“Good afternoon, you three,” Maris said, as she joined them.
Julia looked up at her from where she knelt, hands still in the dirt, smiling. “Hey, Maris.”
She put her hands on her hips. “It looks like Cookie’s found a way to put you to work too.”
Cookie opened her mouth to make a reply, but Julia laughed. “Oh no,” the young woman said. “I pretty much forced my way in here.”
“Nonsense,” the diminutive chef told her. “I’m always glad for the help.”
Bear set the bag down and looked at Maris. “I have the electrical parts in the truck.”
She held up her hand. “I see you’re needed out here. There’s no hurry on the electricity. It turns out I don’t miss it as much as I thought I would.”
Cookie handed Julia another seedling.
“Basil,” the young woman said grinning. “Oh, I adore this on pizza.” She stroked one of the leaves. “And the shape is so pretty too.”
Maris regarded her. “You know your plants.”
Julia sat back on her heels and looked around at the rows of flowers and herbs. “Gardening is how I got my start in environmentalism. I’ve gardened since I was four. It completely captivated me, putting a seed in the soil and then seeing the first green shoot.”
Cookie patted her on the shoulder. “I know how you feel.”
As Julia looked up at the chef, she also cast her gaze out to the bay. “Of all the places I’ve been in the world, I’ve never seen a spot that’s blessed by so many of the right elements.” She looked up at the lighthouse, and then at the house, glancing at Maris. “Not to mention the picturesque lighthouse and lightkeeper’s house.”
Maris smiled at her. “I couldn’t agree more.”
For several moments the four of them simply stood and took in the view. But as Maris let her gaze drift up to the optical room at the top of the lighthouse, she had an idea.
“Speaking of the lighthouse,” she said, “I’ve got to check on something.” She exchanged a look with Cookie. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
Cookie nodded to her, and Maris headed toward the Old Girl. Before Claribel could open the door for her, Maris hurried forward, catching the knob just as a swirling sea breeze blew it open.
“Thanks,” she said quietly, as she slipped inside and closed the door behind her.
Like the generations of lightkeepers before her, Maris had a special bond with the magical lighthouse. As she climbed the spiral, wrought iron staircase, she imagined her aunt climbing these very same stairs, perhaps for the very same purpose. Glenda had never told her about the family’s magic abilities or the remote viewing that Claribel provided. It had been Cookie who’d clued her in.
From the window of the second story, a shaft of sunlight sliced across the interior of the tower. The spotlight it created was almost too bright to look at. As her course spiraled upward, she imagined the blazing rectangle tracing an arc across the interior during the course of the day. When she mounted the third story, it occurred to her that the windows on the different levels would each trace their own arc at different times of day as the sun came through them in turn. It would be like a lovely dance of light, albeit a slow one.
Breathing hard—though not as hard as she had when she first returned—Maris took a final step onto the metal grating that served as the floor of the glass room at the top. She never tired of this view but today she simply looked down on the bay. Perhaps it was the slant of the sun, or maybe the time of year, but she’d never seen the shifting colors of turquoise and sapphire so clearly in the water just below. It was subtle but definitely there, starting with the lightest blue near the rocky shore and transitioning to the darker color as the water got deeper. Maris found herself smiling at it but quickly turned to the heart of the light beam behind her, the fresnel lens. She had come here on urgent business.
There had to be nearly one hundred pieces of sculpted and etched pieces of glass, each one crystal clear. They were held in place by a sturdy steel frame that stood a bit taller than her, since the base of it rested on the mechanism that turned it.
As she’d learned to do, Maris relaxed her neck and shoulders, and let her mind go empty. With an unfocused gaze, she looked into the base of the lens. Tiny rainbows danced within it, refracting the sunlight. As she watched, they seemed to swirl and drift until a vision swam into view.
“Flour Power,” she whispered.
As though she were looking through a telescope, she saw the gas station and sandwich shop run by Jude and Fab Toussaint. Everything there appeared normal: someone was getting gas at one of the station’s two pumps; Jude was wiping his hands on a rag as he moved around inside the repair bay; an older couple looked as though they’d just bought sandwiches. Maris frowned at it a little, and then it winked out.
“Hmm,” she muttered. Though she couldn’t see a connection with the murder of Audrey Graisser, she knew better than to question the Old Girl. Instead she gently patted the base. “Thank you, Claribel.”
As she descended the spiral staircase, she tried to remember if she needed any work done on her car, or maybe an oil change. The used car that Jude had arranged for her was running like a top. She shrugged. At the very least, she could buy gas.
On the ground floor, she’d just been about to open the door, when she heard someone shouting beyond it.
