insufferable. "You already know, don't you?" she snapped.
He laughed. "I know a woman was murdered out here a long time ago. And from the way I've annoyed you I'm guessing it's Mrs. Charity Aiden, the idealistic upper-class girl who loved a man far below her station. So, come on, tell me how it all turned out." He smiled that dazzling smile at her. "Come on, Lori. We're stuck out here with nothing to do. Tell me the rest of the story."
Wow, he was good. He could probably make women do anything by looking at them like that.
She smiled her own fake sweet smile back at him. "All right. I'll tell you if you stop interrupting me. When Charity was pregnant with their first child, Joseph became ill with influenza."
Despite her unsavory audience, she found herself warming to her topic. She loved telling people about history. "Charity tried to care for her husband, but before help could get to the island, he died. So Charity became the lighthouse keeper in his place."
In her mind's eye she saw the lonely widow trapped out here, with the responsibility for her child, and for her husband's job, resting on her narrow shoulders. "It's said that she kept the place running all alone throughout her pregnancy," she continued quietly. "Through the storms that rocked the coast, she never once let the light or the foghorn fail. And after she gave birth to their daughter Rose, she walked the widow's walk every night, carrying the baby around the light tower while she kept her watch, with only her faithful collie for a companion." She stopped.
He was grinning at her.
"Now what's so funny?"
"Nothing. You tell the story well. You bring Charity Aiden right into this room."
"I just read it in a book."
"But you have a gift for telling the tale. You'd make a good teacher."
"No, I wouldn't," she said firmly.
"Why not?"
"I have epilepsy," she blurted out.
"Yeah. You said so. I guess I don't see the connection. Why couldn't you be a teacher?"
"I have seizures. I can lose consciousness without any warning, so I can't be responsible for a bunch of children." She sounded more bitter than she meant to. She had wanted to be a teacher. But of course helpless little Lori couldn't do that.
He really knew how to push all her buttons, didn't he?
"What causes it? I mean, if you don't mind talking about it."
"I've answered it so many times, I don't mind. Every once in a while, I have these extra electrical impulses in my brain, like a short circuit, sort of. It's just something I was born with. My mother has it, too. And my grandmother did before her."
"So it's a flaw in your wiring."
"Yeah, basically. And when the system overloads, I lose awareness for a second or a minute. It doesn't hurt or anything, but I have no control over when it happens." And that loss of control was the worst thing.
"Like a thunderstorm in your head."
"Yeah. That's one way to put it."
He looked genuinely concerned. "I'm sorry, Lori. I guess that must be rough. Isn't there anything doctors can do to help you?"
"I'm on medication that helps. But it doesn't completely control the seizures. I could have part of my brain cut out. That sounds pretty outrageous, but it's actually a good solution for a lot of people. But the location of the problem makes that too risky in my case."
"I can understand that. Your brain is—" he paused. "Extremely impressive."
That may have been one of the nicest compliments anyone ever paid her. It was unfortunate the compliment came from a murderer.
"But can't you just go lie down when you're going to have a seizure?" he asked.
"Gee, why didn't I think of that?"
He frowned. "Not a good idea, huh?"
"It's a great idea. But it only works if you have an aura—a signal that warns you you're about to have a seizure, like getting a headache, or feeling an odd sensation. I don't have any aura, usually. I can avoid things I know trigger seizures. Like flashing lights," she added, thinking of the lighthouse ghost. "I'm convinced there's a spot in
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