Free The Light Keeper's Legacy (A Chloe Ellefson Mystery) by Kathleen Ernst Page B

bazillionaires in cahoots with the developer, Chloe thought. “This is chilling.”
    “Yeah,” Garrett said. “There but for the grace of God … ” He finished rolling the film into the camera. “Let’s go.”
    They hiked up to the lighthouse together. Chloe was glad she wasn’t wearing her backpack. Garrett covered the trail in long loping strides she could barely match, even unburdened. She didn’t want to come across as a weenie.
    In the clearing, a visitor was taking close-up photographs of one of the lighthouse’s downspouts. He looked up and brightened visibly at the sight of Garrett’s uniform. “Say!” he said, bounding over to meet them. “These copper downspouts look original! And the lightning cord too!” He gestured to the rope of braided copper that ran from a lightning rod on top of the lantern room to the ground. “These details are important. Any chance I can get inside the lighthouse? I’ve come all the way from Massachusetts.”
    “I’d be glad to show you around,” Chloe told him. Garrett didn’t need her help down on the beach.
    “Richard Dix,” the man said, offering a firm handshake. Mr. Dix had a flop of brown hair that needed pushing from his face every few moments, and he wore glasses with heavy black plastic rims that needed to be pushed up his nose with equal regularity. The gestures made it hard for him to handle both the camera and a notebook, but he managed.
    When Mr. Dix wasn’t telling tales of the lighthouses he’d visited from coast to coast, he peppered her with questions. Chloe answered what she could and punted what she couldn’t. It was exhausting, but she enjoyed the challenge and admired his ardor. Passionate people like this made preservation projects possible.
    “Can we go all the way up?” Mr. Dix asked hopefully, peering up the steps from the third-floor watch room.
    “We can,” Chloe said. “But please be careful. The hatch is narrow. Don’t hit your head.” As she had done last night. He scampered up the ladder like a professional.
    By the time Mr. Dix was ready to leave, an hour had gone by. He was still asking questions as he walked out, so she felt compelled to follow him into the yard. “Has any archaeological work been done on the site?” he asked, scanning the clearing thoughtfully. “Trash heaps, foundations of earlier buildings, that sort of thing?”
    “Not yet,” Chloe said. Mr. Dix would have to get in line behind Brenda Noakes on that one.
    “May I go into the cellar?”
    “I’m afraid not.” The RISC committee hadn’t forbidden her to take a visitor down there, but they’d discouraged it. Besides, she hadn’t gone exploring in there herself yet.
    Mr. Dix spent quite some time back on his hands and knees, peering through the cellar windows. “What’s the layout down there? A structure so massive must have enormous supports.”
    “I’m sorry, but I haven’t been down there myself yet,” she told him. “I’m just not sure.”
    “Well, thanks for the tour,” he said finally, getting to his feet. “It’s a wonderful lighthouse.”
    Chloe grinned. “Isn’t it? Come back in a couple of years, when it’s furnished and docents are available to give proper tours.”
    “I will. I most certainly will.”
    “So, you’re traveling through the area? Where to next?”
    “I saw Cana and the Eagle Bluff lights on the way up the peninsula,” he told her, “and plan to see the rest of Door County’s lights before driving down to Green Bay and on around to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.”
    “Sounds like a fine trip,” she said. “Safe travels.” She waved as he headed back toward the dock.
    Chloe didn’t notice the other visitor in the clearing until the young man emerged from behind the oil house in the side yard. “Hi,” he said.
    She responded in kind, thinking, Please don’t want a tour. Please don’t want a tour. She liked showing off the lighthouse, but at this rate, she wouldn’t get any work done.