The Lightkeeper's Bride

by Colleen Coble

  Will dropped his balloon and stepped out of the shadows. “Good evening. May I help you?”

  The man jumped then collected himself. “Mr. Jesperson?”

  “That’s right.” Will studied the fellow who hadn’t taken his eyes off Jennie. “Something I can do for you?”

  “Might we step inside?”

  “We may, but I’d like to know who I’m speaking with first.”

  The man extended his hand. “Albert Russell.”

  Will barely choked back an exclamation. Albert Russell. The man Philip wanted him to ask Eliza about. “You’re related to Miss Katie Russell?”

  “My daughter.”

  “Come in.” He led the way to the lighthouse and ushered his guest to the parlor. “Coffee? Tea?”

  “Thank you, but no. I can’t stay long.” Mr. Russell glanced around the room, one of five inside. “Pleasant living quarters. Remote out here, but well appointed.”

  “Quite.” Will was impatient to find out what was on the man’s mind. He put a wriggling Jennie on the floor, and she toddled over to grasp at Mr. Russell’s pant leg.

  The man patted her head awkwardly. “Your daughter?”

  “No.” Will didn’t elaborate. He was sure Miss Nosy Operator had filled her father in on the situation from last night. “How can I help you, sir?”

  The man glanced at the baby then back to Will. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Jesperson. I’m looking for one of my possessions that I’d left at Miss Bulmer’s. It is no longer at her premises. I thought perhaps you picked it up with the belongings you brought here for the baby.”

  “I brought nothing but diapers and clothing.” Will knew guilt when he saw it. “You had a relationship with Miss Bulmer?”

  The man flushed. “That is hardly your concern.”

  Was this why his daughter had offered to take Jennie—because she was aware of the affair? Will glanced at the baby, who seemed quite comfortable in Mr. Russell’s presence. Of course, Jennie didn’t seem to fear strangers. The man’s brown eyes were the same color too. But he didn’t have the cowlick like Jennie’s. That resemblance was to Philip instead.

  It wouldn’t hurt to ask though. “Is Jennie your child?”

  “No, she is not,” the man said, his voice rising. “Did my daughter tell you that?”

  “No. How are you so certain Jennie is not your child?”

  “The woman was hardly faithful to any one man. And the chit looks nothing like me.” Mr. Russell waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I realize my eyes are brown, but hers are shaped differently. Nothing about her resembles me or Eliza, so she must look like her father.”

  “Dad-dad,” Jennie chanted, banging on the man’s knee with her small fist.

  Will raised a brow. “She seems to know you.”

  Mr. Russell removed the child from his side and straightened. “Of course she does. However, that does not mean that I sired her.”

  She promptly began to wail. Will scooped her up. “So what item are you looking for?”

  “It was a pocket watch. Engraved with my name on the back. My mother purchased it for me on my twenty-fifth birthday, and I’m quite loathe to part with it.”

  “I found nothing like that. You’re sure it’s not at her house?”

  Mr. Russell shook his head. “I searched the house before I came out here. It’s not there.” He rose. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be off now.”

  Will walked the man to the door and shut it behind him. “Now what was that all about?” he asked the baby.

  The Redwood Inn was in a part of town that had once been fashionable but now bore the marks of neglect. It was still respectable, but only just. The hotel was ornate and massive but its glory days were twenty years in the past. Time had taken its toll on the corbels and gingerbread trim, which had lost much of their paint. Katie skated to the picket fence gate. Darkness had fallen but the glow of gaslight pushed back the shadows with a warm yellow light. She removed her skates and walked up the porch. The bell tinkled on the door when she pushed inside.

  Mr. Wilson was polishing the wooden counter when she entered. “Miss Katie,” he said. “What brings you here so late?” He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner as it chimed the time, eight o’clock. He used to stop by to play pinochle with her father, and he never failed to bring her a stick of peppermint. But it had been some years since he had done that.

