4-The lighthouse
CLAIRE
The streets of Grayhaven felt different once I stepped outside the inn with purpose.
Thomas had told me to “get to know the area,” . Talk to people, learn the corners of the town, listen for the little truths that could lead to finding the missing fisherman "
But he had also warned me — not to push too hard, not yet. The people weren't used to my presence yet. In Grayhaven, pushing made doors close, not open.
One thing I noticed right away — the houses were old, their paint worn to gray, shutters loose, streets bending like they’d been laid out by the cliffs themselves.
The town itself looked old
People moved through that fog like shadows. Men in long coats with hats pulled low. Women in shawls and heavy wool skirts and baskets hooked in the crook of their arms.
But no one looked at me.
It was the same pattern every time — the moment their eyes met mine, I’d see a flicker there. Recognition? Suspicion? Something that made them break the eye contact instantly. They’d shift course, crossing the street or disappearing into narrow doorways.
I might as well have been wearing a sign: OUTSIDER.
I told myself it didn’t matter. The academy had drilled me in patience, in watching without forcing my presence. In the LAPD, I learned how a street speaks if you give it time — how to read fear, anger, lies in the way someone walks. This was the same game, just with colder weather and a small town.
I had no choice but to accept the case I was given anyways.
Being idle was dangerous. Being idle pulled my mind back to Los Angeles — to the big, soft bed I didn’t sleep in anymore, to the empty apartment, to the silence that settled in after Daniel left..
Better to keep moving.
Better to be here — even if here didn’t want me.
If I was going to learn what happened to Cal Rourke, I needed to start where he had lived most of his life.
The place that still smelled of salt, diesel, and fish.
The docks.
-----
The docks smelled sharp and alive. Salt, diesel, and fish mixed in the air, stinging my nose.
From the moment I stepped onto the pier, I knew the men wouldn’t be willing to speak easily . The men’s faces were rough and worn, full of lines from years of hard work and sun. Their eyes were careful, watching everything, as if they didn’t trust anyone who walked onto the docks.
Anyone with eyes could tell they,wouldn’t give away much.
Still,I had learned how to deal with people like that. I knew how to ask questions without really asking them. I could make it seem like I belonged, like I was just another person passing through, not someone prying into their business.
I approached two men untangling nets near a trawler. “Morning,” I said keeping my voice light. “I’m looking to do some work on a boat — repairing nets, moving supplies. Thought I might find someone to help me get set up.”
The bearded one glanced at me, then at his companion. “Who sent you?” he asked,
“No one,” I said leaning slightly on the railng. “Just hoping to lend a hand, earn some wages. New to town,” I added smiling. “I’ve worked on boats before. I know the ropes.”
The second man grunted, pulling a knot tight. “You don’t just wander onto docks and start helping, city girl,” he muttered.
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” I said smoothly. “I just want to work. I can handle myself.”
The bearded man exchanged a look with his companion, then shrugged. “Well… you’ll need Holt. He runs the docks. Big shed at the end of the pier. He decides who works and who don’t.”
I nodded slowly, trying to keep my tone friendly. “Holt, huh? End of the pier, big shed. Got it. Appreciate it.”
The stocky one grunted again, lifting a bundle of nets. “Don’t waste his time. He don’t like strangers. He’ll know why you’re really here before you even open your mouth.”
I forced a polite laugh, pretending not to catch the warning. “I’ll be careful. Thank you both.”
The bearded man muttered under his breath as I turned to leave. “City folk… always poking around where they don’t belong.”
-----
I walked along the creaking planks toward the big shed at the end of the pier. I pushed one of the huge doors open
And then I saw him.
Holt.
He was enormous. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a long, scraggly beard that almost hid his mouth, and a face rough and lined from years of sun and wind.
But it wasn’t just his size. It was the way he looked at me— his dark eyes were piercing, like he could see straight through my little act already.
“You’re not here for work,” he said. “You’re the city girl everyone has been talking about. You're already poking around huh,thinking you can find secrets .”
I still continued pretending “I’m just here to help. Move nets, check some boats. I can do the work. That’s all I’m asking for.”
Holt laughed, it was a dry, humorless sound that made the boards creak underfoot. “Cut the act. Don’t think I haven’t seen city folk like you before. You’re looking for Cal Rourke, aren’t you? Don’t waste my time pretending otherwise.”
I let the silence go on. “Cal is missing. People are worried. His family is desperate for answers. I’m here to find him. It’s my job to ask questions and follow leads.”
He leaned back “Your job? You don’t know the first thing about this town. Cal… he’s a good man. Lived his life here quietly. No fights, no trouble.That’s it. That’s all you need to know.”
I kept my eyes on him,i felt unfazed. “That’s not enough. People deserve answers. His mother—she needs to know. He’s not just some case to me; he’s someone’son, someone’s friend. You can tell me more than that. I can see it.”