by Sam Short
“I didn’t ask you,” said Albert. He jerked a thumb at George. “I asked him.”
“As polite as ever, aren’t you, Albert?” said George, offering Millie a quick wink.
Millie took a step forward. “I’m Millie,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“New,” said Albert.
“Pardon?” said Millie.
Albert sighed. “Are you new around here, young lady?”
“She’s moved into Esmeralda’s cottage, Albert,” said George.
Millie shook her head. “I’ve not really moved in.”
“So you’ll be visiting me regularly, like Esmeralda did. May she rest in peace,” said Albert. “You’ll do, I suppose. Just be polite and don’t ask too many questions, and I’ll tolerate you.”
Millie understood the look George gave her — just agree, it’s easier. “That sounds reasonable,” she said, applying just the right amount of scorn to each word. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“Edna told Millie she’d had a disagreement with you today, Albert,” said George, changing the subject.
“Nosy old bint,” said Albert, teasing his moustache between two fingers. “A gossip, too. She was here this morning, not long before Jim Grayson turned up. She wanted to know if I was going to take flowers to Betty’s grave. She told me she’d been to the grave to check if I’d visited! She called me heartless! She left the door open, too — I had to struggle down the stairs to close it after her. I shouldn’t have even thrown her the key! I should have left her out there, shouting. It’s none of her business what I do on a day like today. ”
“A day like today?” said George.
“An anniversary,” said Albert, dropping his eyes. “Three years today since Betty succumbed to her injuries. Since she died. None of Edna’s business, though. Nosy old bint.”
“I’m sorry,” said Millie, suddenly realising how small the old man seemed, lost in the size of his chair.
“None of your concern,” said Albert. He dropped his eyes, and slumped a little in his seat. “It has been a difficult day, though. I went upstairs to the balcony. I only do it on Betty’s birthday or… this day every year. She loved sitting up there, watching the boats.”
Millie stepped closer to Albert. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I am sorry. Today can’t be easy for you.”
Albert swiped a gnarled finger beneath his eye. “Aye, well. That’s life, as they say. It’s not been a good day, though. Before Edna arrived, a tradesman turned up. I’d forgotten I’d booked him. I threw him out after twenty minutes. He was making all sorts of noise, and I wanted to sit in peace. Then, after Edna had buggered off, Jim Grayson turned up, accusing me of all sorts. Accusing me of things I couldn’t possibly do. I hardly take my boat out anymore, and I’ve never liked the taste of lobster. It’s a bit posh for my common taste buds. I left him standing outside — I wasn’t about to let him into my home.”
“What did he accuse you of?” said George.
“Emptying his lobster pots,” said Albert. “He’s got it in that thick skull of his that somebody is sneaking out in a boat and stealing his catch before he lifts the pots. I told him that he’s never been the best fisherman in the bay. He’s probably lost the knack. I mean… what fool would sneak out in a boat just to steal his lobsters. The man is losing his marbles!”
“Not a great day for you at all,” said Millie, seeing through the old man’s harsh exterior, and sneaking a glimpse of his vulnerable interior. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?”
Albert seemed to sense that his defences had dropped. He gathered them around him again. “You can both bugger off, that’s what you can do. You can leave me in peace.”
Millie nodded. “Okay. We’ll go. Come on, George. Albert needs to be alone.”
“Lock the door after you,” said Albert. “That’s your key now, Millie. It used to be Esmeralda’s. Just use it to let yourself in when you come to visit. Can you bake?”
“Erm, yes, I can bake,” said Millie, “but I probably won’t be staying in Spellbinder Bay for long, Albert. I doubt I’ll be around long enough to need a key to your home.”
Albert waved a disinterested hand. “You’ll be here long enough to do some baking, I’m sure. Nothing bland though. Don’t be bringing me cakes that taste like they came from a supermarket. And no alcohol, do you hear me? None of them fancy cakes dripping with brandy, okay? I don’t touch alcohol.”
