The Time in Between Read online

  “And you wanna share how to pull off that miracle?” Coert asked.

  “Give her Coert but do it being Tony,” Tom answered.

  He’d already done that. Three times.

  And she’d liked it, three times.

  And Coert had liked doing it, three times (though he wasn’t a big fan of watching her the five seconds it took him to get to her as she fought off two would-be rapists, he still liked that it was him who saved her).

  Coert sighed.

  “If you’re Coert, man,” Malc said low, “after it’s done, if you wanna salvage it, it won’t be hard to do.”

  He’d seen the girl . . . no, woman . . . three times and she even made hangover eyes and a Sip and Save smock cute.

  She could be shy.

  She could be bold.

  She could be clueless.

  She could be sweet.

  She was growing up the hard way, needed someone solid in her life to make sure she did it the right way, and she didn’t hide she was looking to let stuff she wasn’t big on, but felt tied to due to loyalty, slide out of her sphere so she could focus on that.

  He couldn’t pretend to be in a drug dealer’s crew and be that person for her.

  But he’d been ordered to.

  And he wanted to be.

  So he was going to.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “Get out there, man,” Tom encouraged.

  Coert gave him a look, Malc a look, then he gave them a wave, turned and walked away.

  Even a Shadow

  Present day . . .

  I DROVE UP TO THE lighthouse, shocked that they’d been able to tear down and reinstall the fence in the period of time I’d been gone.

  Sure, I’d been gone for five weeks, which was a long time, but it was a long fence.

  And now it was all brand new.

  After we’d agreed to accept an offer on Patrick’s house, before I’d left to go back to Denver I’d been able to settle on a contractor as well as find an interior designer in Augusta.

  In order to assist the workers to be free to do what they had to do without being disturbed (too much), not to mention perform a quick hit to assist in the overall look of the place, we’d decided the fence would be first. We also decided on a pretty white picket fence that didn’t scream go away but did delineate the public space from private property.

  Considering summer was coming on, my contractor had a bunch of jobs lined up, so he couldn’t even start for a couple of weeks after I’d signed on with him and it was going to be skeleton crews until he could hire some more workers to see the old girl to rights.

  But it was clear they hadn’t messed about while I was away.

  The single concave pickets rose from four feet up to five-foot, gothic pointed posts and was more solid than the old split rail, but it also seemed friendly and was amazingly attractive even if it clearly defined the boundary of the house versus the public tract.

  And the post points were painted a glossy black that fit the color scheme of the buildings it outlined beautifully.

  I loved it.

  I loved the new gate even more.

  Also a single, sweeping concave, even if it was a double-door gate, it was attached to substantial stone columns on either side and had huge black iron hinges with black iron spikes coming up through the wood rather than pickets.

  Once I’d selected it, Walt, my contractor, said the gate probably wouldn’t come in for six to eight weeks as it was a custom order. He’d obviously gotten on that right away, ordered it before I even left Maine, because there it was.

  And it was fabulous.

  I parked outside it (since it was closed), got out and walked to it, feeling a chill of anticipation slide up my back, and not because there were seven different trucks parked on my property, which meant a goodly amount of people inside doing things that would make it my home.

  No, because what I had ordered also obviously had been completed and delivered, and since I’d had it sent to Walt he’d had it put up.

  It was a large sign on the stone column beside the gate, brass with a black background, the words standing out in shiny relief.

  I walked up to it and read it, even though I’d drafted it myself, with the help of Jackie, who ran the Magdalene Historical Society (needless to say, once I’d witnessed the tulips, I’d gotten inspired and thrown myself headfirst into a variety of projects in the three weeks between tulip witnessing and Patrick’s house being sold).

  The sign read:

  Magdalene Lighthouse

  Built 1832

  Private Property

  The lighthouse on Magdalene Point was designed and built by Abraham Thomson after the lighthouse that was built on this site in 1786 became unstable due to a fire. Mr. Thomson designed and constructed several lighthouses along the eastern seaboard of the United States, of which many still remain today.

  Unlike many lighthouses, but a hallmark of Mr. Thomson’s lighthouse architecture, Magdalene Lighthouse is wide, not narrow, designed for the keeper to live within the structure, rather than outside in a detached home or the beacon rising from a homestead.

  Distinct from any of Mr. Thomson’s other lighthouses, he included an extraordinary observation deck enclosed entirely by glass as the fourth story of Magdalene Lighthouse.

  The lighthouse has always been manned but was automated in 1992.

  This means the original structure prior to its demolition was the first lighthouse in Maine, however Magdalene Lighthouse was the last in Maine to be automated.

  * * *

  Magdalene’s lighthouse has been privately owned and operated since it was built. Limited tours of the site are available by appointment only. You can find a history of the building and its keepers, as well as book tours, at the Magdalene Historical Society. Please do not disturb the owner to request a tour.

  Outside of guided tours, although you are invited to take photos outside the gates and fence, the owner asks that you be respectful of privacy.

  The owner further requests no photography after sundown unless previously arranged through the Historical Society. The police will be notified of violators.

