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THE GHOSTS OF MAINE
Aunt Clara certainly has some interesting friends! Danny Williams smiled at the thought. Especially her mystery-writing friend, Jessica. And a two-week vacation on the Maine Coast isn't bad either. He stretched as he stood up from his perch on a cooling granite rock and glanced at his watch. Almost four o'clock. Time to get to Jessica's. Sunset came early in Cabot Cove in October.
A short walk brought him to the old fishing pier. He studied the small boats tied up there. No fancy yachts like the ones he'd see in Honolulu, just working craft. He spotted an old lobster boat unloading the day's catch. He'd pick up three choice ones for dinner. Nothing like a real Maine lobster! He wandered down the pier.
"Hey, Danny!" a grizzled old sailor greeted him. "Got some nice lobstahs here. You looking for some for suppah? One of Miz Fletchah's favorites and you won't find a better lobstah than mine. Everybody knows old Ezek Hopgood's the best lobstahman in these parts!"
"I'll take three, Ezek," Danny grinned. "One pounders or so. Haven't had a real lobster in a while. The Pacific ones are okay, but nothing beats these, nicely steamed, dripping with melted butter . . ." The young cop could almost feel his stomach rumbling at the thought.
"That'll be ten dollahs," the lobsterman said, quoting a price way below market value as he pegged the crustaceans' formidable claws, wrapped them in wet seaweed and newspaper and stuffed them in an old burlap bag. "Seeing as how they're for Miz Fletchah," he added, handing Danny the sack. "By the way," he continued, "you ain't seen anything strange going on by the old lighthouse, have you? It's almost Halloween, ya know. Ask Miz Fletchah to tell you the story. And keep a lookout. The old pirates still walk these beaches, keeping guard over their booty. "
Danny swallowed a laugh as he thanked the old captain. Steve would love this-haunted lighthouses, mysterious sailing ships, buried treasure, pirate ghosts standing guard . . . He'd heard a few of the Maine coast legends in the past few days, but nothing about the quaint old lighthouse that once guided sailors into the safety of Cabot Cove. He'd definitely have to ask Jessica about this one.
o-o-o-o-o
Old Cap'n Ezek was right. His lobsters really are the best! It had been a delicious dinner: steamed lobster, potato salad, the last of this year's corn on the cob ("Imported from California," Jessica had apologized.) and a luscious apple-coconut strudel from LeBeau's latest cookbook. Danny had volunteered to do the dishes - as his Aunt Clara often said, his cooking skills were rudimentary at best. Now, everything put away, they sat in the comfortable living room, coffee in hand. Time for storytelling . . .
"So, Danny," Jessica began, "Captain Hopgood's been filling your mind with stories about our haunted lighthouse. I wouldn't be surprised if he has you hunting for buried treasure next. Anyway, the story of the Old Lighthouse is part of our local history and there really is a mystery connected with it."
The word "mystery" piqued Danny's interest. The police officer in him couldn't resist asking for more.
"Cabot Cove was once notorious for wreckers and smugglers," Jessica recounted. "In colonial times, people would light bonfires on the cliffs north of the town-it wasn't much more than a small fishing village then-to lure unsuspecting ships onto the rocks. The wreckers would loot their victims, taking the best goods and developing a kind of black market for things that weren't commonly available here."
"Luxury goods, French wines, imported fabrics, the best China tea," Aunt Clara added.
"Anyway," Jessica said, "from there, it was only a short step to outright piracy and smuggling. Why, there's even a legend that Captain Kidd may have buried his treasure somewhere along this coast. Of course, that's only a legend, but Kidd's treasure has never been found."
"The lighthouse?" Dan prompted.
A good storyteller-and Jessica Fletcher was a superb storyteller-likes to take time to draw her listeners into the tale. "The first lighthouse was built in the 1820's. The light was powered by whale oil. It was replaced in 1871, but that light only served for around five years until the present one was built a few miles up the coast. The old light was locked and shuttered, but there were stories of strange vessels anchoring just offshore and mysterious activities . . . " she paused for effect.
"And that's where the stories of the haunted lighthouse came from?" Clara questioned.
"No, that story came later. But as the old lighthouse continued to deteriorate, it gained a reputation as a dangerous place to visit. Of course, that only lured more adventurous visitors. Then, one day, just about this time of the year, a group of young people from a nearby town found themselves here in Cabot Cove and decided to explore the deserted light. The lock was old and rusty and they had no difficulty forcing it open. They probably had fun looking around the old place and ultimately found what seemed to be a secret passage behind a locked door. The passage dropped straight down-one of the group swore he heard odd voices and the sound of waves against the rocks. Needless to say, they beat a hasty retreat. "
"Smugglers?" Danny guessed.
"No one really knows what they heard. It may have just been the result of an overactive imagination. But that's not the end of the story. One of the girls discovered she'd lost a locket during their flight and went back to look for it. Her friends waited and waited and finally went to look for her. They searched the entire structure but found only a pool of blood. No one ever discovered what became of her, but it's said her cries still echo on foggy nights."
Danny shivered. "That's some ghost story. I wonder what Steve would make of it." He paused a moment, then added, "I'd like to explore that lighthouse myself. If there really is a passageway to the sea, it could still be used for bringing in contraband."
"Once a cop . . ." Aunt Clara laughed.