Sea Scope

by Debbie De Louise

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sea Scope: Twenty years ago

  Sarah wasn't asleep, but the knock at the door still startled her. It was late. She and Glen had gone to bed at eleven. Their father had tried to get them in their rooms earlier, but they were wound up from snacking on the candy they'd bought in town with Aunt Julie after they'd spent time at the beach. Mr. Donovan and Russell hadn't been around for a few days, so Aunt Julie had more time on her hands to take them places. Wanda didn't allow Wendy to go because she was being punished for talking back to her mother at breakfast. Wanda was very strict with her daughter, and Glen said it was because Wendy had no father to discipline her.

  As she lay against her pillow writing and sketching in her diary that helped her relax more than reading or counting sheep, Sarah heard three taps, a pause, and then two more taps —the Morse code signal Glen had developed to let her know it was him.

  She got out of bed and put on her slippers, glancing at the alarm clock on her nightstand, which she only set during school months. What could her brother want at midnight?

  Answering the second set of light taps, she saw Glen standing there with his finger to his lips. “Be quiet, Sarah, and come with me. You have to hear this. Hurry.”

  Sarah followed him across the hall to their parents' room. “Glen, are you eavesdropping again? We'll get in trouble.” Just a few days ago, one of the new guests found Glen listening outside her door and reported it to Aunt Julie, who told their father. He'd given Glen a warning that if it happened again, he wouldn't receive an allowance for a month. He also wouldn't be allowed to the beach or the science museum during that time.

  “It's okay. They won't hear us. This is important, Sarah. Listen. Please.”

  She took a step toward the door and pressed her ear against the surface. It wasn't that necessary because her father's voice tended to drift even when he was speaking low.

  “I'm so sorry, Jen. I know I'm the reason for your illness, but I really did love you. Please believe me. It's better this way, for you and the children. I thought our staying together would be best at one time, but now I see it's not possible.”

  “He's leaving her,” Glen whispered. “He said before that he's found someone else.”

  Sarah's heart began to race. She'd known for a long time that her parents weren't in love anymore. They never kissed and hardly touched at all. She still suspected Wanda was the cause. It seemed to start when they'd moved to Sea Scope, but she was too young before then to remember if they'd ever been happy together.

  “It's okay, Martin. Don't try to sugar coat this for me. I've been to the meetings and spoken to others with my problem. This is my fault as much as yours. I wanted to protect the children, too, but they're growing up fast. We can end this as friends. I don't hate you.” Her mother's voice was cracking. Sarah could tell she was crying.

  “I thought you'd put up a fight. I'm glad you understand my position. I'm not leaving immediately. I'm trying to find a place to live near the university. I haven't even spoken to Julie about this yet. I'm planning to do that tomorrow. I had to ask you first.”

  “He sounds so calm about this,” Sarah whispered to Glen who had his ear against the opposite side of the door. “He doesn't even care that she's crying.”

  From the Garden Room, her mother asked in a voice still tight with tears, “Will we be able to stay here? Are you giving up the inn?”

  “I have to see what Julie wants to do. Don't worry. No matter what happens, I'll provide for you, Glen, and Sarah.”

  Her mother replied in a more controlled voice. “I think I want to go back to Long Island.”

  “We can talk about that. One step at a time. I'm going now. Thank you again, dear. It means a lot that you understand.”

  “Hurry,” Glen said as they heard their father's footsteps walk toward the door. They both tiptoed quickly across the hall and dived into their rooms.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Sea Scope: Present day

  After lunch, I excused myself, saying I had a headache and wanted to rest in my room. Carolyn looked a bit concerned, and as I got up from the table, she asked if everything was okay. I told her I was tired from traveling the day before and the events of the previous night. She nodded and said she would be working on the next Kit Kat book on the patio for a few hours. She was somewhat disappointed when Russell said he'd love to join her but had other plans for the day. For Carolyn's sake, I hoped those plans didn't include a girlfriend.

