Sea Scope

by Debbie De Louise

  “I'm getting to that. Sorry.” Wanda leaned back against the counter. The bacon and eggs sat cooling in the pan. I'd lost my appetite completely despite the aroma that still filled the room, and I imagined the others had, too.

  “Take your time,” Aunt Julie said giving Russell a look that told him to wait for the rest of the story.

  “There's not much more to say except that part of this is my fault because when Glen had his awful accident, I brought Wendy with me to his apartment to help clear it out for Julie. She offered to go, but I should've realized it might awaken memories.”

  I thought maybe that's how they'd come across Glen's phone, but I kept quiet.

  “When we returned to Cape Bretton,” Wanda continued, “Wendy was fine except the nightmares were starting again. She'd been married for a brief time to a man I'd hardly known. The divorce had gone through recently, and she was now living with me.”

  I heard Russell take a breath and knew he was getting impatient again. The tapping of his foot was another clue.

  “It was right after we came back from Los Angeles that I started finding the clues.”

  I was the one who interrupted now. “Are you talking about the crayon clues?”

  Wanda nodded. “Yes. Wendy started leaving them around our house.”

  “What did they say?” I asked.

  “I can't remember now, but they were all related to the incident at Sea Scope that summer. I asked her about them, and she pretended she knew nothing. Then I caught her writing one, and she laughed. She replied in a boy's childlike voice that she was Glen and that's when I insisted that she see another psychiatrist.” Wanda inhaled deeply as Mother began crying again.

  “They diagnosed her with a personality disorder.”

  “Like Sybil?” Carolyn finally spoke from next to Russell.

  “No. It wasn't a multiple personality disorder or dissociative disorder—that is the correct technical term. The psychiatrist explained that Wendy would have different symptoms with that. She would develop another identity but not take on someone else's.”

  “I wanted to protect her,” Wanda continued. “That's why I knew it would be a bad idea to bring her along to Sea Scope when Julie invited me. Maybe I shouldn't have even accepted, but I think part of me thought I'd find the answer here that would help her.” She wiped her eyes, and I thought she'd begun to cry like my mother. I'd never seen Wanda cry except for the day they broke the news to her about Michael.

  Aunt Julie tried to comfort her by putting her arms around her, but Wanda broke away. “No. This is my fault.” She turned to me. “Sarah, I'll get you your phone back or replace it. I promise.”

  “Wait a minute,” Russell said. “If what you're saying about Wendy is true, she has episodes where she believes she's Sarah's brother when he was young during the time she knew him. After these episodes, does she remember them?”

  Wanda nodded her head, bobbing her braid. Her tears had dried. “No. I think that's part of the condition.”

  “How long do these spells generally last? An hour? A day? Longer than that?”

  Before Wanda could answer, Aunt Julie said, “I think Wanda's had enough of an interrogation, Russell. Why don't we all settle down and have breakfast before it turns cold.”

  Russell caught my anger that had now dissipated into disbelief. “Is that it? Mystery solved. Let's go back to our vacation?” He waved his hands for emphasis and then turned to face my aunt. “You know what I think? I think you cooked up this little inn opening to get all of us here who were there that summer. You wanted to put us on a stage, so we could act out our stories. That party idea backfired, but you still don't want to take down the decorations. Well, I'm not sticking around for your fake reminiscences of the good old days.” He turned to leave the kitchen, and Carolyn grabbed his arm.

  “No, Russ, please. It's okay. Sarah's aunt didn't mean any harm, and neither did Wanda. I wasn't involved in what happened back then, but looking at it from an outsider's point of view, I'd say that there are things to be settled here.”

  Sarah didn't think that would calm Russell, but he made no move to pass around Carolyn.

  Mother, who had stopped crying, looked around the room. “I agree with Sarah's friend,” she said. “I think we should stay here and face the truth finally.”

  “Too bad you don't take your own advice, Jennifer,” Aunt Julie responded.