  A high shelf circled the room. Birds and animals of every kind stared down on her. Mr. Wilson was a taxidermist as well and he took every opportunity to display his handiwork. She shuddered and averted her eyes. “I need some information, Mr. Wilson.” She joined him at the counter. The registry lay right in front of her but she had trouble reading it upside down. Besides, she didn’t know the man’s name.

  “What’s that, Miss Katie?”

  “Do you have any new guests here right now? A man, in particular. Dark hair and eyes. Youngish, maybe midtwenties. Snappy dresser.”

  The man bared his teeth in a grin that showed a silver-capped tooth. “You scouting for a beau, Miss Katie? I thought you and Mr. Bart were cozying up.”

  Heat flamed in Katie’s cheeks. “Of course not, Mr. Wilson. This inquiry has nothing to do with any romantic feelings. Is the man here?”

  “No ma’am, but I think I know who you mean. He picked up his things a few minutes ago and left to catch the packet to the city.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Joe Smith.” The proprietor smiled again. “A false name, I’m quite certain, but I don’t pry into the business of my customers.”

  “Did he say why he was in town?”

  “I didn’t ask. That would be taken for nosiness.” He gave her a pointed look.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wilson. Have a good evening.” She retraced her steps to the gate by the sidewalk and put her skates back on. It would be useless to go to the dock. The last packet for San Francisco would have departed by the time she could get there.

  She skated slowly back toward her house. As she reached the edge of town, she stopped to adjust her right skate and saw her father’s buggy turn from the road to the lighthouse. Why had he been out there? She was tempted to go find out. Pausing at the lane that led to her house, she decided she couldn’t bear not knowing. She skated down the concrete road to the lighthouse. When the road turned to macadam, she removed her skates and walked the rest of the way.

  She heard the foghorn before she saw the lighthouse. Her breath came fast by the time she saw the light blinking its warning. As she began the climb up the hillside to the edifice atop it, she heard the wail of the baby. “That man,” she muttered. She quickened her step and reached the front door. The crying wasn’t coming from inside the house but from around the other side, near the cliff. Was Mr. Jesperson harming the child? Her hands crept into fists, and she flew around the corner of the house to confront him.

  Mr. Jesperson had Jennie against his chest and he was walking back and forth across the grass. The faint refrain of “The Old Rugged Cross” lifted on the wind, and Katie stopped short. He was singing to her? A lump formed in her throat. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad sort.

  Her father had never sung to her, but he was kind and indulgent most of the time. She didn’t know why she was allowing such dark suspicions to sway her emotions this way.

  The baby’s cries faded then stopped. The little girl’s head stayed down on Mr. Jesperson’s shoulder, but he continued to hum and pat the tiny back. Such a small baby on such a big shoulder. He was even more attractive when he was showing such tenderness to a child. Her earlier misgivings assaulted her. Could he really be the baby’s father and not his brother as he’d claimed?

  Before she could examine the thought further, he turned and spotted her in the moonlight. Wariness replaced his placid expression.

  She managed a smile. “Is she asleep?”

  “Finally. Let me put her down.”

  He carried Jennie to the door. Katie followed him into the house, where
he laid the baby in a crib in the parlor.

  “There’s no bedroom for her?”

  He shot her a quick glance. “I’m supposed to stay in the light tower all night, but there is no way I can do that and watch her too.

  I moved her crib in here so I can nap on the sofa between trimming the wicks.”

  “You look tired,” she said, observing the circles under his eyes.

  “I was unable to sleep today after being up all night.” He covered the baby with a blanket then patted her back when she stirred. “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to find out why my father was here.”

  He turned, and his brown eyes crinkled with his smile. “Just can’t stand it, can you, Miss Nosy Operator?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have come.” She turned toward the door.

  “At least now I know why you wanted to take charge of Jennie,” he said.

  She turned back to face him. His expression warned her of the meaning of his words. “He admitted his involvement with Eliza?”

  “In so many words. He was looking for a pocket watch he left at her house. Did you see such an item?”