  Russell promised to be back at the inn by dinnertime. Aunt Julie and Wanda discussed the cleaning and cooking schedule. They were excited to have the detective for a guest, and I wondered if my aunt's zealousness was due to her looking forward to seeing Donald Marshall again and whether Wanda's jitteriness was her fear of the same.

  Back in my room, I had the chance to read my diary again. I lay down on the bed, my stomach finally settling a bit, and opened the book. It was odd reading those words written in my childish hand again. The drawings that illustrated the text were also unfamiliar to my older eyes. Memory is strange and unreliable. Like a dream, your mind often embellishes the realities of your experiences. It's similar to the way a witness identifies a suspect. The mental image often varies significantly from the actuality. What I perceived as a child was both clear and obtuse. I shouldn't have been surprised that the accounts I transcribed at the time varied so much from what I thought I remembered.

  As I skimmed through the journal, I hesitated to read the last page. When I flipped to it, however, I was surprised that it wasn't the one I expected. I recalled ending the diary on the day Michael died, but there were several pages that followed. Not only had I covered the visits by Detective Marshall to Sea Scope afterwards, but I'd also included events that happened before Wanda and Wendy moved away.

  Skipping my entry of that fateful day our lives changed, I randomly chose to view my description of what occurred a week later.

  From the Notes of Michael Gamboski

  A portable library from the Seaman's Bethel containing books from the American Seamen's Friend Society, found from the wreckage of a schooner that sank in 1914, similar to libraries circulated among lighthouses (Photo: Bonnie Sandy/Martha's Vineyard Museum)

  Recognizing the loneliness of many of the light stations, and the fact that keepers engaged in “monotonous routine duties,” the Lighthouse Board in 1876 began distributing small libraries to isolated light stations. These libraries consisted of about forty books which were enclosed in a case that folded open to display their contents. Each library was different, for the board envisioned transferring the boxes among the lighthouses, at first leaving a library at each station for about six months. Specifically, the Lighthouse Board wanted the libraries sent “to isolated lighthouses of the higher orders, where there are keepers with families, who will read and appreciate the books the libraries contain.”

  Each library contained a mixture of novels, histories, biographies, adventures, religious works, and magazines.

  By 1885, there were 420 libraries in circulation. It is not known how long the circulating libraries remained in use, but as late as 1912, the Bureau of Lighthouses reported having 351 libraries.

  (from America's Lighthouses: An Illustrated History by Francis Ross Holland, Jr., General Publishing Company: Toronto, Ontario, 1972.)

  Chapter Forty

  Sea Scope: Present day

  After reading a few pages of my childhood diary, I fell asleep. I awoke to tapping at my door and Carolyn calling me. “Sarah, are you up? It's dinner time.”

  I got out of bed and answered the door. “I must've slept for hours, Carolyn. What's going on?”

  My friend stepped into the room. She had a wide smile on her face. “Everyone's downstairs, and the detective has arrived. Russell's back, and he's asked me to a movie after we eat. Aunt Julie told me to come up and get you. I'm sure you needed the rest. Pregnancy does tire one.”

  “Shhh,” I said, putting my finger to my lip
s. “Remember, I haven't told anyone about my situation.”

  “I understand, but Derek's coming tomorrow. I think everything will work out once he's here.”

  I wished I could've been as optimistic as Carolyn, but of course she was looking through rose-colored lenses after Russell asked her out on a date. “I hope you're right. Let me brush my hair and freshen up. I'll be down soon.”

  She nodded and went back out into the hall.

  When I joined everyone in the kitchen, Detective Marshall, who I recognized but who'd aged as we all had after twenty years, stood up from his seat next to my aunt and extended his hand to me. “Nice to see you again, Sarah. You've grown into a lovely lady.”

  I shook his hand. “It's nice to see you again, too, Detective Marshall, although I'm sorry we're meeting under these circumstances.”

  He nodded. “Your aunt has filled me in on the current problems at Sea Scope.” His smile left his face. “Please call me Donald. I'm not a detective anymore.”