  Wanda was the one who broke the tension in the room. “I'm going to call Wendy and see if she's home. I thought she would be okay left alone. She's been fine for months now, although she lost her job. I lied about her secretarial position in Charleston as an excuse for her absence.”

  “Did she know you were coming to Sea Scope?” Russell asked. He'd turned back around. I noticed Carolyn's hand was still lightly on his arm as if holding him there.

  “No. I didn't want to tell her. I said I was visiting friends, but it's possible she figured it out. Our home is not very far from here, and she doesn't drive, so I imagine she walked here last night, took Sarah's phone, and left the note.”

  “She has Glen's phone, too,” I said. “I received a message from it before I arrived.”

  Wanda didn't look surprised to hear this. “I wondered what happened to it. When we were packing up his stuff, I came across it. I laid it on the bed and then went to get boxes to pack the rest of his things. When I returned, it was gone. I asked Wendy if she saw it, and she said she didn't know. I thought maybe it fell under the bed. I checked but couldn't see anything.”

  “Was she having a spell then?” Russ asked.

  “Not that I can tell, but the episodes are usually very quick. Other times, they can last for a day or longer. She doesn't recall anything she's done during the episodes because she literally becomes young Glen.”

  “Why Glen instead of me?” I asked. “I don't think she and my brother were particularly close as children.”

  “Who knows?” Wanda shrugged. “The mind can be a strange tool indeed.”

  I knew Glen would agree with that, having dedicated years to the study of psychology.

  “I'll call her now. Sit down, please.” Wanda went to the phone on the kitchen wall and dialed. Everyone waited, standing, but I noticed Mother and Aunt Julie eyeing one another with animosity.

  After ten rings, the answering machine kicked in.

  “She's not answering,” Wanda said, hanging up the phone.

  “You could check on her,” Aunt Julie said. “Go home and see if she's there.”

  “What if she's still here?” Russell interjected. “Does she ever do anything dangerous during these 'episodes?'” He used Wanda's term.

  “No.” Wanda shook her head vehemently. “She's not dangerous. She won't hurt anyone.”

  “But these messages must mean something,” Carolyn added. “What if Michael really was murdered?”

  Her question echoed through the room unanswered.

  From the Notes of Michael Gamboski

  (Michigan Lighthouse Conservancy, 2018)

  If Lighthouses had a birthday, it would be August 7 when National Lighthouse Day is celebrated each year to commemorate the anniversary of the federal lighthouse establishment and the commitment and service of those who tended America's lights for generations.

  For the bicentennial of the United States Lighthouse Service in 1989, the U. S. Lighthouse Society petitioned Congress to declare National Lighthouse Day on August 7—the date in 1789 that the Ninth Act of the First Congress, establishing federal control of lighthouses, was passed and signed by President George Washington. The measure was signed by President Ronald Reagan as Public Law on November 5, 1988 but only for that day in 1989. A similar declaration was won in 2013, but efforts to add the day to the official national calendar have not succeeded.

  Lighthouse organizations across the country are still encouraged to celebrate August 7 as National Lighthouse Day and see it as a great opportunity for lighthouse tours, programs, and activities, and a fitting way to commemo
rate a vitally important part of America's rich maritime heritage.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cape Bretton, South Carolina: Twenty years ago

  Detective Donald Marshall was having a bad morning. His alarm had malfunctioned, so he was officially a half hour late for work which meant he had no time for breakfast or even coffee until he got to the station. It was either skip the food and java or the shower. He couldn't do without a quick wash, spraying the hot water that took forever to warm and, when it did, became so burning hot that he had to turn it down, anyway.

  Stepping out of the bath, he went about his normal morning routine at lightning speed or as fast as his tired body could move. He'd just turned fifty, and he was looking forward to retirement. His friends in the Charleston and Beaufort P.Ds were jealous of him for what they considered the quiet life in Cape Bretton. It was true the town saw hardly any crime except for an occasional stolen bicycle or a tourist from Up East going through one of the red lights on the main street. It often puzzled him why people on vacation were in such a hurry.

