The Spyglass Portal: A Lighthouse Novel (18 page)

“You saw the little girl from up here?” he asked.

“Yes. She came in so clear. I could see her dress and ponytail get wet when she waded into the ocean.”

“I don’t see much of anything except darkness.” He lowered the instrument. “Do you think I’ve looked long enough?”

“Probably. I don’t think the length of time matters. It’s the act of gazing through it.” Yawning, he snuggled his arm around her waist and guided her through the door and into the enclosed part of the tower. “You must be exhausted. I’m done here. Either it’ll work or it won’t.”

Once they descended the stairs and Aidan returned the spyglass to its case and placed it on the dresser top, Samantha removed her robe and ran her hands across his muscled chest and over his rippled abs.

“I’m not that tired after all,” she said, slipping her fingers into the waistband of his pants.

Aidan’s grin filled his whisker-stubbled face, and before she could blink, he hauled her back to bed.

* * * *

The next morning, Samantha turned onto her side and reached for Aidan. Her eyes snapped open when she felt nothing but the downy softness of a pillow beside her. “Aidan?” Springing up, she looked at the clock. Eight-thirty. “Aidan?” she called louder. Hearing no noises from downstairs or from the shower, she hopped off the bed and threw on her robe and scurried down the staircase. “Aidan? Are you here?”

The room was empty. She checked the coffee table and the kitchen counter for a note. Nothing. After digging the skeleton key out of her purse, which she’d dropped into a chair the night before, she stuck it in the lock and flung open the front door. Her gaze went straight to the parking lot. His truck wasn’t there.

She ran a hand through her tangled hair. Why had he left without waking her? Where had he gone? Home, or…the thought occurred to her that maybe he’d be back soon with breakfast. That had to be it. He was sweet that way.

That hope dissolved when she remembered she had plenty of food in the kitchen. They’d run into each other at the market yesterday, so he’d known she’d been shopping. If he’d wanted to cook her breakfast, he would have searched the fridge and pantry and found a variety of things to choose from.

Snatching her cell phone out of her purse, she flipped it open to call him and realized he’d never given her his number. “Damn.”

A prickly sensation niggled under her skin. Flying back up the steps, she frantically glanced around the bedroom looking for a stray sock or his belt hanging over the back of the chair. None of his clothes had been left behind. She sniffed the air but couldn’t smell his cologne. Her gaze was drawn back to the bed where they’d made love, and her heart all but stopped. She hadn’t noticed before, but the covers on his side of the bed were untouched—like that side had been made. Or had never been slept in.

It was as if Aidan hadn’t even been there.

Samantha struggled to rein in the terror she felt. “No!” she screamed.

Forgoing a shower, she tossed on the same clothes she’d worn last night, ran a brush through her hair, and scrubbed her teeth quickly. In a matter of minutes, she was out the door and running to her car. She had just unlocked the door when someone pulled into the gravel lot and beeped the horn. Her head lifted and Daniel Rehobeth waved.

“Oh, no,” she mumbled. “I don’t have time for him this morning.”

“Mornin’, Miss Landers,” he called, exiting his vehicle and shuffling toward her using a cane.

“Good morning, Daniel.” Forcing a smile, she met him at the front of her car and shook his outstretched hand. “What brings you to the lighthouse, and so early?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“You and your antique spyglass,” he clarified. “I was hoping to talk with you some more about it.”

“Oh, yes. The cursed spyglass.” She jingled the car key in her hand. “I was just leaving. Could we talk another time? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“I won’t take but a couple of minutes of your time,” he said. His pale eyes drilled a hole into her.

“I have no plans to sell it,” she reminded him. “And as of right now, it can’t be donated to the museum either. I still don’t know who the rightful owner is.”

“I do.” His thin lips curved into a sly smile. “I’ve done some research, Miss Landers, and
you
are the rightful owner.”

Her stomach clenched, as if punched by a fist. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought that would get your attention.” He jerked his head toward the lighthouse. “Perhaps we can speak inside?”

Wavering between wanting to rush to Aidan’s cottage and hearing what Daniel had to say, Sam invited him to follow her. Once they were inside, she asked him to have a seat. He glanced around.