  “Let's not talk about this right now,” Aunt Julie said. “Have a seat, Sarah. Wanda has cooked us a delicious meal.”

  I sat in the empty seat next to my mother, who I was relieved to see was looking sober and not as nervous as I imagined she would be.

  “I'm sorry if I kept you all waiting. I slept longer than I expected.”

  “No worries,” Russell said from his seat next to Carolyn. “We were talking a bit before dinner was served.”

  “I told Donald about Wendy,” Wanda said. She was on the other side of my aunt.

  “We can discuss that later with everything else,” Aunt Julie reiterated.

  “Why wait?” my mother asked. “There might be more that some of us want to add.” I knew then that she hadn't mentioned what she'd told me earlier.

  “Very well, but I hate to ruin our dinner.”

  “The truth doesn't ruin anything. It clarifies things.” I wasn't surprised at the verbal sparring between my mother and aunt. I watched Aunt Julie's face change. It had previously been bright and focused on Donald Marshall.

  “What do you have to tell us, Jennifer?”

  Mother was twisting her napkin in her lap. Otherwise, she still appeared outwardly calm.

  “Go right ahead, Jennifer,” Donald said. “Anything you can add to this information will be helpful, although I've already said I'm not in the capacity to officially investigate this matter. Wendy hasn't been missing very long but, due to her illness, I'd advise contacting the authorities. I can help with that if you'd like.”

  “I already explained that we want this kept private for now,” Aunt Julie said.

  Donald sighed. “Alright. Let's hear what Mrs. Brewster has to say first.” He turned his gaze toward Mother.

  “Thank you, Donald. Please call me Jennifer.” She let her napkin rest in her lap. “I'm not sure you're aware that after Michael's death my husband committed suicide.”

  “I am, Jennifer. I was still visiting Sea Scope then, and Julie told me about it. I was very sorry to hear the news.”

  “Thank you.” She took a breath and released it slowly. “I've already shared this with Sarah.” Mother looked at me. I reached over and held her hand under the table. Aunt Julie and Wanda's faces were expressionless as they waited for the rest of the story. Carolyn and Russell seemed more interested in themselves and their movie plans.

  “After we found Martin…” she began.

  “After Glen found Martin,” Aunt Julie corrected.

  Mother nodded. If I were she, I'd be upset by the interruption, but I think she was relieved that it gave her more time to think through what she had to say.

  “Go on,” Russell prompted. He wanted to get it over with for another reason. I wondered if, like his father, he would be hurt if Carolyn went back to Jack when she finished her visit at Sea Scope.

  Mother smiled briefly and squeezed my hand. “That's correct. Glen found his father in the garage where he did his paperwork. He'd shot himself in the head.”

  “We know that,” Aunt Julie said, “or at least most of us do.” She glanced at Russell and Carolyn as if to exclude them. “So, what do you have to add, Jennifer?”

  I felt sorry for my mother in the face of Aunt Julie's rudeness, and I wondered what Donald Marshall thought as he sat at her other side quietly observing all of us.

  “It's true Martin shot himself, but there's something I didn't tell the police when they arrived.” She looked toward Donald as if for support.

  “Seems like a long time to keep a secret,” he said. “Are you sure you want to tell us now? Does it have any bearing on what's currently happening here?”

  “I'm not sure. I want to tell everyone because I have to get this off my chest, finally, but who knows if it's important at this late date.”

  “Are you going to keep us in suspense any longer?” Carolyn asked. I noticed Wanda and I were the only ones at the table who hadn't said anything. Wanda was looking down at her plate. She was probably worried the food she'd so painstakingly prepared was growing cold and wouldn't be eaten after whatever my mother said.

  With another deep exhalation, Mother let it all out. “I found a suicide note. Actually, it was a confession.”

  Wanda gasped, her dark face turning ashen, and spoke for the first time. “Where did you find it? What did it say?”

  Mother looked down at her lap and our clasped hands. “It was on his desk. Glen was probably so scared he didn't see it. I told Sarah to take him inside and call 911. After the children were gone, I looked around. It wasn't hard to find.”

