The Secrets of Black Dean Lighthouse

by Jack Dey

  “The shameless way you threw her around in front of the whole diner last night, I’d say she has no misgivings about your intentions,” Desapo grinned.

  “Oh... I like that, Mr Swoon-Catcher! It’s no wonder Katie is keeping her distance from you. She says you carried her upstairs against her will and dropped her from a great height onto her bed. Sounds awfully brutish to me!”

  Desapo sighed loudly, annoyed how Neddy could still get under his skin, just like when they were kids. “Okay...! Hire me then, Mr Parduck!”

  Desapo’s annoyance made Neddy smile, just like when they were kids.

  Neddy abruptly changed the conversation, like he usually did when he won an argument with Desapo. “What do you think Bellaruse is up to?”

  Neddy’s sudden question took Desapo by surprise. “I don’t know, Neddy. It must be something drastic for him to risk being caught. We still owe him for the last meeting.”

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 47

  The scene inside Parduck’s Stone Masonry, Lightning Harbour Office had begun to resemble bedlam. The small shop had two large full-length windows that faced the harbour and the entrance door was situated between these two windows. Inside, workmen were busy installing office furniture, directed by Tess and Katie. Since they had been given the responsibility to run the office, they intended to set it up in a style that they believed befitted the company's character. More workmen arrived and two phone lines were to be installed. By the time Neddy and Desapo entered, the scene was utter chaos. Tess and Katie were ordering furniture removalists to try different positions for the furniture around the office, until they gave their approval and each piece fitted perfectly into the office decor. Still more men with office equipment and fixtures were arriving, adding to the chaotic scene.

  Tess noticed Neddy and made an excited beeline for him. “Do you like what we have done so far, Mr Parduck?”

  Neddy, in his exuberance, complimented the ladies as if it was an art gallery and then added, “Tess, this is Mr Magellan Desapo. I have hired him to be our consulting engineer.”

  “At last, we are formally introduced, sir. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Desapo.”

  Desapo bowed his head. “Indeed it is a pleasure, Tess. I look forward to working with you.”

  Neddy caught Katie’s attention and called her over. “Katie, this is Mr Magellan Desapo. I have hired him to be our consulting engineer,” Neddy smiled.

  “Consulting engineer, sir? I certainly hope your engineering is gentler than your handling of a fragile lady, Mr Desapo,” Katie chided.

  Desapo smiled and nodded. She wasn’t about to let him get away with any excuse for his supposed rough handling when she’d taken a shock. ”I hardly know, madam. I have never handled a fragile lady,” Desapo’s eyes were sparkling as he held Katie’s gaze.

  Katie opened her mouth to rebut him and thought better of it. “Excuse me, Mr Parduck. I have work to do,” she turned and rejoined Tess, organising the furniture.

  Desapo and Neddy departed after that and left the two ladies to their work and continued with their own organising duties. By day’s end, Parduck Stone Masonry was a fully functioning business. The windows had even been signwritten with the company name, leaving Desapo staring openmouthed at the fancy writing on the window.

  Neddy slapped his brother on the back. “Well, brother, I couldn’t think of a reason to stop the ladies from putting the business name on the windows. Come on inside and see how they have decorated your office.”

  Desapo followed Neddy inside, peering around in shocked disbelief. White lacy curtains hung in the windows; a comfortable new lounge chair was pushed up against one of the walls for customer use; and a teak counter separated the customer area at the front of the office from the area at the back. A coffee table sat in front of the lounge, with magazines neatly arranged in a boutique style on the top, while decorative paintings hung on the wall and vases full of fresh flowers decorated each desk. Lastly, a large Persian rug graced the exposed timber floor in front of the teak counter.

  Speechless and shocked at the opulence, Desapo managed a squeaking, “Did we get anything ordered for the job?!”

  “As soon as the workmen finished, Tess and Katie got onto it. The barge will leave as soon as the tugs are ready and the stone and equipment have been loaded aboard. I put your stone cutting crew on the tugs as well.”

  “On the tugs?!” Desapo almost cried.

