Chapter 8 - THE LIGHTHOUSE THAT CAROLINE LOVED
The lighthouse stood on a rocky stretch of Rhode Island coastline, its white tower rising above wind-bent grass and dark Atlantic water.
Caroline used to say lighthouses were proof that hope could be practical.
“They don't stop storms,” she'd told me once. “They help people find their way through them.”
I'd laughed.
She'd called me hopelessly unromantic.
Now I stood outside the building with Alexandra, two investigators, and a preservation officer from the Harbor Heritage Trust.
I could barely breathe.
The last time I'd been here, Caroline was alive.
She'd brought Noah to a volunteer event.
They painted wooden signs while I complained about the cold.
I remembered her laughing.
I remembered how she tucked her hair beneath a wool hat.
I remembered promising we'd return when the restoration was finished.
Then the bomb happened.
And I never came back.
The investigators had obtained the appropriate permissions to examine records and areas potentially relevant to Caroline's work.
We weren't searching for a magical secret hidden behind a loose brick.
We were examining a building she'd photographed shortly before her death.
The maintenance room smelled of old paint and salt air.
A preservation employee showed us archived documents, contractor lists, and photographs from the restoration.
I recognized the room from Caroline's envelope.
A worktable stood beneath a small window.
An old mechanical clock had once hung on the wall.
It had been removed for restoration.
Alexandra examined the records.
“The clock,” she said.
I looked up.
“What about it?”
“The maintenance inventory says Caroline personally requested that the clock mechanism be preserved.”
The preservation officer nodded.
“She was very interested in its history.”
I remembered Noah's words.
The one with the broken clock.
My throat tightened.
“Where is it now?”
“In storage at the trust's conservation workshop.”
Alexandra exchanged a glance with the investigator.
“We'd like to review the inventory and chain of custody.”
At the workshop, a conservator carefully opened a wooden storage crate.
Inside was the old clock mechanism.
Heavy brass gears.
A weathered face.
Rust along the edges.
There was nothing remarkable about it at first glance.
Then the conservator showed us a sealed envelope that had been cataloged with the clock.
It contained photocopies of invoices and a handwritten note.
The note was Caroline's.
These payments must be independently reviewed before the project can continue.
My eyes filled.
Alexandra examined the copies.
Several payments matched those Peter Hollis had described.
One contractor's name appeared repeatedly.
Harborline Marine Services.
The company had been associated with Dominic's private security and dock operations.
The records didn't prove who planted the bomb.
But they connected Caroline's concerns to the business network Dominic controlled.
That evening, I returned home exhausted.
Emma was helping Noah build a model sailboat at the kitchen table.
He looked up.
“Dad!”
I smiled.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Look! We finished the hull.”
I examined it.
“Impressive.”
Emma looked at my face.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
Then shook my head.
She didn't press.
Noah pointed toward a chair.
“Sit.”
I obeyed.
He handed me a tiny wooden mast.
“Help.”
For the next half hour, I worked beside my son.
We argued about glue.
We laughed when the sail fell off.
And for a little while, I didn't think about Dominic.
I didn't think about the bombing.
I simply helped Noah finish a boat.
After dinner, Emma found me on the terrace.
The air smelled of rain.
“You went to the lighthouse,” she said.
“Yes.”
“How was it?”
“Hard.”
She nodded.
I looked toward the ocean.
“Caroline loved that place.”
“I know.”
I turned.
“How?”
“Noah talks about it.”
I smiled sadly.
“He's been talking more.”
“He's learning that people want to hear him.”
I looked at her.
“Emma, I don't know how to thank you.”
She shook her head.
“You don't have to.”
“You've done more for him in two weeks than I managed in fourteen months.”
Her expression changed.
“Vincent, don't turn this into another competition you're losing.”
I stared.
She continued.
“You were grieving. He was grieving. And both of you needed support that didn't revolve around money.”
I looked down.
“Sometimes I think Caroline would hate what I've become.”
Emma was quiet.
Then asked, “What did she love about you?”
The question startled me.
I thought for a long time.
“She said I could be gentle when I forgot somebody was watching.”
Emma smiled faintly.
“Then maybe she saw the man you still have a chance to be.”
I looked at her.
For a moment, the world became strangely quiet.
Then she stepped back.
“Goodnight, Vincent.”
I watched her leave.
And realized that for the first time since Caroline's death, I wanted tomorrow to arrive.
But before midnight, Alexandra called.
“We have another witness.”
“Who?”
“A former employee from Dominic's dock operation.”
My pulse quickened.
“What does he know?”
“He says the night before the bombing, Dominic ordered an unscheduled security inspection of your SUV.”
I closed my eyes.
“And?”
“He also says the inspection team was told not to document the work.”
My stomach turned.
“Can he prove it?”
“He retained a message that investigators are now authenticating.”
I looked toward Noah's bedroom.
Alexandra continued.
“Vincent, we're getting closer.”
But I knew one thing.
May you like
Getting closer to the truth meant getting closer to the man who'd taken Caroline from us.
And Dominic Shaw had never been a man who accepted losing control.