“I’ve never been here before. Someone did a splendid job of restoring this building and making it a functioning home while preserving its historical integrity.”

“Yes, yes,” Samantha said impatiently. She noticed he made no mention about it having been abandoned for twenty years, like he’d told her the first time they met. “Please tell me what you meant outside by
I’m
the rightful owner of the spyglass.”

“Exactly what I said.”

She could see he enjoyed toying with her, but she didn’t have time for cat and mouse games. “I don’t understand. Please explain.”

A smug smile filled his wrinkled face as he leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. “I checked the public property records and found that the owner of this lighthouse is dead. There are no heirs. No family who will step forward and claim the spyglass—even if they knew it existed. Since you’re the person who discovered it, that makes you the rightful owner by default.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest appearing pleased.

This wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d been prepared to hear some far-fetched story about her being the reincarnated owner of the lighthouse, or something just as ridiculous. This bit of news was almost as interesting. “What is the name of the deceased former owner?”

Daniel pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and read, “Haven O’Neill.”

 O’Neill? He’d mentioned that name before, at their first meeting, which he apparently didn’t remember. “Go on. What else do you know about Mrs. O’Neill?”

He referred to his notes again. “
Miss
Haven O’Neill was deeded the Pavee Cove lighthouse from the National Park Service on May 2, 2006. She died March 14, 2009 leaving no heirs. There wasn’t much else in the records except that she was a spinster, never married.”

“That’s not what you told me the other day. You said this lighthouse has been deserted for over twenty years, and that the last person to live here was named O’Neill. You said the rumors were that she may have come to a bad end, or disappeared by some paranormal means.”

Daniel scoffed. “I said nothing of the kind, Miss. This is the first time I’ve heard the name myself.”

“But I thought you’ve lived here all of your life. Surely you would have known this Haven O’Neill if she existed.” Sam stopped, realizing there was no use in arguing. “Look,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger, “you’re wasting my time. An acquaintance of mine, a Dr. Teagan in Portland, knows the owner of this lighthouse. They’re friends. So your tall tale about some woman vanishing twenty years ago is just a bunch of bologna.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken.” Sam felt her temperature climbing by the second. “Don’t you think Dr. Teagan would have told me if her friend was dead?”

“I don’t know what the good doctor might have told you, Miss Landers. All I know is what the property records show.”

Her hands fisted on her thighs and she struggled to squash her anger. “Well, perhaps the property records are wrong.” She shook her head and inhaled deeply, trying to center herself. What he told her didn’t make any sense. “Okay. Why don’t we start over? Let’s say this Haven O’Neill person did own the lighthouse and she died in 2009. If that’s true,
someone
has been taking care of the property since then. It hasn’t sat abandoned for four years, and certainly not for twenty years. It’s as clean and neat as a pin, as you can see. This is the way I found it when I moved in a few days ago. How do you explain that?”

As he ruminated, Samantha lowered her head and pondered the reasons Dr. Teagan would have had not to tell her about Haven O’Neill. Maybe she didn’t know Haven was dead. Of course that couldn’t be it. How would she have arranged for Sam to come here if that were the case? Sam distinctly remembered the doctor mentioning that her friend was not using the lighthouse as a get-away this summer.

“I can’t explain anything except what I saw in the property records,” Daniel repeated.

“Did those records mention a caretaker?” she asked.

“No. Afraid not. Strange, eh?”

She would have thought it very strange several days ago, but it seemed par for the course by now. Her shoulders sagged. She was suddenly very tired, despite having just woken up.

“Maybe something supernatural did happen to Haven O’Neill,” Daniel suggested. “Like it did with Captain McBride. Maybe that’s why she hid the spyglass here in the lighthouse. To end the curse once and for all.”

Samantha’s head snapped toward him. “So, you’re saying you recall telling me the story of Captain McBride?”

Daniel frowned. “Of course I do. I’m not senile, young lady.”

“But you don’t remember mentioning the name O’Neill?”

