Thomas Prescott Superpack by Nick Pirog Read Free Book Online

he lost it. He scared me, Thomas, he started breaking stuff.”
    “Don’t think too much of it Lace, that Tooms guy really screwed him over. He’ll get over it.”
     
    Lacy didn’t know exactly how to get to the lighthouse and it was an excuse to use theRange Rover’s navigational system for the first time.
    I pushed the screen under the CD player and it instantly refreshed. I chose the audio option and the system became voice activated. It asked in a generic woman’s voice, “Destination?”
    I stammered, “Uh, lighthouse.”
    “There’s seventy-five lighthouses in Maine you idiot.” Lacy remarked wisely.
    I mentally added Car Navigational Systems for Idiots to my book list and reset the system. The woman’s voice came on again, “Destination?”
    I prodded Lacy with my arm and she said, “Portland Head Lighthouse.”
    For the next ten minutes the generic woman’s voice shouted out commands every thirty seconds and I finally had an idea what it was like to be married. Once safely in the lighthouse observatory parking lot, the woman shouted, “Put car in Park.”
    I put the car in park and she nagged, “Turn off ignition.”
    It took every ounce of self-control not to smash the screen with my fist. I made a mental reminder to call the company and have them change the voice to that of Bob Costas or Heidi Klum.
    Lacy took two sandwiches from the cooler and handed me one. After a bite I asked, “What’s so special about this particular house of light?”
    She rolled her eyes. “I think it was the first lighthouse ever built that’s still in existence. It’s special to me because I’ve seen it in so many paintings I have a mental picture in my head and I’ll be able to paint it.”
    “And you couldn’t do that in our front yard, because?”
    “Because I’m trying to lead a normal life. I refuse to paint a lighthouse landscape from our front yard. If I keep painting these things I’ll never forget them.”
    She tapped the side of her head, “I’ll keep them up here forever.”
    “Lace, your vision will come back. One of these mornings you’re gonna wake up and the lights will be back on. You’ll see.” I laughed at my unintentional pun. “I mean you’ll see you’ll see.”
    She held up her beer and said, “Cheers to that.”
     
    The Portland Head lighthouse was all white stucco frame and stood on a large inlet of reddish-brown rock. Lacy asked me two questions before she made her first brushstroke; roughly how many yards away was the lighthouse? And the diameter of the sun, in inches?
    I answered about two hundred yards and an inch and a quarter, respectively.
    I set two beers down next to Lacy and found the gravel path leading to the lighthouse. As I neared the lighthouse the sound of crashing waves grew exponentially louder.
    There was a large rock about thirty yards to the left of the lighthouse, which I started toward. When I finally reached the rock, I saw it was a bit larger than at first glance and chose his little brother to the left of him. I took a swig of beer and looked down at my lap—where, oddly enough—Baxter was fast asleep. I guess when you move at the speed of sound and weigh less than a nice T-bone you can sleep wherever you please.
    After taking in the horizon for a dozen waves, I grabbed Eight in October and delved back into the massacre. I read close to eighty pages before my reading light plunged into the western mountains. In truth, the fourth murder was especially gory, and I took the liberty of stopping prematurely. But I did dog-ear the page in the off chance I ever built up the courage to revisit the scene. See, I already had nightmares of the guest bedroom, I didn’t need them solidified.

Chapter 7
     
     
    The girl’s name was Ginny Farth, she was the fourth victim in two weeks. The call came in an hour ago, and we, the task force, were the first people to enter the crime scene of 14 Surry Woods Drive.
    The guest bedroom was small, about fifteen by