  “What would you rather have? A happy and relaxed crew arriving in ten days onboard a tug, or a grumpy crew arriving in three days onboard a train?”

  Desapo sighed and nodded. His own experience with the train was testament to Neddy’s choice. “How much did all this cost me?” Desapo waved his hand around the office.

  “I don’t know. The accounts haven’t arrived yet,” Neddy laughed. “I told you..."

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. This is gonna cost you, little brother.”

  Gustav had bitten off a large chunk of passing gossip from the offerings of the town gossip mongers and served it up to the Desapo brothers as they arrived from the office. “Congratulations, Messrs Desapo, on allowing the ladies full choice in the decorations to your new venture. I can only excogitate that the ambivalence of such a decision could never be described as execrable. Especially since their unabashed capability may have been of a truant nature. Well done, sirs!”

  Neddy peered at Desapo and Desapo shrugged, “I don’t know, Neddy; I don’t understand him either.”

  The atmosphere in the diner that night was light and jovial, with the news of the opulent office finding its way around town and as Neddy and Desapo walked into dinner together, Tess invited the two brothers to join the ladies at their table.

  “Are you sure?" Desapo glanced at Katie.

  “Since we are to work together, sir, it is only fitting that I should get to know the people I am to spend a considerable portion of my day with. Shall we call a truce?” Katie volunteered.

  Desapo couldn’t believe the strong-willed beauty was offering an olive branch. “A truce it shall be,” Desapo offered her his hand.

  Katie gently shook Desapo’s hand in a gesture of a ceasefire. “It is a difficult thing for me to admit, sir,” Katie leaned over to Desapo and whispered, “I was possibly a little difficult when you assisted me to my room a number of weeks ago. I was suffering from a great betrayal at the hands of a man, and you, although your intentions were perfectly reasonable, just happened to represent an unjustified emotion.” Katie gazed unfalteringly into Desapo’s eyes, yet she appeared genuinely vulnerable.

  “I may have been just a little reprehensible myself, madam. I am unaccustomed to handling ladies in such a condition as I found you and I was possibly a little out of my depth.” Desapo added, “Indeed, you were a fragile woman at that moment and I must apologise for the rough handling.”

  This woman Katie was turning out to be a mass of contradictions and his demeanour changed more positively toward her. Katie seemed to soften also, with the ceasefire managing to remain enforced throughout the evening and they chattered effortlessly until it was time to retire for the night.

  *~*~*~*

  A face pressed hard against the glass of the shopfront, his hands raised to his eyes on both sides of his face, making a tunnel against the outside light interrupting his view of the darkened interior. His breath left a foggy stain on the glass and he had to wipe it away with his hand to get a closer look. He peered up at the lettering painted onto the window glass. Parduck Stone Masonry, Lightning Harbour Office. What was Desapo up to? Neither of the brothers' companies were called Parduck and what was with the lavish interior? It looked more like a hotel foyer than a stone building business. This wasn’t making sense.

  Bellaruse stalked away, pondering what the Desapos were up to. In any case, he had to get word to Recanauf and the Comtesse, disappearing for a few days to allow the heat he was experiencing to cool off him and for the Desapos to relax their guard.


  *~*~*~*

  On the western side of Contention Island, a small bay hid the twin masted cutter, with the high cliffs and thick vegetation making it almost invisible to the outside world. A series of caves ran from the bay anchorage and deep into the sandstone cliffs; if need be, a perfect place to hide a small town. A lookout, posted high on the cliff wall, kept watch over the marine traffic and the distant mainland. With the aid of an internal flying fox, the lookout could warn the cave dwellers below of approaching trouble and they could simply disappear into the labyrinth of underground tunnels.

  Every night at 8 pm, the lookout would wait for a prearranged signal flashed by a powerful torch from the southern beach of Lightning Harbour. Once the lookout flashed back the understood message, he would then hand deliver the instruction directly to Recanauf. Studying the dark horizon where the nightly signal would come from, the lookout scanned the southern beach of Lightning Harbour where a rocky point hid the light from any prying eyes within the busy town. It was a foolproof system, allowing the scheme to go undetected for many years. Abruptly, the signal erupted, causing the lookout to concentrate on the flashes, decoding as he went.

