Sea Scope

by Debbie De Louise

  (Book Cover, courtesy of Amazon.com)

  Throughout history lighthouses have been administered by different groups and organizations. Below is a table representing the timeline of lighthouse administration:

  1789 – 1844: Lighthouse Establishment under U.S. Treasury Department

  1845 – 1902: Revenue Department, Marine Division; August 31, 1852, Light-House Board established by Congress

  1903 – 1938: Department of Commerce; 1910, Lighthouse Service of Bureau of Lighthouses formed

  1939 – present: U. S. Coast Guard

  (from Lights & Legends: A Historical Guide to Lighthouses of Long Island Sound, Fishers Island Sound, and Block Island Sound by Harlan Hamilton, Westcott Cove Publishing Company: Westcott, CT, 1987).

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sea Scope: Twenty years ago

  They were all seated in the parlor except for Aunt Julie who, ever the hostess, was handing out coffee and tea to whoever wanted any. Sarah's father stood next to Detective Marshall talking in a low, serious voice. Aunt Julie had also put out a platter of cookies that Glen kept helping himself to while Sarah warned him with a look that he'd had enough and passed him a napkin to clean his mouth.

  They'd returned to the house with Detective Marshall accompanied by the shorter officer he called Loomis. Mother had taken the news better than Sarah expected. Instead of the reaction Wanda had when she and Wendy returned from Bible school, Mother was quite composed. Sarah suspected her calmness was due to the whiskey Sarah could still smell on her breath. Wanda, on the other hand, had collapsed on the sofa sobbing as Wendy sat next to her trying to console her. A few other guests were in the room, even those who didn't know Michael.

  Detective Marshall, after thanking Aunt Julie for the coffee, addressed the group. “I know this a tough time for all of you,” he began, glancing at Wanda who still sat silently crying into a lace handkerchief she'd taken from the pocket of her long dress. “I thought it would be easier if we spoke here than at the station. Please be aware that no one is under suspicion at this point. There are details we need to check, so we have to question all of you.”

  One of the newer guests, a man in a striped T-shirt and shorts, said, “I don't understand why you need to talk with me. I'm on vacation here. I don't even know this guy who jumped off the lighthouse.”

  Loomis responded to that. “Sir, we need to talk to anyone who might've been in the area or seen something today. We're not labeling this a crime yet.”

  From the window, Sarah saw several other policemen gathered by the lighthouse. She wondered if they were looking for evidence of foul play, as they termed it in the movies and on TV. Glen, next to her, was excited by the whole situation. Although he had been very close to Michael, Sarah thought the reality of what happened hadn't yet touched him. He was caught up in the mystery of the moment as if he were watching a detective show where the victim was fictional.

  Marshall took command while his sidekick jotted the answers to the questions on a pad he retrieved from his uniform pocket. To satisfy her father, the officer read the group the Miranda Rights but explained that this was an inquiry and not an interrogation, although a thin line separated them.

  Sarah listened as the detective went around the room repeating the same questions in different ways. Glen whispered to her that this was how they hoped to trip up a liar. The main focus of the questions was who was where during the time period that Michael was at the lighthouse. Sarah's aunt had confirmed that Michael left the inn at 7:30 a.m. She didn't ask him where he was going, but he'd told her the night before that he'd finished his school project and was leaving Sea Scope in the morning.

  “He was very happy to be done with his paper,” Aunt Julie said. “That's why this is so strange. I think you officers contended that he was stressed by the thesis, but he'd already finished it.”

  Loomis jotted down this information as Marshall said, “It's possible he lied about that, but chances are you're right. We can assume that he returned to the lighthouse one last time. Maybe he left something there. In any case, we can pursue our other line of thought.” He turned to Aunt Julie, and Sarah noticed he looked her over in a way that was more appreciative than curious. “Ma'am, did Michael ever bring a girlfriend to the inn? Did he ever speak of one?”

  Aunt Julie shook her head. “No. I often wondered why a nice looking young man like he was didn't have one. There are so many pretty girls at his college.”