  “No.” She knew the watch of which he spoke.

  “I assume he fears if it’s found he’ll be a suspect in Miss Bulmer’s disappearance.”

  “He had nothing to do with it,” she said quickly. She wished she was as convinced as she sounded. “I’m sorry to trouble you. I’ll be on my way.”

  “I quite dislike you traveling back to town alone in the dark,” he said. “Why don’t you take my horse? You can bring it back tomorrow. After the attack on you in the kitchen yesterday, I’m unwilling to see you in harm’s way.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Mr. Jesperson. I shall return your horse tomorrow.”

  “He’s in the barn at the base of the hill. The saddle is in the shed. Do you need assistance?”

  “No, I’m comfortable around horses.”

  He glanced at the baby. “I wish I could say the same about Jennie. Do you know of a reliable woman I could hire to help care for her?”

  “I’ll think on it,” she said. “Thank you again for the loan of your horse.” She was eager to get away from his probing, curious eyes. She escaped the lighthouse, saddled the horse, and galloped for town.

  EIGHT

  KATIE BOLTED UPRIGHT at the pounding on the front door. Her father hadn’t been home when she arrived last night. He’d probably been out drinking. Or trying to cover his tracks with Eliza. After rubbing her mother’s forehead with peppermint oil to help her migraine, Katie had fallen into bed after midnight. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Only six a.m. Who could be rousing them so early?

  The maid’s soft voice murmured down the hall, then Constable Brown’s voice echoed in the foyer. “I must speak with Mrs. Russell,” he said.

  Katie leaped from the bed and grabbed her dressing gown then shoved her feet into slippers. She fumbled for the doorknob and nearly fell over her kitten, Nubbins, who entangled himself around her ankles. After extricating herself from the cat, she stumbled into the hallway and rushed down the stairs to find the constable pacing the redwood floors.

  “Ah, Miss Katie, I must speak with your mother.”

  Katie tightened the sash on her gown. “What’s wrong, Constable? Mama went to bed with a migraine and I don’t wish to disturb her if we can avoid it.”

  The constable was pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes as if he’d been up all night. “I’m afraid it can’t be helped. Please call your mother.”

  Katie gulped at his serious expression. Was that compassion she glimpsed? “Very well. Get Mama,” she told the maid.

  Her mother’s voice spoke from behind her. “I’m here, Katie. What is the commotion?”

  “Come into the parlor, Mrs. Russell,” the constable said, his voice grave.

  Her mother took Katie’s hand in a fierce grip. The women obeyed the constable’s directive and sank onto the gray horsehair sofa at his gesture. Her mother leaned her head against the doily that covered the back of the sofa. Katie didn’t let go of her hand. Whatever was coming was bad, very bad.

  Brown cleared his throat. “Mrs. Russell, I regret to inform you that your husband was discovered in the pond at the base of Mercy Falls this morning at four o’clock.”

  She squeezed her mother’s fingers. “No,” Katie whispered. “Is he—dead?” Hysteria bubbled in her throat.

  “No, but he’s gravely ill. I had him transported to the hospital.”

  “Was it a–a suicide attempt?” The falls was notorious for attracting the despondent.

  “It appears so.”

  Suicide. All the doubts crashed over her head again. It made him appear guilty of Eliza’s disappearance. This was her fault. She should never have let him know she’d overheard.

  Katie’s mother had still not spoken. She sat motionless and without expression. “Mama?” Katie choked out.

  “I believe I shall go back to bed,” her mother said in a clear voice. “This migraine is quite unmanageable.”

  Katie fought to keep her tears at bay, to be calm for her mother. She and the constable exchanged a long look. She slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Mama, did you hear what Constable Brown said? Papa tried to do away with himself.”

  Her mother clapped her hands to her ears. “I don’t want to hear anything more from you, Katie,” she said, her voice shrill. Hysteria was in the last note of Katie’s name. Her mother’s eyes went wild.