“Okay,” said Millie. “No alcohol and no bland baking. I get it.”
Albert nodded. “And make sure to lock the door when you leave. There’s been a woman skulking around on the rocks outside, next to the sea. I don’t trust her.”
“What woman?” said George.
“I don’t know, do I?” snapped Albert. “She’s been here a few times. Some blonde woman. A young un’. I shouted at her to sod off, but she ignores me, and I’m too old to be scrambling over slippery rocks to chase her away. Just lock the door. No bugger could get through that. Now go on, get lost, the pair of you.”
Millie gave Albert a smile. “I hope the rest of the day turns out nicer for you.”
As Millie prepared to follow George down the stairs, Albert called her back, his voice low. “Millie,” he said. “Did you come here on the back of his bike?”
Millie lowered her voice to match his. “Yes.”
“If you want to do something for me, promise me you’ll walk away from my lighthouse. What you do on the open roads is up to you, but I’d hate for something to happen on my doorstep.”
Millie tilted her head. “You don’t like bikes?”
“I used to love them,” said Albert. He formed a fist, and rapped on the portion of his left leg below the knee. “Hear that? It’s wood. Let’s just say that human flesh and metal motorbikes don’t go together too well when things go wrong. You’d do well to stay off motorbikes. They ruin lives.”
Millie gave him a gentle smile. “I’ll walk back to the cottage. I promise. It will be nice to admire the view,” she said, her voice still hushed.
The old man gave the briefest of grins. He raised his voice, his demeanour switching. “Good. Now bugger off, and be sure to lock that door,” he yelled. “I don’t care who turns up after you’ve left — I’m not letting anybody else in today!”
Chapter 6
As George started the engine, he shouted to Millie. “Enjoy the walk back. I’ll see you around.”
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be around,” said Millie, her voice competing with the engine’s grumble. “I don’t think I’ll be staying.”
“Wait until the Board of Governors have spoken to you before you decide to leave,” said George. “They’ll explain the things you want to know.”
“The Board of Governors?” yelled Millie, as George pulled away in a spray of gravel and sand. “What’s that?”
“You’ll find out!” shouted George, speeding away in a cloud of dust.
Millie frowned. What on earth was going on? The day before she’d been living in a basement flat, unsure of how she was going to pay the rent, and now she was about to take a scenic walk from a lighthouse, back to a beautiful seafront cottage which she’d been told she owned. She pinched her thigh. The sharp pain told her that she was indeed awake.
She checked the lighthouse door once more. It was securely locked, just as Albert had instructed. Slipping the key into her pocket, Millie began walking, watching seabirds dipping and rising on the wind, and enjoying the scent of the salty air.
She’d been walking for less than two minutes when she heard the sound. Was it a man’s shout, or was it a species of seabird she’d yet to encounter? She listened, and heard it again, the sound blown on the wind from the direction of the lighthouse.
She used a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she turned to face the lighthouse, half expecting to see Albert shouting after her, reminding her that he hated bland baking.
There it was again. A man shouting. It was unmistakable. She
couldn’t make out any words, but the yells conveyed an urgency which put Millie on edge.
She scanned the rocks below the lighthouse, and then allowed her eyes to travel up the walls of the tower, checking the windows for Albert’s bearded face. Movement caught her eye, right at the pinnacle of the building, on the balcony which surrounded the light. The sun was bright, and too much distance stood between her and the lighthouse to make out details, but Millie was certain that the person she could see was walking backwards.
More shouting drifted on the wind, and Millie just knew something was very wrong. With an urgency growing within her, she began running, closing the distance between herself and the lighthouse, trying to keep her eyes on the balcony and simultaneously scan the path ahead for trip hazards. It was impossible of course, and as Millie lifted her eyes from the path, her blood ran cold.
She stopped running, a scream forming on her lips, a scream which left her mouth as quickly as the person falling from the balcony approached the rocks and waves below.
