A Ghostly Light

by Juliet Blackwell

  “Well,” I said to Landon, “I’ll be at Point Moro in a few minutes, home in another half an hour or so.”

  “Why don’t I come pick you up?” suggested Landon.

  “That’s sweet, but how would I get my car in the morning?”

  “I’ll bring you back before my class tomorrow. I want to see you.”

  The warmth I had felt at the sound of his voice ratcheted up to full-on fire in my veins.

  Still, it was a long drive from Oakland to Richmond, and there was no need for him to waste the time and gas. Point Moro wasn’t exactly on the way to UC Berkeley, where Landon was a math professor. Not to mention that I didn’t relish the idea of waiting for him on the dark, virtually deserted Point Moro docks.

  “I’ll be home soon, I promise. I’ll go directly, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Although American by birth, Landon had an unusual upbringing, and by and large didn’t get my oh-so-clever pop culture references. The fact that I found this cute instead of annoying was an indication of how enamored I was of him.

  I translated, “I’ll come straight home, and won’t stop for ghosts, or murder, or anything of the sort.”

  “Or salvage yards?”

  “Or salvage yards. I promise.”

  “Good. I’ll be waiting with a plate of Turner Steak.”

  Chapter Seven

  Morning came all too soon.

  I sat at the pine table in the kitchen of a big old farmhouse in the Fruitvale section of Oakland. Hunched over a steaming cup of coffee, I was doing my best to avoid the gazes of several of the men in my life.

  Caleb was glaring at me because Landon had spent the night. Stephen was glaring at me because I had told him he had to be ready to leave for work by six thirty. And my father was glaring at me because, as usual, I had (politely) refused breakfast, and because I had tripped over yet another body.

  Dog was staring at me because he was hoping for some bacon.

  “It’s not my fault,” I whined, feeling that covered just about everything but the bacon.

  Landon was still upstairs, probably all ruffled-looking and adorable, spread-eagled under my soft down duvet. If I hadn’t been juggling four different construction projects, I would have gone back upstairs to join him, hiding under the covers.

  “What else?” demanded Dad.

  “What do you mean, what else?”

  “You found a body, and I presume there was a ghost or two hanging around. C’mon, fess up.”

  “Yeah,” said Caleb. “It’s a lighthouse, after all. Seems like a natural for a ghost.”

  Stan wheeled in and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Oooh, can’t wait to hear this,” he said with his Oklahoma drawl.

  Stan had worked construction with my dad for decades, but several years ago a moment of carelessness had led to a bad fall off a roof, and he was now in a wheelchair. While Stan went through months of rehab in the hospital, my parents renovated a downstairs room to make it wheelchair accessible. Not long after Stan moved in, my mother passed away suddenly and Stan had supported my father in his grief—as well as roping me into taking over as head of Turner Construction. Now the two men were like an aging married couple who quarreled and finished each other’s sentences and couldn’t do without each other.

  “At last, an ally,” I said, getting up to give Stan a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning, Stan.”

  “Mornin’, gorgeous. What’s up? You find another body?”

  “More like it found me. Landed right at my feet at the bottom of the lighthouse stairs, as a matter of fact.”

  Now four pairs of eyes looked at me with concern.

  A fifth pair, belonging to Dog, was still focused on the plate of bacon.

  “Are you saying there was a murderer nearby?” Stephen asked. “As in, up in the tower?”

  I had gone through all of this with Landon when I got home last night, until I had begged him—for the sake of my mental health—not to ask any more questions. I understood their concern, though. My loved ones were worried that I might be seriously hurt one of these days, and I couldn’t blame them. There was no denying that I ran into more outright danger than the average general contractor. What I didn’t know was how to change the situation. For the most part, I didn’t seek out ghosts. Instead, they found me, and wouldn’t go away until I was able to give them what they needed.

  For the moment, anyway, this seemed to be my lot in life: trip over a body, see a ghost—or be seen by a ghost—then bumble around for a while, doing my best to keep my renovation projects on schedule while chasing after murderers and urging spirits to continue their journey to the great beyond.

  It was all a little overwhelming when I laid it out like that.

  “No one knows exactly where the murderer was,” I hedged.

  “Was there a ghost in the tower?” Dad asked.

  I hesitated.

  “Mel?” Dad urged.

  “Some say there’s a ghost in the tower, sure.”

  “Are you saying a ghost killed this guy? Because sorry to be the one to point it out, Mel, but even if that were true, it wouldn’t look good for your friend Alicia,” said Dad. “Can’t imagine the police would be satisfied with that explanation.”

  “You’re right about that. And no, I’m not suggesting a ghost killed Thorn. As far as I can tell, ghosts can’t hurt anyone, much less kill them, even if they wanted to.”

  “I saw a show on TV where the people were accosted by ghosts, and they woke up with bruises and cuts and everything,” said Caleb.

  “That’d be demons, not ghosts,” I said, sipping my coffee. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “You’re suggesting a demon killed this guy?” demanded Stan.