  Pick...me...up...rocky...point...southern...beach...eight...o’clock...tomorrow...night...finish.

  The lookout flashed back the signal. Understood.

  Moments later, the lookout arrived in Recanauf’s company, prepared to divulge the plan.

  Peering over the dark ocean from a hidden cave, Recanauf held his hands behind his back as the lookout read the message. “Bellaruse must have stumbled upon some trouble,” the acting leader whispered.

  “Are the boiler repairs finished?!” Recanauf then bellowed.

  A small man entered the cave from an adjoining passage. “We expect they will be repaired by morning, Mr Recanauf.”

  “Good! Then prepare the Comtesse. Bellaruse will be longing to see her.”

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 48

  The door to the small room pushed back against his efforts with equal force and he had to apply a greater intensity to overcome the stubborn stiffness of the hinges. The door frame scraped across the vinyl floor covering, making entry into her secret sanctuary even more hesitant. He lost his temper with the perceived attempt by his long deceased wife to keep him out of her world and violently kicked the door. The door gave way under his compelling and crashed hard against the wall, sending a small cloud of dust drifting across her things. It had been nearly thirteen years since this room had seen the light of the outside world, with his wife herself closing the hallowed door just before she died. Since then, he had treated the office sanctuary like a sacred mausoleum, ignoring its very existence... until now.

  It was her room, where she had advocated the rights of the migrants, and the reminder set his face hard in an angry frown and his hands trembled with rage. She always had time for the needy and the downtrodden, but never time for him. When she’d died unexpectedly, it was if she had turned her back on him in a final act of defiance, locking him forever out of her world. He flicked on the light, but it blinked a couple of times and then fizzed and crackled in a puff of smoke and then darkness again. He clenched his teeth, erupting at the room in a frenzy of destructive passion. She was still trying to keep him out of her world.

  Enraged, he whirled through the room like a tornado and destroyed any remaining evidence of her life as a migrant advocate. He turned the desk over and the drawers spilled open, with files and papers scattering onto the floor. A carefully clipped newspaper headline drifted out of the top drawer, yellowing from age but clearly announcing to the world, new legislation passed on migrant rights. His ire spewed out of his throat and rattled against his yellowing teeth, letting go of a turbulent scream before tearing the newspaper clipping into tiny pieces and then like kicking a football, he launched the drawer against the wall.

  A small cash tin hit the wall in unison with the drawer and fell at his feet. Lying next to the fallen tin, a key rested among the wreckage, seemingly sitting in the lock where she had last left it and his violent rage had knocked it from its resting place. Grasping the opener between severely shaking fingers, it took a few attempts to thread it back into the lock of the battered cash tin and for it to finally open. Inside, there was a list of yellowing receipts and donations from people aiding the cause of the migrant advocacy. He turned the box upside down and a pile of vouchers drifted to the ground, followed by a neat pile of currency tethered together by a deteriorating elastic band.

  Staring in disbelief, his eyes rested on an amount of money lying on the floor and like a pouncing tiger, he bent down unsteadily and almost toppled over, retrieving the cash. It took a few attempts to right himself and count the money, but he was sure in the end he had a windfall of over a thousand dollars. With his features contorting into an evil grin and realising the currency was more than likely from donations, he thrust the money into his pocket and saluted the mess. Aiming his thoughts to his dead wife, he figured at last he had settled a little of the score. I’m going to have a little drinky, thanks to the donations of your migrant advocacy.

  Arthur Dillon had consumed his latest welfare cheque on alcohol two days after receiving it and with another twelve days to go until the next, finding the cash tin was an unexpected bonus and he would party tonight. With his mouth dry and his hands trembling, Dillon ran his sweaty palms down his dirty jeans to dry them and then spied a half full bottle of vodka lying against the sofa where he’d fallen asleep last night. His mouth watered at the sight and he licked his lips, making an unsteady path from her room to the lounge chair where the stale alcohol would top him up until he could drive down to the bottle shop and buy some more sweet painkiller. Lifting the bottle to his lips and draining the remains, Dillon felt the calming effect almost immediately, with his hands ceasing their trembles and the sweats disappearing instantly.