With her own scream still ringing in her ears, Millie ran again, adrenaline affording her a speed she’d never have been capable of under normal circumstances. Her breath left her in ragged gasps, and as she neared the lighthouse, heading for the spot she seen the falling person…. she’d seen Albert, land on, fresh movement caught her eye.
She stopped and stared at the balcony. She’d seen something. A shadow. Someone. She was certain. As certain as she could be. Her legs shaking, she studied the balcony, but saw nothing. She had been sure, though, and as she ran towards the rocks and waves, she kept an eye on the lighthouse door, nervous that somebody would appear.
Reaching the rocks, she slowed to a cautious walk, not wanting to see what jagged rocks could do to a human body dropped on them from height, but knowing she had to look.
She peered through her fingers, staring at the rocks and waves below her, but could find no evidence of a human, dead or alive. As another huge wave crashed over the rocks, the spray wetting her legs, Millie looked further out to sea. If Albert had perished on the rocks, it was likely that powerful waves and currents had dragged him out to sea.
The water offered her no clues. White tipped waves rolled and collided with one another, and a few seabirds floated on the rough water, but there was no sign of a person.
With growing enthusiasm, Millie wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing. The sun had been bright, and the calls from some seabirds could have easily been mistaken for the shouts of a man.
No. She’d seen what she’d seen.
She reached for her phone. It wasn’t in her pocket. Of course it wasn’t. It was on the kitchen table in the cottage, where she’d left it. There was something in her pocket, though. The key Albert had given her.
The lighthouse had taken on an ominous appearance. Looming over her, its shadow reaching inland like a blackened finger, it no longer seemed as quaint as it had five minutes earlier. With growing trepidation, Millie walked around the base of the building and stared at the door.
She withdrew the key from her pocket, but didn’t slide it into the lock. She’d try the bell first. Maybe Albert had thrown something off the balcony, and was enjoying a cup of coffee inside, unaware of Millie’s concerns. Or maybe — hopefully, the falling object she thought she’d seen had simply been a trick of the light.
With a shaking finger, she pressed the bell, and waited. After a minute, and with no bearded face appearing at a window, she slid the key into the lock and twisted it.
The lock clunked open, and Millie pushed the heavy door. She was taking a risk. She knew as much, but common human decency spurred her on. She had to know if Albert was okay, and if somebody else was in the lighthouse. She’d cross that potentially dangerous bridge when she came to it.
She was assuming too much. If another person was in the lighthouse, it didn’t necessarily mean Albert had been pushed from the balcony, although the panicked shouting did suggest that it was a sensible, and sinister, assumption to make.
Millie peered into the lighthouse and listened. The total silence added to her growing concern, and her own voice scared her as she called out. “Albert!” she shouted. “Albert?”
No answer came, and Millie stepped into the building, her heart beating a steady rhythm. She glanced around, glad that this time she was aware of the macabre bear standing to the left of the door. A crunching sound beneath her foot made her jump. It was just a few small pieces of broken glass scattered at the feet of the bear, amongst old stuffing which had fallen from the animal.
She calmed herself, ignoring the bear’s mocking gaze — it was alright for him — he was over seven feet tall and already dead. He might not have been frightened by the sudden sound of crunching glass, but Millie had every right to be scared — she still had her life to preserve, and there could have been be a murderer in the building.
Looking around for something to use as a weapon, she spotted a set of golf clubs, propped up against three stacked boxes. Sliding the club with the largest head out of the golf bag, and satisfied that the room was empty of other people, Millie made her way up the spiral staircase, peeping over the floor of the room above as she neared the top.
Albert’s seat stood empty, and so did the room.
The weight of the makeshift weapon in her hand installed some confidence in her, and Millie made her way up the next flight of stairs, emerging into a kitchen area. A wooden partition separated the second floor into two areas, and a bath was visible through the open door in the wall.