  “I don’t—”

  “Wait. You’re dealing with demonic forces now?” Stephen asked, his voice scaling up as he tossed scoop after scoop of sugar in his coffee. As if he weren’t naturally amped up. “I don’t have to work on that place, do I? I already have blisters, and . . . maybe I’m more suited to office work.”

  “No,” I said with a vehement shake of my head. “No demons. Everyone just calm down, please. A human killed Thorn, who, by the way, was a pretty despicable guy. Not that he deserved to be murdered, but just saying. I’m not losing a lot of sleep over it.” At least I wouldn’t be if he hadn’t appeared to me in ghost form. I fervently hoped Thorn wasn’t going to become a permanent feature at the “Spirit of the Lighthouse Inn.”

  Though, now that I thought about it, it sort of fit the name.

  “Besides,” I continued, “I’m sure soon the police will find the guilty party, and all will be well.”

  “Unless they think your friend Alicia did it,” piped up Caleb. “’Cause then they won’t bother looking for another suspect, right? And for all you know, you’ll be working on an isolated island with a murderer lurking nearby.”

  We all fell silent for a moment.

  Landon appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed in his usual attire: an old-fashioned jacket, his longish hair and trim beard making him seem like a man from another era, like one of those romantic Civil War–era photographs of broad-shouldered, sloe-eyed soldiers.

  He gave me a slow smile.

  And said, “Mel, from now on I’m going to go to work with you.”

  I choked on my coffee. Caleb pounded me a tad too hard on the back, and Dog barked and danced around the kitchen at the commotion.

  “I appreciate the offer, Landon, but I really don’t need a bodyguard,” I managed to say when I recovered. I had to raise my voice to be heard over the sound of Dad snorting. “And if I ever do, I’ll borrow one of Ellis’s. He’s got plenty. They’re licensed to carry and everything.”

  “Be that as it may,” said Landon, accepting a cup of coffee from my dad with a
warm smile of thanks. Landon has a strangely inflected speaking style, stemming from having been raised partly in the US, partly in England, and entirely oddly. He reminded me of a refugee from a Shakespearean acting troupe.

  “Besides, you have class today, remember?” I said. “As do you, Caleb, so get your stuff together. Responsibilities, people! We’re leaving in five. Did you finish the last of your college applications?”

  Landon’s eyes were still on me, and I could feel the heat of a blush in my cheeks, remembering last night. Good heavens, no more sleepovers at Dad’s house. This was ridiculous.

  “Hey, you two, get a room,” said Stephen.

  “Says the guy sleeping on my couch,” grumbled Dad. “Anyway, Landon, good idea: You stick with Mel whenever she goes out to the island, there’s a good man. Ignore her nonsense about feminism and what all.”

  “Says the man who insisted his daughters learn the trade on Turner Construction jobsites every summer,” I grumbled. “Where, I might point out, we were the only females.”

  “Good habits begin early,” Dad groused. “You know the old saying, ‘train a child right . . .’”

  “And she’ll take over your business and support you in your old age?” Stan suggested.

  “Nothing wrong with a little hard work,” Dad and I said in unison, then looked at each other. I added, in my perkiest tone of voice, “As luck would have it, I’ll be working in San Francisco today, not on Lighthouse Island, which happens to be a closed crime scene at the moment anyway. So no worries.”

  “You’ll come up with something,” grumbled Dad. “You’re like the Calamity Jane of the ghostly set.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said, giving his grizzled cheek a kiss, and slipping Dog a small piece of bacon. “Why don’t I take Dog with me today?”

  “I thought you just said you weren’t messing with anything ghost-related,” Dad said.

  “I just want to give him some car time.”

  Actually, it was possible I’d see a ghost today since I promised a Realtor friend I’d check out a hundred-year-old house, and one never knew. But I wasn’t going to open that can of worms.

  Dog was the only member of my family who shared my ability to sense ghosts. I used to find it comforting, back when I worried I might be losing my mind because I saw things no one else did. Now having Dog at my side was like carrying a canary in a coal mine—he often sensed things before I did. But today I wanted to bring Dog along primarily to keep up with the desensitization process designed to curb his carsickness. He was getting a lot better about it, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “Will you and Stan pull together the revised estimates for Lighthouse Island today?” I asked my father. “I’ll need to run those by Elrich, and then submit them to the vendors as soon as possible. Also, we have to be sure everything is ADA compliant.”

  Dad nodded. “Unless we put an elevator in the tower, that’ll still be a problem, but otherwise the main floor of the main house, and the foghorn house and outbuildings will be accessible. I took measurements for the ramp up to the porch.”

  “Perfect. Thanks. We can go over the estimates tonight and put in the preliminary materials orders tomorrow.”

  “You really think this project is going to stay on track, given all that’s happened?” Stan asked.

  “Sure. The police usually release the scene within a few days.” This wasn’t my first rodeo, after all.

  “But Mel, if Alicia’s charged with murder . . . ,” said Landon.

  At the thought of Alicia under police suspicion, my stomach clenched again. I wouldn’t have slept a wink last night if it hadn’t been for Landon distracting me.

  “She won’t be. I’m sure of it. Ellis won’t let that happen. And besides, she didn’t do it.”

  He nodded. “If you say so.”