  Please do not block the road, gate or drive. Those who do will unfortunately be towed at the vehicle owner’s expense.

  I smiled to myself as I thought about the other signs I’d ordered, wondering if they’d arrived and were also put up.

  Smaller, they’d be affixed (or perhaps already were) to the stone columns that supported the tall gates on either end of the property, where the coastal path led.

  As drafted, they’d read:

  Magdalene Lighthouse

  Built 1832

  Private Property

  Please do not pass.

  The owner asks with any photography that you’re respectful of privacy.

  Tours are limited and can be booked through the Magdalene Historical Society. Please do not disturb the owner to request a tour.

  The owner requests no photography after sundown unless previously arranged through the Historical Society. The police will be notified of violators.

  Much friendlier than the last owner, and suffice it to say, Jackie was beside herself with glee that I was going to allow ticketed tours of the lighthouse one Saturday and one Sunday (not the same weekend) a month, no matter the season. She was delighted not only that it was a draw for tourists, something they’d never had and something she was certain would be popular, but that I was going to allow the society to keep the cost of the tour tickets.

  As for me, I could absent myself from the house two days a month, and due to space and in order to keep track of everyone so they wouldn’t wander, tours would be no more than six people and only one guided tour would be in the house at a time.

  Not to mention, if things turned out even half as beautifully as Walt and Paige (my interior designer) were planning, I’d be proud to show off just how much more magnificent it was going to be.

  I noticed the wires coming out of t
he stone at the top of the sign where the sign (and gate) would be lit with gooseneck lights not only for curious tourists after dark but for me.

  Studying the wires, I jumped as one side of the gate started to swing open and looked that way to see Walt was the person doing it.

  “Elijah, one of my boys, clocked you, thought you were a tourist. Climbed up, saw it was you,” he stated, finishing, “You’re back.”

  “I am,” I confirmed unnecessarily.

  “How d’you like the gate?” he asked.

  “I’d kiss it if I didn’t think that would concern you about my mental health.”

  He laughed and gestured to the side he’d opened. “We got it wired but we haven’t put the keypad or remote on yet. Now that you’re back, I’ll get a boy on that.”

  I shook my head and walked his way. “I won’t be bothering you much, Walt. There’s a lot to be done and you don’t need a nosy woman stopping you or your men from doing it.”

  “Be obliged and be shocked,” he returned. “To start with, it’d be a first. Clients are nosy but I get that. But also, I’d be curious as all hell to see how this place shapes up.”

  He was right. I was going to be curious.

  But I preferred to get it done.

  I looked beyond him to the buildings and saw the studio no longer had shingles on the roof.

  The rest of it looked just like it had before.

  “How are things going?” I asked.

  “Doing the roofs now from worst to best,” he told me, glancing behind him. He looked back at me. “That was a hard call so we kinda flipped a coin.”

  I smiled at him.

  “Studio is being done now, as you can see. We’ll move to the garage next then the generator building,” he shared.

  I nodded.

  “Stuff you can’t see from here, everything’s gutted and it’s been hauled away,” he reported. “Clean slate now. So when we get the roofs on, we’ll be able to dig in. As we decided before you left, we’ll be doing the studio first since it won’t take as much to get it sorted out so you’ll have a place to stay while we work.” He tipped his sun-bleached blond head and asked, “You wanna come up and see?”

  I most assuredly wanted to come up and see.

  “Sure,” I replied.

  His gaze turned to my rental car. “You wanna drive that up?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll walk.”

  “Suit yourself,” he murmured, stepped out of the opening of the gate, and after I made my way through, he closed it right behind me.

  I studied him curiously.

  “To say we got interest in what we’re doing is an understatement,” he explained. “Good those signs came in. I couldn’t get them up fast enough.”

  “So they’re working,” I remarked.

  He nodded, starting to walk so I fell in step beside him.

  “Still got folks taking photos, but they don’t park in the way like they used to, so my boys and suppliers can get through. One of my men gets caught by someone while he’s opening the gates, they might ask questions, but that’s about all. Before, they just jumped the fence or pushed open the gate. So I’d say the fence works too.”

  “Do you think I need to have signs made to be put up along the perimeter?” I asked, hoping I wouldn’t. They would muddle the clean look of the fence not to mention be unfriendly.

  I didn’t want people jumping the fence and knocking on my door, but I was of a mind a fence was a fence. The statement was made by its very existence. In other words, you didn’t jump it. So I hoped it and the signs at all the entry points to the property would work.

  “We’ll keep an eye on things, see if we have any troubles. But so far, since the fence went up, no jumping, and since the signs went up, no one has pushed through the gate,” Walt replied.

  That was good.

  We sallied forth with the tour and he had not lied. Everything was gutted in every building. No rotting furniture. No terrifying kitchens. No catastrophic bathrooms.

  It wasn’t clean but it wouldn’t need to be. Not yet.

  What it was, was gutted.