  Shaving quickly, he checked his face in the mirror. His blue eyes were watery, his square jaw displayed razor stubble, and his summer crew cut was already growing out. He wasn't handsome, but he didn't consider himself homely either. He didn't have the best manner with women and that's why he was still single after the divorce from Judy ten years ago.

  As he was pulling on his trousers and blue, open-collared polo, the phone rang. He should've been gone already, so he hesitated to answer it, but something made him pick it up.

  “Marshall, where are you?”

  It was his partner, Ted Loomis. “I know I'm late, Loom,” he said, calling him by the nickname he'd given the younger man. “I'm on my way.”

  “Wait.” Ted's voice held a note of urgency he seldom used. “Don't go to the station. Come directly to the lighthouse. We have an incident here.”

  “What's going on at the lighthouse?” Donald pictured teens loitering with beer bottles or maybe marijuana, but the town had cleaned most of that up for the fireworks celebrations two weeks ago. Then he remembered the student that had been hanging around since June working on a school report. What was his name, Mike?

  “Just get your a-hole over here,” Ted said and clicked off.

  Grabbing his keys from the table by the door, Marshall glanced at his old Collie. The dog had lifted his head from sleep when he saw his owner, thinking it was time for a walk. Marshall felt a pang of guilt. He knew he wouldn't have Buddy much longer but also knew he'd get another dog to replace him, as he'd had them all his life. “Sorry, Buddy. You'll have to take a rain check this morning, but I managed to fill your food bowl.”

  I hope he doesn't pee all over the floor, he thought leaving the house as Buddy whined behind him. If the dog did, it would be his own fault for oversleeping. Not a good way to start the day, and he wasn't looking forward to what Loomis was hinting at either.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sea Scope: Present day

  Aunt Julie was the one who broke the silence. “I believe the authorities determined the cause of death was that Michael jumped. He must've been a troubled young man, although he hid it well.”

  “How did they know he jumped and wasn't pushed?” Russell asked.

  My aunt paused, trying to find the right words to reply. “Why would anyone have done that? Everyone liked Michael. Besides, there was no evidence of a struggle. Detective Marshall and his men ruled that out.”

  “Detective Marshall. Wasn't he the cop who you left my dad for, Ms. Brewster?”

  Aunt Julie, usually so composed, turned away from Russ' gaze. “You were only a child. How can you remember that?”

  “I remember my father being upset, waking in his sleep and crying. He'd finally accepted my mother's death and was ready to make a new life with someone else. He was going to ask you to marry him.”

  I was shocked. Even though Bart Donovan had been a frequent visitor at Sea Scope, I never knew he was that serious about my aunt. Maybe that explained why, in the days that followed Michael's death, Bart and Russ drifted away from the inn as Detective Marshall questioned my parents and Aunt Julie, in particular, way more times than seemed necessary. Dad said that he was only doing his job because police have to ask questions many times to be sure that people respond in the same way to verify that they're telling the truth. Glen joked that Detective Marshall was a funny name for a police officer. It was like a chiropractor with the name Dr. Bones or a lawyer called Sue Me. He thought it was even funnier that the detective's first name was Donald. When he came to the inn, Glen whispered, “Detective Donald Duck is here.”

  “Is Detective Marshall still around?” Carolyn inquired.

  My aunt looked over Russell's head at her. “I have no idea. I'm sure he's retired by now.”

  “Maybe it wouldn't hurt to look him up. Someone should at least be consulted about this.”

  “I don't think that's a good idea,” Wanda said, taking a seat at the table next to my mother who remained quiet as people talked around her. Wanda looked deflated after telling the story of Wendy, as if it had drained the strength from her.

  “Why not?” Carolyn asked. “If all you guys were here that summer and this Detective Marshall investigated Michael's death, maybe he can shed more light on what happened. After all, I know Sarah and Russell were only kids, and Wendy, as well. If she isn't answering at home and she's hanging around Sea Scope, we should be looking for her.”

