Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“You keep watch down here, and I’ll check upstairs.” I’m a larger man myself, but thinner than Cormac.
He grunts, but it’s really the only choice. The second floor has a small bookshelf and a tiny bed, neatly made with an ancient quilt that looks like it’s about to fall apart. I look through every nook and cranny, frowning when I find a small closet with some women’s garments in them. Did the lighthouse keeper have a wife? I’ll have to ask my father. These clothes are old-fashioned, so they likely don’t belong to anyone from the present day. But I didn’t know Jack Anderson ever had a woman?
By the time I get to the top floor, I’m feeling frustrated.
“Y’all right up there, Keenan?” Cormac shouts from below.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Alright. You?’
“Fine down here. I did see a little something you ought to look at when you get down here, though.”
“Be down directly.”
The top floor has a small, dilapidated loveseat, a tiny table beside it, and little else. I look in the closet on this floor and find a handful of men’s tattered clothing. I frown, looking at them. These must’ve belonged to the keeper.
The very top is where he did his work.
I peek around but see nothing out of the ordinary. I finally take my seat overlooking the ocean, giving myself the full vantage point he must’ve had. It isn’t until I’m seated here that I blink in surprise.
I had no idea one could see so much from here. For Christ’s sake, I want to kick my own arse for being so thick. The vastness of the ocean, the endless sky, the port of entry for every ship that comes our way, it’s all clear as day up here, clearer than any other fucking vantage point in all of Ballyhock.
Wait a minute.
He could see every fucking ship that came into the harbor. Every transaction on the shore. In great detail.
Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Our primary arms dealing means ship after ship dock right here, right under the watchful eye of the lighthouse keeper.
Is this what Father Finn wanted us to see? That we’ve been under the fucking microscope of a crazy old man for God-knows how long?
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Of course, we’ve covered our tracks and don’t do anything blatantly illegal without covering our arses, but we’re well-known in Ballyhock. Anyone who’d watch us closely would get suspicious. Local law enforcement’s under our pay, so they turn a blind eye, as long as we keep to our own code and morals. There’s a fucking reporter who’s kept her eyes on us. Has she been in touch with the keeper of the lighthouse? She’s been trying to do an exposé on us for years.
I shake my head. Simply realizing the position of the lighthouse wasn’t something worth calling a feckin’ meeting at daybreak, for Christ’s sake. And anyhow, the lighthouse keeper’s dead. Anything he knew about us I’m thinking he took the grave.
I go back down the stairs.
“Find anything?” he asks.
I tell him about the vantage point at the top of the lighthouse.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve kept our noses and arses clean, yanno.”
I nod, but don’t reply. Something doesn’t sit well with me. The Father sent us here to find something, and my gut says we haven’t found it yet.
“You find anything?” I ask him.
“Wellll…” he says, his voice trailing off. “Not sure if it’s worth noting?” he says, then he walks over to the bed. “But look here.” He lifts the pillow. Beneath the white fabric lies a neatly folded old-fashioned nightgown. “You don’t think… well, either the keeper kept his wife’s nightie tucked under his bed, he wore it himself, and I wouldn’t put it past him, he was that off his rocker,” he suggests, his eyes twinkling, “or there’s an option C.”
“Which is?”
“There was or is a woman living here.”
I snort. “Bollox,” I say. “Ain’t a woman here, Cormac, you know that.”
He shrugs. “Something to consider.”
“I found nothing here,” I tell him. “Nothing that’s worth calling an inner circle meeting and sending us here, anyway. You?”
He shakes his head. “Naw.”
“Back outside then,” I say with a sigh. Perhaps I’ll pay Father Finn a follow-up visit. Honest to Christ, if we don’t find something soon, I’ll have no choice.
We both look around closely as we exit the lighthouse, sure that we’ve missed a clue somewhere. Something, anything at all that could clue us in. I see nothing at first, but as we pass the small garden with overgrown shrubs, I hear a noise. I turn toward a dilapidated shed on the perimeter of the lighthouse.
“Did you hear something?” I ask Cormac. He shakes his head. I hold up a finger to my lips for him to be quiet as I turn toward the shed. I hear it again as we stand outside the door, a sort of rustling, followed by a humming. I look at him curiously.