Read The Light Keeper's Legacy (A Chloe Ellefson Mystery) for Free Online Page B

personal connections to the place. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
    Nothing to do now but backpedal. “I’m sure that’s true,” she said. “If you haven’t already written up everything you learned about daily life here from your grandfather, I hope you will. It would be invaluable .”
    Herb looked a little mollified. “I already have. It’s in the files inside.”
    Sylvie got to her feet. “Enough blather. Let’s take a tour.”
    Herb, Lorna, and Sylvie walked Chloe through the lighthouse’s first floor: kitchen, keepers’ bedroom, parlor. “I can easily imagine lighthouse families eating supper,” Chloe said, “and settling down for a game of dominoes in the evening.”
    “The keepers’ attention was always focused out on the channel,” Herb said curtly. “In addition to watching for commercial vessels, they kept an eye on local fishing boats. At night the keepers watched to see if the light was shining properly.”
    Chloe made a mental note: Keep future flights of fancy unspoken.
    “You know this building isn’t the first on this spot, right?” Sylvie asked. “The 1836 cottage and tower failed. Poor mortar. It was a government job, so I expect they took the low bid.” She shot Herb another dagger look. “Some things never change.”
    “I know this structure was built in 1858,” Chloe said, as they climbed the stairs to the second story. “There were some fishing families on the island at that time, right? They must have been amazed to watch this huge stone building go up.”
    Sylvie nodded. “The fisherfolk lived in little cabins, most likely.”
    Chloe scribbled a note. “I wonder if we could find some written description of the lighthouse from someone in the fishing village. A letter, maybe.”
    “Observations from some barely literate fisherman would hardly be relevant to this project,” Herb said. He pointed to a narrow room, facing north. “This was the assistant keeper’s bedroom.”
    OK, Herb, I get it, Chloe thought. No more references to women, children, or fisherfolk. The Native Americans who fished these waters were presumably off-limits in his mind, too.
    “Have you been up to the watchroom and lantern room yet?” Lorna asked. “The original Fresnel lens got stolen at some point, but we had a reproduction made.”
    Herb glanced at his watch. “We need to cut this short if we’re going to catch the last ferry back.”
    “I’ll explore the tower on my own,” Chloe assured them, even though they had plenty of time yet. “I don’t want to keep you.”
    They all tramped downstairs again. As they walked back through the main kitchen, Sylvie pointed to a woven rug in one corner. “That rug covers a trap door and stairs leading down to the cellar,” she said. “But the steps haven’t been rebuilt. If you want to see the cellar, go outside and around. The key you have will open the exterior cellar door.”
    “There’s no reason for Chloe to enter the cellar,” Herb retorted. “Nothing down there except snakes.”
    “So I’ve heard,” Chloe said lightly.
    “We have seen snakes in the cellar,” Lorna said. Her tone was apologetic—perhaps because of Herb, perhaps because of the reptile contingent. “Mostly little ring-necks, but some fox snakes too.”
    “If I go down there, I’ll keep my eyes open,” Chloe promised blandly.
    Herb sighed. “There’s no reason for—”
    “For God’s sake, Herb,” Sylvie snapped. “Stop being such a pansy ass!”
    “Have you seen our outhouse?” Lorna asked Chloe brightly. “Not the modern one, the original. It’s the oldest structure in Door County.”
    Chloe let herself be towed outside and around a lilac hedge, and dutifully admired the oldest structure in Door County. “What a treasure.”
    “We’re lucky the stone walls have held up so well,” Lorna said. She raised her voice as angry tones drifted through the hedge. “A man on Washington Island who has a woodlot is going to provide the huge plank we need to restore the