  “I think Carolyn's right,” I said. “Even if she isn't dangerous, Wendy might end up hurting one of us or herself by accident. She needs professional help, and I know if Glen were still alive, he'd advise her to find the right doctor.” I walked over to my aunt and spoke to her directly. “Aunt Julie, if you knew Detective Marshall well, he might be happy to help us. I understand you and Wanda not wanting to go to the police, but a retired cop might be useful in handling this type of situation.”

  Aunt Julie weighed her options. “I'll see what I can do, but it's possible he's moved away or even died.” Watching her face as she spoke, I got the impression she knew exactly where to find Detective Donald Marshall.

  From the Notes of Michael Gamboski

  (Point No Point Vacation Rental)

  Besides being wonderful places to visit, there are some lighthouses where you can actually stay during a vacation. These include Bed & Breakfasts, Vacation Rentals, Hostels, Lighthouse Keeper for a Fee, Volunteer Host Keeper, and Coast Guard Recreational Lodging for military families. Links to many U.S. accommodations can be found on the United States Lighthouse Society's website at http://uslhs.org/fun/lighthouse-accommodations

  Chapter Thirty

  Sea Scope: Twenty years ago

  When he arrived at the scene, Loomis and a few of the younger cops were there talking with a man and woman around Donald's age. A yellow tape cordoned off part of the area. Police vehicles and an ambulance were parked by the lighthouse.

  “About time you got here,” his partner said in way of greeting as Donald approached.

  “What happened?”

  “Looks like a suicide. This is Mr. and Ms. Brewster from the inn.” Loomis introduced the man and woman standing next to him. “The vic was a guest. His name was Michael Gamboski. His parents have been contacted.”

  Donald looked up at the lighthouse tower and followed the path down to the area that surrounded the yellow tape. The body and a pair of broken glasses lay there. He turned his attention to Mr. and Ms. Brewster. He knew Ms. Brewster. He'd seen her in passing in town usually when grocery shopping, although he ran into her housekeeper in the supermarket more often. He'd also seen Ms. Brewster's paintings and attended one of the shows she gave at the gallery. She'd asked to do a portrait of him once, but he'd declined.

  He walked over to the couple who he knew were brother and sister. When Martin Brewster wasn't helping his sister at the inn, he did construction and repair work around town.

  Shaking Ms. Brewster's hand
first and then her brother's, he said, “Good morning, folks, although I see it hasn't been a good one for you.” Donald liked to interject a bit of humor into serious situations. He saw his attempt hadn't been received well and cut his smile.

  “Hello, Detective Marshall,” Ms. Brewster said. She was clearly shaken but trying hard not to show it. Her usual neat auburn hair was flung around her face, a result of standing against the wind that was whipping the coast that morning.

  Mr. Brewster nodded, his dark eyes meeting Donald's for a moment and then looking away. Seeing them together, Donald realized they didn't look much like siblings. Ms. Brewster was fair, while her brother was dark of hair, eyes, and complexion. He knew that happened in families sometimes. His brother didn't look anything like him either.

  “Again, my apologies,” he offered, trying to make up from his previous attempt at humor.

  He turned to Loomis. “Who found the body?”

  “The boy and girl. His kids.” He looked toward Mr. Brewster.

  “Where are they?”

  “Sarah and Glen are back at the inn with their mother,” Mr. Brewster replied.

  Donald recalled the children were in third and fifth grades in the same classes as his niece and nephew. They were old enough to be questioned. “We'll have to talk to them later. Where is Ms. Wilson?” He was proud he remembered the last name of the housekeeper. Lately, he'd been having those senior moments that weren't welcome in his profession.

  “My housekeeper's picking up her daughter from summer Bible school,” Ms. Brewster answered. She glanced at her watch. “They should be back at Sea Scope very soon.”

  “We'll need to talk to all of you since Mr. Gamboski had been a guest at your inn.”