  Wandering into the bedroom and searching the chaos for the car keys, Dillon explored the broken furniture until he found a key ring lying on the floor partially covered by a dirty shirt. Steadying himself and using the bed frame for support, he grasped at the car keys and staggered to his feet, feeling for the folded currency notes in his pocket to make sure he hadn’t imagined his good fortune, he determinedly wobbled for the door.

  As he was passing the middle of the room a quirky, unfamiliar noise stopped him in his tracks. After searching the gloomy surrounds, it suddenly dawned... the phone was ringing. He stopped for a moment, coming to a decision, but the presence of the money in his pocket was urging him to press on toward the door and the bottle shop. He glanced at the front door and then back at the phone, still insistently calling his attention to answer it and for no other reason but to stop the incessant chime hammering through his brain, he grabbed up the receiver, putting paid to the troublesome noise.

  “Yeth!”

  “Mr Dillon?” an official sounding voice tore at his brain.

  “Yes, who is this?” he mumbled, trying to sound normal.

  “This is Police Constable Kerri Binns of Missing Persons.”

  Dillon’s mouth went dry and his heart pounded.

  “Are you still there, Mr Dillon?”

  “Yep, what’s up?” he managed to keep up the charade.

  The constable continued, “I am phoning on behalf of Senior Constable Roy and the police’s department of Missing Persons. We believe we had positively identified your daughter and her whereabouts soon after you reported her missing, but a lengthy police investigation had to ensue and it led us to an address in Crescent Street, Brenton Park.”

  Dillon swallowed heavily at this latest news. “But..but that is a highly populated ethnic suburb,” Dillon complained.

  “Yes, sir, that’s correct. Officers are on their way there now to intervene and forcibly remove your child and deliver her back to you. There is one other detail you may want to prepare yourself for, sir.”

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “It appears that your daughter is i
n her last few weeks of pregnancy,” the constable explained.

  “Pregnancy?! But she is too young to be pregnant,” Dillon stammered, shocked.

  “Yes, Mr Dillon, we believe that is the case and we will be conducting further investigations that may uncover the father and perpetrate a possible jail term. If our enquiries are correct, sir, your daughter will be returned to you later today.”

  Dillon dropped the phone and missed the cradle, with the receiver dangling by the coiled wire and resting on the floor. He slumped into a chair, turning over the word pregnant in his mind and soon shock turned to anger and then to rage. “How dare she, the little tramp, and I bet the father is one of those trawling migrants.”

  Standing to his feet, he searched the phone desk drawer and removed the telephone directory, angrily flicking the pages until his eyes fell on a name made famous by heated protests outside its premises. He grabbed the phone by its cord and lifted the receiver from the floor, then pointing to the number with his finger to keep track, he dialled. “I’ll at least put a stop to my daughter adding to the migrant population.”

  In his ear, he could hear the phone ringing through the receiver until a woman’s voice answered, “Privilege House, how can I help you?”

  “Yeah, I want an emergency procedure done this afternoon,” Dillon barked.

  “I am sorry, sir, we are fully booked,” the voice replied.

  “Look, everyone has a price. How much will it cost to do the procedure this afternoon?”

  “Emergency procedures cost $500, sir.”

  Dillon stuttered for a moment. ”Okay, I’ll bring her in this afternoon. I don’t know what time, though.”

  “For five hundred dollars, sir, you can bring her in at any time. What name will it be under?”

  “Arr...” Dillon looked around the room for some inspiration. Resting his eyes on his vodka bottle, he read the name: Tyson’s Vodka. “Elizabeth Tyson,” he lied.

  “And what relation are you to the girl, Mr Tyson?”

  “I am her father,” Dillon replied.