her mother would still be here if she hadn’t gotten in the car that morning, or if she’d left just one minute earlier, or one minute later, or if the driver of the other vehicle had bothered to look up from their phone and see that the light was red. If any one of those things had happened then her body wouldn’t be buried in the ground, and Amy wouldn’t be forced to endure this nightmare, forced to confront a future that now seemed so unbearably bleak.

Sometimes she wondered if the pain would ever go away. It was constant, like being stuck on a treadmill, a vicious cycle of anger and sorrow with no finish line in sight and no way of getting off. And what made it worse was that everyone seemed to want to help. Her father was on her case all the time, incessantly trying to get her to start “living normally” again, as though doing so might fast-track her through her grief, and her best friend had made a point of turning up every day to check in on her, a routine that seemed to imply Amy was fragile and delicate and in constant need of being watched. Amy appreciated that people were worried, and she was sure they meant well, but their persistent efforts to try to steer her through this emotional minefield only made the road ahead seem even more daunting and hopeless.

Like clockwork, though, while Amy was locked away in her room, staring at her laptop and perusing yet another website dedicated to “overcoming loss,” the familiar rattle of Sam’s car could be heard pulling up outside. Amy considered crawling under her sheets and pretending she wasn’t there, but Sam was nothing if not persistent. And it seemed today would be no exception.

“I know you’re in there, Ames, and I know you probably want to be left alone,” Sam called out, knocking firmly on Amy’s bedroom door. “But you should know that I’m not leaving without seeing my best friend, and she can’t hide either—trust me, I still remember what she looks like. Let’s see, she’s about five foot four, with mousy brown hair, and green eyes, and she’s also got this flawless skin that has always kinda bugged me because I know she loves french fries just as much as I do. But I’m taller. So I guess that balances it out. Except . . . being taller doesn’t really balance things out, does it? It just makes me taller. And I think I’d much rather have perfect skin. But anyway . . .” Sam took a breath. “I’m worried, and even though she’s the most amazingly brave person I know, I really want to see her, just to make sure she’s okay.” Sam paused again, waiting for a response. “Amy?”

Resigned to the fact that her friend wouldn’t take no for an answer, Amy reluctantly closed the lid to her computer and went to let her in.

“There you are!” Sam cried out, falling into the room like a tower of stacked boxes and wrapping her arms around the back of Amy’s neck. “How are you? Are you doing okay?”

“I’m okay,” Amy replied, resting her chin on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m okay.”

As Amy propped a pair of pillows against the wall and climbed back into bed, Sam rolled a chair out from beneath Amy’s desk and wheeled herself into the center of the room. On her lap was a paper bag from which she promptly removed a white carton, a napkin, and a plastic fork.

“I wasn’t sure whether to keep turning up like this,” Sam said breathlessly. She offered the carton and fork to Amy, then spent the next few minutes espousing how much self-control it had taken for her not to flood Amy’s phone with messages and call every hour of the day. “I don’t want you to think I’m checking up on you, but I think it’s important you see someone regularly. And I figured you could do with something yummy to eat, too. Wasn’t sure what you felt like, so I got something simple.”

Though she wasn’t hungry in the slightest, Amy indulged Sam’s whim and peeled back the folds of the lid.

“It’s just a noodle salad. But if you feel like something else, I can head back out. I can go to Bec Sucré and get some of those pain aux raisins that you like? Or maybe some sushi? You name it.”

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