Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Born in Northern Ontario, E. M. Williams has written all her life. Chaos Calling is her first published novel.She earned a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature from the University of Waterloo and a Master of Arts in Literary Theory from the University of Guelph. She also completed a course in writing speculative fiction through the University of Toronto's School of Continuing Studies, and is a former member of the Science Fiction Research Association. In 2012, she gave a TedxTalk on women, superheroes and power. Originally intended to make her past scholarship work more accessible to a wider audience, it inadvertently supercharged her writing. E. M. Williams is a member of the Writer's Union of Canada and the Canadian Science Fiction and Fantasy Association. She currently lives with her family in Toronto, where she works in the technology sector.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Point Harbor Lights

By E.M. Williams

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 E.M. Williams
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-4812-3

Chapter One

Marne Marriner walked briskly down the boardwalk, the wind blowing in from the sound whipping her long, dark hair. The day was overcast, with cloud castles banking up along the horizon. She sat down on the bench in the gazebo and stared out over the water, but her mind was not registering her surroundings. Her thoughts were back where palm trees sway and balmy breezes blow. Pulling her thin shirt around her more snugly, she shivered. The sailboats, usually seen with sails unfurled, were anchored today, because of the choppy seas, as were many other boats moored at the dock. She sat looking out at the gray, rolling waves, white–capped, surging plumes of water breaking along the bank. A week ago she was in a much different place, almost a different world.

Marne was in her studio in Honolulu, Hawaii, working on her photo exhibit when the phone rang. Putting a poster-size photograph featuring a surfer riding a brilliant blue wave into place, she picked up the phone. "Hey what's up Haley?"

"Not much, just thought you'd like to know you have a letter from the Outer Banks of North Carolina ... attorneys, looks mysterious, Marn."

"Really? Okay, I'll be home as soon as I can, maybe fifteen minutes." She hung the phone up, getting back to work, looking through a stack of her most recent prints.

Marne realized she would have to talk to her assistant, Gary Brandt, who had been working tirelessly getting everything ready for this her first exhibit, which was to be held in a couple of months. She relied on Gary completely for his expertise to ensure it was a success.

Marne had many clients, but this was to be an exhibit of her entire works, including her most recent, which would bring her clients together to view them collectively at the gallery—the same gallery that had held her father's renowned works. It was an exciting time, and Marne wanted it to be perfect.

Marne had so much on her mind that she didn't need any distractions, but Haley's call kept intruding into her thoughts. She sighed, laying the picture aside. "I can't do this right now. I have to get home and find out what that letter is about."

Pausing to turn off the computer, she picked up her briefcase and purse and closed the studio door.

As she walked slowly out to the car, Aunt Mary was uppermost in her thoughts. Marne couldn't remember much about her aunt but had vague memories of visiting and playing in her costume jewelry. She's the only one I know in Carolina.

She thought with sadness of her parents and missed not having them to talk things over with. This letter made her uneasy for some reason, like a premonition of some kind.

Being a freelance photographer since college, Marne had spent every free moment pursuing her career, with no time for personal or romantic relationships. Now that her parents were gone, photography was the love of her life. Traveling and seeing different and unusual places was what she lived for now; and she had a gallery of photographs to show for it. She made a very good living and had some very prestigious clients who sought her work. Marne had learned from the very best. Her father had been a professional freelance photographer and her mother an artist. Her father had trained her in the art of photography, and her mother had taught her to view her subjects with an artist's eye. Their work was the reason they had left Carolina when Marne was a child. She didn't remember much about that time of her life. There were so many questions she wished she had asked them, but it never crossed her mind that they wouldn't be here with her, as they always had been.

It happened one rainy night five years ago, the night that changed her life forever. Her parents had been driving home from an awards ceremony they were attending with fellow artists, when a sudden tropical storm blew in. They had been trying to get home through the wind and rain when the car skidded off the road, hitting an embankment, killing them instantly. The only consolation for her now was to know they hadn't had time to suffer. Marne was alone, except for her Aunt Mary who lived in Carolina. Even though good friends surrounded her, no one on earth could really comfort her. Her mother had been her best friend. She had taught her to have faith in God, not by words only but also by example. That faith was what sustained her through that terrible time.

Could this letter be about Aunt Mary? she wondered. She searched her mind carefully for another possible connection.

The silver Impala swung into traffic and cruised along, music playing softly on the radio. Within minutes she was pulling up in front of her yellow beach house on Waikiki beach.

She entered the front door, tossed her bag and keys on the foyer table, and picked up the letter. Looking at the return address, she went into the kitchen, poured herself a tall glass of mango tea, and took it back to the great room. Kicking off her shoes, she sat back on the sofa.

Marne sipped the cold tea and studied the return address, frowning in concentration. "Why attorneys?" She hadn't heard from her aunt, except for a card when her parents died, saying that she regrettably was unable to attend the funeral, as the distance was too far. Aunt Mary had wished her the best and said to let her know if she ever needed anything. Since then they hadn't really been in touch, except for exchanging cards at Christmas.

Marne felt badly about not keeping in touch more but had no time it seemed for anything but work. She looked at the letter again, still hesitating. She tapped the letter thoughtfully against her knee as thoughts crowded her mind.

Looking around the room, she contemplated the circumstances that must have led to this letter.

Long, white sofas faced each other in front of a fireplace. Modern lighting, long, low tables, and large pillows in colors of aqua and coral brightened the decor. Her mother's painting of hazy skies in the misty morning light, featuring a lone fisherman in his old boat, hung over the fireplace mantle. Marne loved that painting. It always comforted her and made her feel close to her mom.

She sighed, looking at the letter again with a feeling of dread. She sat her glass down and opened it. Marne wasn't prepared for what she was about to read.

Dear Ms. Marriner: I regret to inform you that your aunt, Mary Hunter, has passed away. You, being her next of kin, have inherited her estate. Your presence is requested here at your earliest convenience. Please call the enclosed number and let me know when you will be arriving. Sincerely, Nathan Kirk LLP COLLINS & KIRK

Marne read through the letter again, trying to take it all in. Suddenly the realization hit her. She jumped off the couch and yelled, "Haley!" at the top of her voice. Haley, who was in the bathroom, came running out, fresh from the bath, with a towel wrapped around her blond hair in her baggy old terrycloth robe. "Good grief, Marn! What happened?"

"My great aunt Mary passed away, and I have just inherited her estate. I can't believe it." Marne sat down, in a daze, trying to take in all that it meant. Her dark-lashed, pale gray eyes grew wider as it dawned on her.

"Gee, I'm sorry about your aunt, Marn." Haley put a hand on her arm to comfort her.

...