  Everyone took a collective breath waiting for her to finish. “Martin didn't address it to me, the police, or anyone in particular. It was very brief. All it said was, 'I killed Michael.'”

  “No.” Wanda's cry startled me.

  “Are you okay, Wanda?” Aunt Julie asked.

  Wanda got up and pushed back her chair. “I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well. I'd like to be excused.”

  “Not yet,” Donald said.

  “Surely, you can make an exception for Wanda,” Aunt Julie implored. “She's probably got one of her migraines again. I know how awful they can be. She needs to go lie down in a dark room.”

  “Julie, please.” Donald's voice was firm. Wanda sat back down, her face still pale, but I had the feeling it was from what my mother said and not from a migraine.

  “I thought you weren't handling this in an official capacity.” Russell directed the comment to the retired detective.

  “I'm not, but I still have questions. I was called here to consult on this matter, and I need information to be able to do that.” He looked toward my mother again. “Why didn't you show the note to the authorities, Jennifer?”

  She swallowed and then answered, letting go of my hand as she did so. “I wanted to protect my husband's memory. My children were still young. It was bad enough people would talk about his killing himself, but I didn't want their father labeled a murderer.”

  “What if he was? Do you believe what he wrote? I take it you recognized the handwriting?”

  Mother nodded. “I'm sure he wrote it. Why would he lie if it was his explanation for committing suicide?”

  Donald Marshall didn't have an answer to that, and neither did anyone else in the room.

  After what seemed like forever, Aunt Julie said, “The food is getting cold. I think we should eat before we discuss anything else.”

  Donald raised an eyebrow, and I thought he would insist on asking more questions. Instead, he said, “I'm sorry I took up so much time with questions, Julie. This food looks delicious, and I thank you again for inviting me to dinner.” With a nod toward my mother, he added, “and, thank you, Jennifer, for sharing that information with us. I know how hard it must've been for you, but its relevance to this situation has yet to be determined.”

  “I think it has major relevance,” Russell interjected. “Most of us here were around twenty years ago when Michael's body was found. My father and I weren't at the inn that day, nor
were we here much during the period following, but Michael had been more than a Sea Scope guest to us. For years, we've all been wondering why someone so bright and full of enthusiasm would take his own life. Now we know what really happened.”

  Donald contemplated Russell's words before replying. He tapped the table lightly with his finger. “In my previous profession, Mr. Donovan—Russell, if I may—I learned about confessions. You can't always believe them. I know that Jennifer identified Martin's handwriting, but none of us have seen the note ourselves. I take it that you didn't keep the note, Jennifer?”

  “Of course not, but I didn't make this up. I've kept this inside for years and it's eaten at me. Are you trying to say that I lied about it? Why would I do that now?”

  “I'm not saying you lied,” Donald corrected. “However, it's possible that after all this time, you don't recall the exact words of the note. Even if you do, it doesn't mean your husband pushed Michael off that lighthouse. He may have felt responsible for some reason and that's why, in his mind, he felt that he killed Michael. Can you understand that? Is there a reason that he may have felt that way, Jennifer?”

  I saw my mother fidget in the chair. I could imagine what was running through her mind. Should she tell those present my father's deep dark secret about his attraction to young men? Before she could decide how to respond, Aunt Julie took command again.

  “I think that's enough for now, Donald. Wanda helped me prepare this delicious meal, and we're making it go to waste. Even though Russell believes this is important, I would rather concentrate on finding Wendy and Sarah's missing phone.”

  “I apologize. We'll continue this discussion later, but I have one last question.” Donald surveyed the room again. “Have there been any further messages? Those crayon clues you mentioned to me?”

  “Not as far as I know,” Aunt Julie replied.

  “After dinner, we need to search the inn. I know you told me you only have a few rooms open right now and the others are locked, but we should check them. Wendy may still be on the premises since Wanda hasn't had any luck finding her at home.”