Page 16 of Light of Day (Sea Smoke Island #1)

Before bothering John Carmichael, Heather decided to do her online rounds again.

She ordered an iced tea from the bar at the Lightkeeper, then took it to a comfy armchair in the conservatory and pulled her iPad from her backpack.

As the sun pouring through the glass walls warmed the back of her neck, she settled down for some Internet surfing.

She checked Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, her email, the podcast’s email, anywhere someone might have interacted with Gabby.

Gabby’s last post of any kind was almost a week ago.

That in itself was cause for concern. Had Gabby ever gone that long without popping onto social media somewhere?

She relished doing battle with the trolls and countering any misinformation she spotted.

“If I don’t tell these fools the truth, who’s going to?” she’d say.

“You think they want the truth?”

“It’s not about what they want. It’s about what everyone else sees.”

Now, she wondered…what if one of those trolls had taken a beef off the screen and into real life?

Gabby’s most recent post was a shot of the view from the Lightkeeper Inn. Even though it was mostly ocean and clouds, the shape of the old lighthouse on its remote rock could be seen through the fog. Had someone recognized it and decided to chase Gabby all the way to the island?

She read the caption. Where the deepest secrets lie, only the truth can bring the light.

That was Gabby for you. She loved to post cryptic messages, hoping to get people talking.

At first glance, Heather figured it was just another of Gabby’s memes.

That was another thing she specialized in—find an evocative image, pick an inspirational quote, add a filter, then post it with a string of hashtags such as #MondayMood or #DeepThoughts.

But this post had no hashtags at all. Gabby never left off the hashtags, because that would impair the discoverability of the post. The algorithm wouldn’t know what to do with it. In other words, she hadn’t meant this one to be seen by people who knew nothing about her.

Heather studied the image more closely. Why had Gabby chosen this shot in particular?

She usually used images she found in her various stock photo subscriptions.

On occasion, she used one of her own photos, but it didn’t happen often.

Then again, she wasn’t usually anywhere as scenic as Sea Smoke Island.

But was there more to the choice than Heather had first assumed?

Was she pointing to secrets kept here on the island, ones that she was trying to expose?

Or maybe it was even more specific than that.

Maybe she was saying that the lighthouse had secrets?

No one ever went out there except for maintenance crews.

Or maybe she was saying that this hotel had secrets.

She jumped as the bartender—a slim Asian woman who wore a tiger lily in her hair—tapped on her shoulder. “You said you wanted to meet with John Carmichael?”

“Yes. Yes.” She closed her iPad and slipped it into its sleeve. “Can he see me now?”

“He has about ten minutes for you. He said to send you to the library.”

“How far is the library?” Heather could already feel those ten minutes ticking away.

“Fastest way is the service elevator around back.” The bartender winked at her. “But don’t tell anyone I told you.”

“Never,” Heather promised. She gathered her things and slung her backpack over her shoulder.

On the service elevator, she caught a glimpse of herself in the dull reflection of the metal wall and decided to take Luke’s advice a little more seriously.

She combed her fingers through her hair and undid one extra button on her blouse.

Since it was an oversized soft chambray top, not exactly the sexiest item she owned, it seemed a little pointless.

But if some extra freckles got John Carmichael to open up, why not?

The library held much more than books. A large telescope pointed out to sea, and three glass cases displayed everything from horseshoe crabs to old newspaper clippings.

She wished she had time to examine them more closely, but a deep voice summoned her to a seating area in the corner.

Three leather armchairs were positioned near an antique writing desk holding a vintage lamp with a Tiffany style stained-glass shade.

. The rich reds and blues lit up John Carmichael’s white hair like police lights—which probably wasn’t the intention.

The hotel owner rose to his feet. He was even taller than Luke, with a hulking posture that made him look extra intimidating. His hair was long enough to tuck behind his ears, emphasizing his sagging jowls.

A much younger woman sat in the other armchair, her legs curled under her.

“Heather McPhee, eh?” John shook her hand. His deep voice rumbled like an idling boat engine. “McPhee, McPhee, McPhee. The Bloodshot Eyeball serves some of the best coffee on the island. I tried to hire Sally to oversee breakfast here, but she has a good thing going.”

Should she remind him that her mother used to work in his gardening crew? He couldn’t be expected to remember such details, she supposed.

“This is Celine, my wife.”

Celine stayed where she was, but leaned forward to shake Heather’s hand as well. Her blond pixie cut made her look even younger than she probably was, and her slim form barely filled the imposing leather chair.

“Thank you both so much for seeing me. I know you’re busy so I won’t take too much time.” She perched on the edge of the third armchair.

Celine checked her watch, a stunning luxury piece Heather had seen in an ad in The New Yorker . “Six minutes. You got here quickly.”