  “I do say so. I’m betting we’ll be back on the job within the week.”

  I just hoped that bet was a sure one.

  • • •

  The morning air was crisp and cold; it was the middle of winter, Bay Area–style, which meant I wore a sweatshirt covered with a light windbreaker. My friends who moved from places like Canada assured me that I didn’t know what true cold was. I believed them, and, not being overly fond of the cold, saw no reason to confirm this for myself. Landon carried the heavy cardboard box with my job files out to the car. I lugged the old toolbox that Caleb had decorated for me with Magic Markers, back when he was young and sweet and still thought I was cool.

  “Promise me you won’t go to the island without me,” Landon said as he stowed the files in the back of my boxy Scion.

  “Landon . . . here’s the thing: I appreciate your concern for my well-being, I really do. But I’m not used to anyone telling me what to do, or what not to do.”

  “I believe, if you recall our conversation, that I have not once told you what to do, or what not to do. I simply exhorted you to inform me when you’re going to the island, and allow me to accompany you.”

  I stared at him.

  “Please, Mel. I’m not telling you, I’m asking you. Exhorting you.”

  I smiled. “And you ‘exhort’ so well.”

  We shared a kiss. His lips were soft and hard at the same time, and desire coursed through me, making me wonder if there was any way in the world to sneak back upstairs.

  But Landon pulled away as Stephen approached, clearing his throat in an exaggerated way. My friend was wearing the new steel-toed boots I had bought him, and already had on his big leather gloves. Tall and thin, he looked like a gawky kid playing dress-up.

  Stephen nodded toward the side of the house, where my sullen stepson emerged, heavy backpack slung over one shoulder. Caleb gave Landon a huge, totally fake smile, pushed past us without a word, climbed into the back of the car with Dog, and slammed the door.

  Stephen winked and climbed into the front passenger’s seat.

  “Sorry,” I whispered to Landon.

  “I am undaunted.”

  “Good.”

  “And this Graham character was obviously quite a man.”

  “Yes, he was. He is.”

  “Hmmm.” Landon raised one eyebrow. “This fellow’s really starting to get on my nerves.”

  I smiled. “No need to worry.”

  “And Lighthouse Island?”

  “Access will be restricted for at least a day or two anyway, plus I’ve got to check in with my San Francisco projects, as well as the one in Marin. Also, I promised a Realtor I’d go look at a house near the Grand Lake Theatre, in Oakland.”

  “A colleague of mine lives in that neighborhood; I’ve always liked it. It’s a little urban oasis.”

  “Me too.”

  Our eyes held a little too long.

  “You’re headed to campus, then?” I said.

  He nodded. “Just as soon as I have a good breakfast.”

  “You know the way to my father’s heart, anyway.”

  “As luck would have it, I feel very privileged to be cooked a hearty breakfast before a long day of teaching.”

  We shared another quick kiss, and then I climbed in behind the wheel and took off, accompanied by my sullen ex-stepson, an underqualified construction worker, and a semi-carsick dog.

  Just another day in the life of Mel Turner, general contractor.

  Chapter Eight

  I dropped Caleb off at his private school in an upscale section of San Francisco known as Pacific Heights, not far from his father’s house.

  Caleb’s living arrangement was unusual, and it aroused a lot of questions in people accustomed to more traditional definitions of family. But it worked for us. I had been married to Caleb’s dad for eight years, from the time Caleb was five to the age of thirteen. The only thing I missed from the marriage was being Caleb’s stepmom. Happily, Caleb turned out to be as loath to give me up as I was to
leave him behind, so even after the divorce we spent a lot of time together. My job was hectic but flexible, and although Caleb’s mother loved him dearly, she was a busy financial power broker who had trouble setting—and sticking to—limits on her work schedule, and couldn’t give him the time and attention an adolescent needed. Caleb’s father, Daniel, had married for a third time, and his current wife not only didn’t care much for teenagers but had recently given birth to a baby who was, according to reports, “practically perfect in every way.”

  So when Caleb had started getting into teenage-style trouble and needed more adult supervision, I intervened. Caleb now lived with us in Oakland most of the time, Dad had taken him on as a grandson—Dad had absolutely no problem setting boundaries—and so far we had made it work.

  Caleb’s attitude toward Landon was annoying, but I was hoping it would resolve itself with time. And he was looking forward to going to college in the fall, anyway, which would probably be a good transition for us all.

  I adored my stepson with a love beyond all reason, and yet I was very happy to drop him off at school so he could work his sullen magic on his teachers and classmates instead of me.

  “He’ll find his way,” said Stephen as we watched Caleb hitch his heavy backpack onto his shoulder, head down, and pass through the elaborately carved, arched entrance of his private high school.

  “He’d best find it soon,” I threatened.

  Stephen chuckled. “Yeah, right, because otherwise you’ll, what? Kick him out? Slap him upside his head? Go sell it somewhere else, Mel. You’re a marshmallow, just like your dad.”

  “I thought you were scared of my dad.”

  “Only superficially. I’m sure I’ll get to the squishy center soon.”

  I smiled as I pulled back into traffic. “Makes us sound like Easter Peeps.”