  Loomis scribbled in his pad again. Sarah wished she had her diary with her because she had an urge to draw this scene—the police officers talking with her family and the inn guests. She saved mental images to use when she was back in her room.

  “Do you know who may have given him the gold band he was wearing on his right ring finger?” Marshall continued. “It looks expensive, and although it's not on the wedding finger, it looks like it has a special meaning. What do they call them these days, a friendship ring or a pre-engagement ring?”

  “We had a birthday party for him at the inn last week,” Aunt Julie said. “He opened the gifts in front of us, and I didn't see any gold ring, although I have noticed him wearing it since then. I don't like to pry, so I didn't ask him about it. It's possible it was a gift from a family member. I know he visited his folks the next day.”

  Sarah recalled a small box that had been left on the gift table after Michael's party, but she didn't say anything.

  The rest of the questioning went on forever. When was the last time anyone saw Michael? Who was away from the inn during the hours of 7:30 to 9 a.m.? They asked Wanda, who was finally composed, what time she took Wendy to Bible school. She said they were running a little late that morning. Wendy had to be there by 8, but Wanda woke up with a headache, so they didn't leave until 8:15.

  When the questioning turned to Sarah and Glen, their mother warned Marshall that they were only kids and had been exploring by the lighthouse as they had all summer.

  Marshall ignored her and asked them, “What were you two doing at the lighthouse this morning? Why did you go there?”

  Glen answered. “It's fun. We hang out there a lot.”

  “Didn't you think you'd run into Michael?”

  “That's a leading question,” Loomis said, talking for the first time.

  “This isn't a jury hearing,” Marshall explained, but he reworded the question. “Were you going there looking for or meeting anyone?”

  “No.” Sarah answered this time. “We were only playing. Glen likes to race me up the stairs because he always wins.”

  Marshall smiled, and Sarah felt more at ease. He was a nice man, and he looked about her aunt's age, but it was hard to tell adults' ages. She knew Aunt Julie looked younger than her father but was five years older than him. Too bad her aunt was seeing Russell's father. He hadn't come around the last few days, and she remembered an argument between them the last time Bart Donovan was at the inn.

  “I think you'd spend your time more efficiently questioning other folks here than my children,” Sarah's father interrupted. Sarah noted his nervousness. He kept pacing around and his hands shook around his coffee cup. There was a tremor in his voice despite the fact the words themselves were controlled.

  Marshall turned to him. If he was a good detective, Sarah was sure he'd picked up on her father's behavior. “Who do you suggest we question then, Mr. Brewster?”

  Her father looked at Wanda, who was still dabbing her eyes, and on Wendy next to her. Both of them sat with lips pursed as if they had nothing more to say.

  “I think you should've questioned Ms. Wilson and her daughter a bit more thoroughly. They were the only guests who knew Michael and weren't around the inn this morning.”

  Before Marshall could reply, Aunt Julie stepped forward. “Wanda is my housekeeper, not a guest. She's a trusted employee.” She glanced at my father with an angry expression. “And, to be honest, I didn't see where you went after breakfast, Brother.”

  “I was trying to repair my car. I noticed t
he engine making an odd noise the night before and meant to check it in the morning. I already told the officers that.”

  “I doubt anyone can corroborate that story, Martin. In fact, it's quite common for you to jog around the lighthouse, isn't it?”

  “Please, Ms. Brewster,” Marshall said. “Let us handle the questioning.” He looked over at Sarah's mother. “Do you know where your husband went after breakfast this morning, Mrs. Brewster?”

  Sarah watched her mother's face whiten. “I tend to sleep late, and there wasn't much left of breakfast by the time I got there at 8:30. I went out to sit on the porch with a glass of orange juice and saw Martin in the parking lot. It's true he was working on his car.”

  Loomis turned to Sarah's father. “Did you see your wife on the porch? Did the two of you talk?”

  “No, I didn't see Jennifer. She may have been there, but she wasn't when I went back to the inn.”