“I was very anxious to talk to you. I?—”

“Soccer.” John interrupted, snapping his fingers. “I remember now. You played soccer. You’re one of the more impressive products of our island school system.”

Luke had warned her that he’d try to charm her. It was working, too. She felt warmth rise in her cheeks. The idea that John Carmichael, friend of senators and generals, knew who she was nearly overwhelmed her.

“That’s very kind of you to say.” Enough chitchat. Tick-tock. Gabby was still missing, and this man might know something. “The reason I wanted to speak to you was that my friend and business partner is missing. Gabby Ramon. She was staying here, so I was hoping that you…might…”

She trailed off as a vertical line appeared between his eyebrows. It sounded insane to think he would know anything about a lowly guest. How could she make it make sense without busting Heidi?

“Records show that you sent a text to Gabby. I’m curious what sort of…communication, or contact, or relationship you had with her.”

She wanted to fall through the floor with embarrassment. Of all the tactless ways to approach this, had she just implied that he and Gabby had an affair? In front of his wife?

Luckily, John Carmichael took no offense—at least visibly. “Did I text her?” He glanced at his wife, who gave a puzzled shrug.

“I can’t imagine why you would have. Should we check your phone?” With a languid motion, Celine picked up an iPhone from the engraved leather end table between their armchairs. She scanned through it, then shook her head. “I don’t see anything like that. Who told you that he did?”

Heather bit her lip. Celine was sharper than she’d seemed at first, unfortunately. “The text said something like, ‘glad you’re up for this.’ Maybe that rings a bell?”

Apparently it didn’t. He shook his head, glancing again at Celine. “Did I meet her, sweetheart?”

“I certainly don’t know. You meet lots of guests.”

“This guest is a young Black woman, my age, very pretty, taller than me?—”

“Gabby. Gabby. ” Recognition dawned on his face.

“She loved talking about the Lightkeeper Inn and all the history. So much history.” A frown formed between his eyebrows, then disappeared.

“The Lightkeeper Inn was built at the start of the very first tourist boom here in Maine, you know, back in the nineteen-ten’s.

” He shifted into what was clearly his favorite topic.

“It was an instant success. In those days, wealthy families, mostly from Boston and Connecticut, were looking for a place to get away from the heat and give their children some time at the beach. Lightkeeper Bay was a natural magnet for developers. So many stunning and accessible islands. My grandfather scouted the area, saw an opportunity and voilà.” He gestured at their surroundings. “Witness the result.”

“It’s very beautiful,” she said dutifully, making sure to add a smile. She wasn’t working the smile angle as much as she should be—maybe because his wife was present. “This place has such a mystique. It gives me shivers every time I see it from the ferry boat.”

“I’m happy to hear that. I never know what the rest of the island thinks of us.”

“Oh, John.” Celine waved a hand in the air as if to send that topic into the ether. “Why get into all that?”

Heather kept her focus on John, who seemed to have hit an internal “talk” switch. The more he chatted, the more likely he might say something helpful. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, we’ve had controversies over the years.

I’m sure you’ve heard of some of them. Taxes are a big one.

Some people think we’re responsible for raising their property taxes.

Resource allocation. Water and so forth.

” He shrugged his shoulder, as if to dismiss such pesky concerns.

“So far, we’ve managed to work things out so everyone’s happy. ”

“How?” Heather asked.

“How?”

“Yes, it always seems like these complaints come up, and they seem legitimate, but then somehow they just…subside. Everyone moves on to some other topic.”

Celine frowned, apparently displeased by that very accurate summary, but John shrugged it off. “I guess that’s life on an offshore island. There’s always something else to get upset about.”

Celine climbed out of her chair and gestured at the grandfather clock nested between two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “It looks like you have one minute left, Heather McPhee. Any other questions?”

She wasn’t getting anywhere with these two. Celine was being a guard dog and John was playing the rambling old man. Sometimes you just had to get savage.

“Yes. I’m wondering if Gabby had some kind of complaint and you guys made her go away just like all the other problems you cause on this island.”

John flinched, as if her words were a physical slap across his face.

“Who do you think you are?” Celine gasped. “If she had a complaint, I’m sure it was dealt with properly.” She dragged Heather to the door and flung it open. “You can go now.”

“Wait.” John’s deep voice had them both turning around. “That girl, Gabby. I remember now. She knew something.”

“Yes, she knew all about the hotel’s history, just like you told me after you ran into her. You couldn’t stop talking about how well-informed she was.” Celine shot Heather an exasperated look. “Unless you want another history lesson, you should probably go.”

“But—”

Before she knew it, she was on the other side of the door and it was closing firmly behind her.

Phew. That was…something, she thought as she headed for the service elevator. Had she learned anything?

Yes. One thing. Gabby knew something. That part was true.

Also, John Carmichael seemed to be losing a step or two.