  “Your father would never do such a thing. Never! What would our friends say?”

  “I think we should call the doctor,” Katie mouthed to the constable.

  He nodded. “In the hall or the kitchen?”

  “The kitchen.”

  He slipped out of the room while she hugged her mother. “He’ll be all right.” But would he? The constable’s manner had been most grave. What if her father died? Her mother would never survive the trauma. Her parents had always been so close . . . or at least that was what she’d thought until she learned of Eliza’s involvement.

  Her parents. Today had brought back too much of the past, before they’d taken her in. She preferred not to remember all that pain.

  Brown stepped back into the room. “He’s on his way.”

  “What happened? How was he found?”

  He shrugged. “An early morning hunter discovered him half in the water and dragged him all the way out. He has a bad cut on his head.”

  “Will he live?”

  His expression turned grimmer. “The doctor is examining him.

  He’s unconscious. Does your father have any enemies? The break-in yesterday, Miss Eliza’s disappearance, the attack on you. Might they be connected?”

  She glanced at her mother. “I’d like to wait until my mother is under the doctor’s care before we discuss this further.”

  “Of course.” His keen gaze probed her face. “Do you fear his suicide attempt is connected with Miss Eliza’s disappearance?”

  “I–It’s possible,” she choked out. The doorbell rang. “That must be Dr. Lambertson. Could you get it? I don’t wish to leave Mama alone.”

  “Certainly.”

  Katie’s tongue was as dry as sand. Her eyes burned, and her throat convulsed with the effort to hold back the sobs building there. How much should she tell the constable? How could he find what had happened to Eliza if she wasn’t honest with him? Of course, her father was not responsible for Eliza’s disappearance, but if she kept anything from the constable, she wouldn’t be doing the right thing. When the doctor turned to tend to her mother, she slipped down the hall and beckoned to the constable to follow her.

  “Miss Katie, what are you hiding from me?” The constable’s voice was gruff but kind.

  She bit her lip. Her father had begged her to stay quiet, but what if he hadn’t tried to kill himself? “I realized why the man’s voice on the phone was so familiar,” she told him. “It was m
y father who argued with Eliza.”

  He took out a cigar and struck a match. “I see,” he said, drawing in a puff. “You feared I would assume your father was involved in her disappearance if you told me the truth?”

  “I didn’t realize it was his voice at first. I just knew it sounded familiar.” She sent him a pleading glance. “Truly, Constable, I wasn’t hiding it from you. I realized it after we talked.”

  “So you think your father came back and disposed of her?”

  “No!” She wetted her lips. “I think someone else came in. In fact, what if Papa didn’t try to do away with himself? What if that man attacked him?”

  “What would be the motive? I suspect Miss Eliza was blackmailing him.” His voice was heavy with disapproval.

  “I asked my father if he was Jennie’s father. He denied it and I believe him.” She knew her tone lacked conviction and put more force into it. “Papa’s a good man. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Not even when he’s drinking?”

  Heat raked her face. “Not even then.”

  “When did you see him last? Did he seem despondent?”

  She hesitated. “I glimpsed him on his way back from the lighthouse last night.”

  “Why was he there?”

  “Mr. Jesperson told me he was looking for a pocket watch he left at Eliza’s. He thought perhaps Mr. Jesperson had picked it up with Jennie’s things.”

  “Why would it matter?”

  “His name was on it. I’m sure he didn’t want his relationship to become common knowledge. There’s something else you need to know, Constable. I received a threatening telephone call last night just before I left work.”

  “Did you recognize the voice?”

  She shook her head. “But the call came from the skating rink. I rushed there to see if I could perhaps catch the perpetrator, but he’d left for the Redwood Inn. When I went there, I was informed he’d left town. According to Mr. Wilson, the man called himself Joe Smith. A fake name, of course.”

  Brown puffed on his cigar. “Miss Katie, you need to let me do the investigating here. You’re going to get yourself in trouble. I told you— you need to watch yourself.”