Our Last Night by TAYLOR ADAMS

Author:TAYLOR ADAMS [ADAMS, TAYLOR]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books mystery, suspense, thrillers, and romance
Published: 2015-11-21T05:00:00+00:00

NEW TEXT MESSAGE

SENDER: “Holden” (509) 555-8727

SENT: 9:11 a.m. Mar 20 2015

DAN ANSWER UR PHONE. Something is wrong I have a bad feeling about this.

3 Hours, 29 Minutes

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Holden told me as we unpacked the Haunted production van under a sky of puffy red clouds. Citrus energy drinks on his breath, his pale hair matted with sweat from the five-hour drive.

I helped him lift an Arri crate. “How so?”

“There’s just a . . . weirdness to that lighthouse. Like another dimension is pressing in from behind it. You don’t feel it?”

“Nope.”

From this parking lot we could see the (allegedly) haunted Disappointment Bay Lighthouse, towering over the nautical museum and keeper’s quarters. A stout pillar of painted brick, with a signal light caged behind dirty glass panes and wire handrails. It was banded red and white, like a hundred-foot barber’s pole. Somehow, in some intangible way, I’ll admit that it didn’t quite match the burnt sky or the clumped coastal evergreens around it. If this were a movie, I’d have sworn the lighthouse was CGI’d in. Maybe that’s what Holden had meant.

We set the crate on the curb with a leaden thud and the soft-box light jingled inside. Fun fact: of all the moving parts to a guerilla film shoot, the lighting is always the most expensive, the most time-consuming, and comes in the heaviest damn boxes.

“Dan,” Adelaide whispered. “When is this?”

“The Disappointment Bay Lighthouse investigation,” I told her. “You weren’t here. This is by Seaflats, Washington.”

“Yeah, but when?”

“August, I think.”

“Wait.” Holden wiped his brow. “How’d she get here?”

Addie smiled shyly. “Hi.”

“She carpooled with Kale,” I said.

She nodded. “That’s . . . yes. I definitely did that.”

Holden looked between us. “Kale’s van was full.”

“She sat in the back.”

“The back was full, too—”

“Magic,” Addie snapped. “I got here by magic.”

He shrugged and grabbed another box. “Whatever.”

Production was already racing at double time. Up a slope of fresh-cut grass, LJ, Kale, and our crew were in the museum lobby, clasping lavalier microphones and propping up tripods. It would be our command center, since the ground floor of the lighthouse was too wet and cramped. One assistant with an HD-DVC camera was already prowling the grounds for daytime cutaways, but I’d already seen the episode and knew none of it would make the final cut. His shot compositions sucked.

Addie looked out into the gray ocean. “Why’s it called Disappointment Bay?”

“Because it’s near Disappointment Beach.”

“Why’s it called Disappointment Beach?”

“Because it’s in Washington.”

Spoiler alert: our Haunted investigation wouldn’t find any actual ghosts tonight. Not for lack of trying, though. Holden would claim to hear spectral footsteps every five minutes or so, and Kale would be perplexed by an electromagnetic glitch that seemed to move up the spiral stairs. Plus, the thermal signature on the balcony that would become Holden’s Exhibit A for the next seven months — three panels of warm glass.

“I . . .” Addie chewed her lip. “Wait. I think I’ve heard of this lighthouse.”

“It’s famous.” I shrugged. “By lighthouse standards, at least.

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