  “We'll have to check the parking area later,” Marshall said. “See if the parking lot is visible from the porch. I believe I saw a tree that might obstruct the view. You'll have to show us where you were parked.”

  Sarah's father looked annoyed, but he nodded. “Sure. I have nothing to hide. However, you do know Ms. Wilson was out and about during that time, so you should stop hunting around for other suspects and focus on her.”

  “I'm warning you to leave the questioning to us,” Marshall said in a voice tinged with anger.

  “It's okay,” Ms. Wilson said in a whisper choked by a sob. “I can understand Mr. Brewster's concern, but Bible school is in the opposite direction from the lighthouse. Mr. Gamboski most likely left while Wendy and I were getting ready upstairs.”

  Sarah looked over at Wendy, still clinging to her mother's side, and noticed that her corn- husk doll was missing. Wendy had it that morning. Sarah remembered her carrying it as she went to the car with her mother.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Sea Scope: Present day

  “What should we do with it?” I asked. “Should we bring it back to the inn and show Wanda?”

  Russell considered. “Do you think Wendy was carrying the doll around with her? If she believes she's your brother as a child, maybe the doll was her connection.”

  “No. That's not it, Russell. She lost the doll years ago. After the police found Michael's body and were questioning us all back at the inn, I saw that she didn't have it. She even looked for it with me afterwards.”

  “What are you talking about?” Carolyn asked, still holding the dirty and half-disintegrated corn husk doll.

  “Wendy always carried around that doll,” Russell explained. “If she lost it the day Russell died, you know what that must mean?”

  “It means she was here at the lighthouse and not at Bible school as her mother contended.”

  “That's right, Sarah. Didn't anyone ever ask her about it?”

  “During everything that was going on, I don't think people realized the doll was missing. Wendy and her mother left a few weeks later.”

  “But you remembered,” Carolyn said. “Why didn't you ask her about it?”

  “I had my mind on other things. I recall drawing the missing doll in my diary along with the sketches of the detectives and the people they questioned. My parents were at each other's throats during this whole time even more than usual. Mother finally convinced Dad to move to Long Island. It was a time of upheaval in my childhood. A doll didn't matter much.”

  Russell nodded. “Okay, so here's the thing. We have the doll, and it might be evidence against Wanda. Then again, it might not. However, I think we need to bring it to Detective Marshall's attention when he comes tonight.”

  “Should we show Wanda first?” Carolyn inquired.

  “No.” He turned toward me. “Sarah, you take it and put it somewhere safe. Lock it in your car's glove compartment. If Wendy's still around, she might find it if you hide it in the inn.”

  Carolyn handed me the doll and wiped off her hands. “It's muddy, but I think it's best you don't clean it. It's in such poor shape, it might fall apart completely.”

  I took the doll and stuffed it in my pants pocket. It was small and didn't make much of a bulge there.

  When we returned to the inn, Aunt Julie was out on the porch with Al by her feet. “Did you have a nice tour?” she asked.

  “I would've liked to have seen the interior of the lighthouse,” Carolyn replied, “but the outside is beautiful.”

  “It's very old,” my aunt said, “but it's in great condition.” She stood, and Al jumped on the rocker.

  “Smart cat,” Carolyn commented.

  Aunt Julie smiled. “What do you all want to do now? Wanda is shopping for dinner. We decided on the special South Carolina recipe Wanda brought with her for Frogmore Stew, also known as Beaufort Boil. It's a hearty shrimp and sausage dish. I hope you all enjoy it.”

  “I was hoping to write,” Carolyn said. “I have my laptop with me. I can get it and bring it out here.”

  “I can join you if you don't mind,” Russell offered. “I don't have my computer, but I usually handwrite my drafts. I'm sure there's a notebook around I can use.”

  “I need to get something in my car and then I'm going to my room,” I said. “Do you need any help setting up for tonight, Aunt Julie?”

  My aunt shook her head. “Wanda is taking care of most of it. I was planning to work in my art studio. I'd love you to come see my latest portraits if you have a minute, Sarah.”