“I’ve never heard that name until I looked up the records.” He stared at her like she’d lost her marbles, but he was the one who was confused this time. The thought occurred to her that she was in a parallel universe again. But how could it have happened? Aidan was the one who’d gazed through the spyglass last night, not her.

It suddenly became crystal clear. She
had
gazed into it! Without even thinking, she’d taken it from Aidan’s hand and looked into it when she’d asked him about the blue mist. What a fool she’d been! Obviously, a shift in reality had taken place, but what about Aidan? Where was he? Was he in an alternate reality that she wasn’t a part of? Had he found what he was looking for? A shudder ran through her body at the thought of never seeing him again.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go, Daniel.” She reached for his elbow, heaved him up from the chair, and practically shoved him out the door. “Thanks for stopping by and giving me that news. I’ll talk to you later.”

“But what about the spyglass? What are you going to do with it?” he asked.

“It’s going to stay right where it is for now. It’s safe in my bedroom here in the lighthouse. I can’t let it fall into the wrong hands. Its power is incredibly strong and changes lives.” She slammed the door behind her and led Daniel to the parking lot and said goodbye. When she jumped into her car, her heart felt like it was going to explode. Would Aidan be at the cottage when she got there? If so, would he remember last night?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Samantha whipped her car into the driveway at Aidan’s cottage. Seeing his pickup truck was there, she hurdled out and knocked on the front door. “Aidan? Are you home?” Pounding again, she listened at the wood for sounds coming from inside. Nothing.

Thinking he might be out painting already, she jogged to the beach and gazed in all directions. No Aidan. No easel or cooler in sight. Jogging back, she went to the front door and knocked again and still received no response. “The kitchen door,” she said, remembering he’d taken her through that door the day he’d rescued her from the stampeding horses.

Her hand touched the knob and the door creaked open. “Aidan?” she called again, peeking her head inside. Their relationship had reached a new level last night, but that didn’t give her the right to trespass. Did it? “Aidan?”

What if he was inside hurt? Or sick? Maybe that’s why he’d left the lighthouse this morning without waking her. She had to find out and help him if that were the case.

Was that her true concern? She spent a few seconds considering the notion. Or was it simply a convenient excuse to snoop around his house and see what, if anything had changed?

She stepped into the kitchen and quietly closed the door behind her and gazed around. A toaster and white porcelain canisters lined the spotless counter. A coffee maker sat nearby, unplugged and half full. A spice rack hung on the wall. There were no dishes in the sink except for two mugs. A plaid dishtowel hung from the stove’s handle. A cloth with a print pattern covered the small table, and a Mason jar bursting with summer flowers sat in the center. The window was adorned with a valance of the same printed pattern as the tablecloth. The floor looked so clean she could have eaten off of it, and everything seemed to be in its rightful place.

To sum up, the kitchen looked a lot different from the last time she was here.

Samantha entered the living room with a quickening in her chest. It looked the same as she’d remembered except that a large braided rug now covered the wooden floor and lace curtains decorated the tall windows. There was also an entertainment center against the wall where there’d only been a table with a television set on it before. On each side of the entertainment center were bookcases holding knick-knacks and rows of books.

Knick-knacks? Those were definitely not here the other day, she thought, touching a couple of the Painted Pony figurines. Though the figurines might be considered works of art, Aidan didn’t seem the type of man who’d display collectibles. Especially not Painted Ponies.

Skimming over the many volumes of books lining the shelves, she saw he was interested in more than art. She noted there were many books on Ireland and Irish history, traditions, and legends. That made sense seeing how he was of Irish descent. But something he’d said sprang to mind. He said he didn’t know much about Irish myths and legends, and he was about as Irish as she was.

“Aidan?” she called once more before cautiously stepping into what must be his bedroom. He hadn’t showed her his room the other day, and now she knew why. Frozen in her spot, her gaze drank in the brass bed with a Jacquard spread, the gauzy curtains hanging at the window, and matching tables and small Tiffany lamps on each side of the bed. A soft carpet was below her feet. A large seascape painting hung on the wall above the bed. This room was decorated nicely, neat and uncluttered. And it felt much too feminine.