Millie wondered why her brain would automatically jump to the fact that a bathroom next to a kitchen was not hygienic, and not to the fact that there may be somebody hiding in it. A defence mechanism of the brain, she supposed.
She looked around the kitchen. Albert’s two bags of supplies sat atop a kitchen counter, but some of the groceries lay on the floor. Maybe there had been a struggle?
With a rush of blood pounding in her ears, Millie stepped through the door into the bathroom. She let herself breathe again. It was empty, and there was nowhere to hide.
Holding the golf club tighter, she peered up the next flight of stairs. The lighthouse had narrowed as she’d gained height, and she was certain the next floor would be the last. The light-room, as George had called it.
She was wrong. The third floor housed a small double bed and a wardrobe. The bed was too close to the floor to offer a hiding place, so she checked the wardrobe, lifting the club above her head as she opened the door at arm’s length. Devoid of people, but stuffed with clothes, Millie pushed the door closed and stared up the next set of stairs.
She took them slowly, a breeze brushing over her face as she neared the top. Peeping into the space above her, she paused before taking the final three steps. The large light filled most of the space in the room, and an open door swung in the wind, the balcony rails visible beyond it.
Climbing slowly into the room, Millie sensed there was nobody there. With large glass windows making up most of the round walls of the room, she could see outside. The balcony was devoid of people, and there was nobody crouching behind the light inside the room.
She stepped onto the balcony, the height making her stomach flip, and did a full circle of the lighthouse, relaxing a little when she found herself back at the door. She was alone. She had seen somebody else, though. She was sure.
She looked inland, checking for somebody running away from the building. There was nobody to be seen. She was alone, but she shouldn’t be. Albert should have been there, too
Millie dropped the golf club, the handle clattering on the metal grid balcony. Albert must be dead. He had to be.
With tears forming, Millie gazed out to sea and studied the vast sheet of moving water below her. It didn’t take long, and with a sob of horror she stepped back into the light-room. The bright red and white checks, floating further away from the safety of shore, had been all she’d needed to see. The same red and white checks of the shirt Albert had been wearing.<
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Tears burned her cheeks as Millie descended the stairs. She needed to find Albert’s phone.
“It saves me having to phone you tonight, I suppose.”
Millie stared at the policeman. “What?”
“I spoke to you on the phone. I promised I’d ring you to make sure you arrived safely, remember?”
“Oh, that was you?” said Millie.
The policeman nodded, continuing to write in his notebook. “I’m the only policeman in Spellbinder Bay. Address?”
“Pardon?” said Millie, staring out to sea.
“What’s your address? Where do you live?” said the policeman.
“Erm. I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
Millie shook her head. “Put Windy-dune Cottage down. That’s where I live for the moment. The very short moment.”
“Oh,” said the policeman. “You’re one of them.”
“One of who?”
The tall man, wearing black, who’d been standing nearby took a step towards Millie. “That’s enough questions, Sergeant. For now. She’s new. Very new.”
The policeman closed his notebook. “Oh. I see. Is she under the influence?”
“No! I’m not!” snapped Millie. “I can assure you I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in days!”
The tall man gave what Millie believed to be a smile of sorts, his thin lips forming a humourless slash across his face. “Now, now, Sergeant. Whether Millie is under the influence or not is of no concern to you.”
The sergeant slipped his notebook into his breast pocket. “I’ve got all I need, anyway. It seems Albert may have fallen, or heaven’s forbid, jumped. It was a sad day for him today — the anniversary of his wife’s death. It may have been too much for him. We’ll know more when, or if, we fish his body out of the sea. There’s no evidence that anybody else was here, and Millie says she locked the door after she left the lighthouse.
“Nobody could have forced their way in, and Millie is certain there was nobody in the lighthouse when she looked around.” He studied Millie’s face, concentrating on her eyes. “And I’m not sure that Miss Thorn should be treated as a suspect. Not until we find out what happened, anyway.”