  “I'll be up soon,” I promised as I headed to my car. The light doll was beginning to feel heavy in my pocket.

  “I'll see you upstairs,” my aunt said, entering the inn.

  After locking the doll in my glove compartment, I almost ran into Russell and Carolyn as they were descending the stairs. Russell was carrying Carolyn's laptop while she held a notebook and pen.

  “Did everything go okay?” Russell asked.

  “Yes, it's in my car. Thanks,” I said, placing my keys back in my purse.

  “We'll be on the patio if you need anything,” he said.

  Carolyn clutched the notebook to her chest. “This feels like a writing retreat. Maybe we can critique one another.” Forgetting about the doll and that we needed to tell the detective about it that night, Carolyn's mind was already focused on working with Russell.

  I remembered that my aunt's studio, like my garret at home, was in the attic. My aunt used it for her portrait drawings. When I entered the room, she was seated on a stool in front of an easel. “Come join me, Sarah, but look around first if you'd like. There are several pieces you probably haven't seen.”

  Because the roof sloped, my head just cleared the ceiling. I imagined a tall person like Russell would have difficulty standing upright. The overhead lighting was provided by a skylight that my aunt told me her mother, also an artist, had installed. A large number of canvases were stacked around the area. They brought back memories. There were several drawings of Glen and me as children and one each of Russell and Wendy. My mother had never allowed Julie to sketch her, but Aunt Julie had drawn my father the year we left Sea Scope. Since he died the following year, his portrait was how he appeared to me as a child. Viewing it now, I saw something sad in his face. My aunt was very good at depicting emotions with her sketches. She'd added the lines by his eyes that appeared questioning or, if I looked closely, might be seeking forgiveness.

  “I'm almost done with this one,” Aunt Julie called, pulling me from my reverie. “Come see, Sarah.”

  I made my way carefully around the brushes and other artist paraphernalia that lined the wood floor. My aunt didn't keep her studio as neat as the rest of the inn, but I knew Wanda never came up here, so the place hadn't seen her tidy touch.

  At my aunt's side, I peered over her shoulder to see Glen's adult face gazing back at me. His crooked, sweet smile broke my heart. Aunt Julie told me she started painting Glen after his accident from some of the photos she'd kept when she'd cleared out his apartment.

  I fel
t tears threaten. “It looks just like him, Aunt Julie.”

  I knew she heard the tremor in my voice. “Sorry it makes you sad, Sarah; but by recreating his face, I feel like I can give Glen life again. I've done a few others of him. They're in that pile over there, but I think this one is the best. I'd still like to paint you. You've grown into a beautiful woman.”

  “Thank you. I wish I could draw people instead of the cartoon-like characters I use for my children's books.”

  “It's a challenge, but what I like most about it is the way I can convey not only the exterior but the interior of the subject. For instance, what do you see in Glen's face besides handsome charm?”

  I paused and, holding my tears in check, said, “I'm not sure. I see humor there. He always liked to joke and tease, but you've also done a good job showing his serious side. His eyes show his compassion, how his whole life revolved around wanting to help people.”

  “Yes. Glen was a very special man. You were lucky to have him as a brother even if it was for a short time.”

  I thought about my father and wanted to ask why she and her brother had never been close despite the fact they'd owned and run the inn together. Before I could, Aunt Julie got up. “I think I should go downstairs now. I'm really not in the mood to work. You can stay up here if you want. Maybe you'd like to do your own artwork. It's very quiet, and you won't be disturbed.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “if you don't mind my dabbling a bit here.”

  “Of course I don't.” My aunt smiled. “Help yourself to anything. I have blank sketchpads on the table over there.” She stood at the top of the stairway. “I'll call you when Wanda returns. I asked her to pick up food for lunch after she finishes shopping. I didn't think anyone would have plans to go anywhere today while we're waiting for Detective Marshall.”

  I noticed how her voice changed when she mentioned the detective. It sounded a bit like Carolyn's when she spoke about Russell. “That was a good idea,” I agreed.