  “Windows have been ordered, the ones on the outbuildings are standard and have been delivered, so those’ll go in soon,” he shared when we’d made it to our final destination, gone to the top and then retreated down the stairs and were on the bottom floor of the lighthouse. “Got men coming in to do the foundation work on the outbuildings starting next week. Paige says her people are good to send the stuff you guys decided on for the studio when we’re ready. I’m thinking that’ll be the week after. We’re finding some rot under the shingles as I expected, but a goodly amount of it, something I didn’t expect. So the roofs are gonna take longer than I thought. But only a couple of days.”

  “I imagine you run into a lot of that,” I observed.

  “We do, though don’t run into a lot of clients who get it,” he said, and I looked up at him.

  “I want it done right, Walt, not in a hurry. If I could snap my fingers and have it all as I want it, I would have done that two months ago. Alas, that’s not in my power.”

  He laughed again but sobered and said, “We’re taking pictures, Cady. Not doing you dirty. We’ll show you what we run into and if it gets hairy and things are gonna get outta hand or jack up cost, we’ll share with you and get your go ahead.”

  “That’s appreciated,” I replied, looking around and fitting ideas Paige was sending me to the space in my head.

  “Oh, almost forgot, the sheriff came by,” Walt said casually.

  My vision went blurry, the blood in my veins stopped moving and the functionality of my lungs ceased.

  I could do nothing but stare at him, watching him pull out a wallet that, if I had any ability to think in that moment, I would have guessed his wife was in denial about its existence because it was stuffed full at the same time falling apart.

  “He gave me his card to give to you,” he muttered.

  “The sheriff?” I couldn’t help it. It came out as a squeak.

  Walt stopped rifling through his wallet and looked at me.

  “I know. I was surprised too. We don’t get a lot of work in this county, contractor here underbids every job we quote on. We just have to come in sometimes to fix stuff he cuts corners on. You get what you pay for, but whatever. So I don’t know the guy, never met him, never had any dealings with him. Or the sheriff in my county as a matter of fact. Not sure what the sheriff’s business was but he seemed pretty laidback. Not like he had an issue. Just asked if you were around, and when I said you weren’t, he asked me to give you his number.”

  “He asked for me,” I cleared my throat, “by name?”

  Walt nodded, going back to his wallet. “I figured you’d want to find out what that was about so I gave him your number. From your response to this news, he didn’t call.”

  No.

  Coert didn’t call.

  He had my number but he didn’t call.

  And it was worth it to repeat he had my number.

  And he knew I was here.

  So he’d come to the lighthouse to speak to me.

  God, I wasn’t ready for this. Not even close.

  “Here it is,” Walt said, pulling out a card and offering it to me.

  I didn’t want to take it. I didn’t even want to look at it.

  But so as not to give anything away, I took it.

  I wanted to ask a million questions. Walt said he’d seemed “pretty laidback” but I wanted more on his demeanor, what he said, how long he was there, did he seem keen to see me in a good way or did he act like he might shoot me on sight.

  The only thing I allowed myself to ask was, “Did he give you any idea why he was looking for me?”

  “Nope, I asked though. He just gave me his card and told me to tell you to call him. That’s it. He wasn’t here but, say, five minutes, if that. Maybe he just gives his time to welcoming folks to town.” He gave a tilt to his head to indicate the space we were in. “But I figur
e it isn’t like this is just some house in a neighborhood. Maybe just wants to introduce himself, make sure you’re good at the same time you got things covered.”

  That wasn’t what he wanted.

  “Maybe,” I mumbled.

  “And also, one of Boston Stone’s people stopped by.”

  I hadn’t come close to recovering from Coert visiting my new home, I couldn’t move to a different subject.

  “Of Stone Incorporated,” Walt prompted when I said nothing.

  “I, uh . . . don’t know of that.”

  He shook his head. “Local developer. Big muckity-muck. Wasn’t him that showed personally, one of his minions.”

  “I . . .” I shook my head too. “Why?”

  Walt shrugged. “No clue. She said she’d come back but she hasn’t yet. Though I don’t do a lot of work in this county, I do know of that guy and he sticks his nose in with a lot of stuff. Especially if there are hammers, drills and money to be made.”

  “This is a family dwelling, he can’t send a minion to every family dwelling that needs some updating.”

  Walt shot me a grin. “It is a family dwelling, maybe the coolest one I’ve ever worked on, though I wouldn’t describe what we’re doing as some updating.” He stated that last like he thought it was hilarious, and in another frame of mind, I would have agreed. “But it’s probably not about the property. He’s tangled in a lot of stuff. We’re gonna need a lot of supplies to set this place to rights. He probably wants to make sure your contractor is utilizing the right suppliers.”

  “And I can assume you aren’t using suppliers he’s tangled up in,” I remarked.

  “Never met the guy, only know his reputation, but to be honest with you, I do business with people who take pride in what they do and do it well, not people who just wanna make a buck. So no, we don’t use his people.”

  I gave a short nod. “I approve of this philosophy.”

  He shot me another grin. “Thank God.”

  I could not exactly grin back. I didn’t care about whoever Boston Stone was. I was still worried about what was happening with Coert.

  But I gave it a shot, hoping it didn’t come out as a grimace as I said, “If there’s nothing else, I should leave you to it.”