Thorpe's Candle

THE INN

Skyler mulled over the events of the past week in Mexico and off the coast of Cuba as he headed west on Saunders Settlement Road toward Niagara Falls. He wondered if he was getting closer to finding any answers at all.

Near the entrance to the Tuscarora Indian Reservation, he saw the sign — Colonial Inn, A Bed and Breakfast. Driving up the gravel entrance road lined with sycamores, Skyler parked his rental beside two other cars. Firs and willows surrounded the old mansion, and a wide landscaped lawn gently sloped down to a lake with a dock and boathouse.

He grabbed his bag from the back seat and walked up the steps and across the front porch. Freshly painted rocking chairs and porch swings waited for guests to sit and enjoy the warm, sunny afternoons.

The lobby had polished wooden floors and paneling — the room brimmed with an impressive collection of Victorian antiques. A number of pictures of the Inn hung on the wall. There was no one behind the front desk so Skyler took a moment to admire the photos. Then he heard someone approaching.

“She was built in 1838.”

He turned to see a tall woman in a bright summer dress and sandals walk across the lobby. She had long, curly white hair and hazel eyes that smiled. Her slender face was slightly tanned with a hint of freckles, and she moved with the grace of someone who might have been trained as a dancer. He guessed her age to be late fifties.

“The Inn has quite a history,” he said.

“Yes, it does. It once served as an army headquarters. And Theodore Roosevelt was sworn in as the twenty-sixth President right over there in the library.” She extended her hand. “I'm Lilly Penn, and you must be Matt Skyler.”

“Hello, Lilly.” They shook hands.

“How long will you be staying with us?”

“Just for tonight. I'm flying to London tomorrow.”

“Well, we're happy to have you.” She went behind the front desk. “Things are a little slow right now so it's nice to see a new face.” She opened the registration book and handed him a pen. “Your room will be number ten, just up the stairs to the right.”

“Thanks. I understand you and your husband run the place. I was wondering if he was around? I'd like to have a word with him.”

“Of course. Did you see the boathouse when you drove up?”

“Yes.”

“That's where you'll usually find Harry. He has a little shop down there, makes fishing flies. It's his hobby. He sells them in town at the bait and tackle shops.”

“I've been known to do some fishing. Maybe I'll buy a few flies from him while I'm here.”

“He'd be proud, I'm sure. Make yourself at home and go down to the boathouse whenever you feel like it.”

“Thanks again, Lilly.”

Skyler went up the stairs, found his room, and dropped his bag off. He then headed out the back of the Inn toward the dock. The gravel path wound through flowerbeds filled with daffodils, zinnias and tulips. Evergreens and a well-trimmed hedge outlined the flower gardens. A gentle breeze from the lake swayed the tulips.

He walked down along the dock and opened the door to the boathouse. Inside was a room filled with fishing gear — the walls were covered with rods, reels, nets, and dozens of pictures of proud fishermen holding up their catches. Beyond a screen door, Skyler could see an old Boston Whaler tied up. An elderly man sat in the back of the shop bent over a workbench. He had a full head of silver gray hair and wore a checkered shirt, brown pants and Timberline boots.

Without turning around, he said, “Come in, Mr. Skyler.”

“Thanks, but how did you know my name?”

“Intercom.” He tapped a plastic speaker box beside him. “My wife let me know you might be paying a visit.” He laid his tools down and turned around. “Welcome to the Colonial Inn, I'm Harry Penn.” They shook hands. “Understand you're a fishing enthusiast.”

“Saltwater mostly. I'm from Key West. I own a company called OceanQuest. We specialize in military salvage and deep water research.”

“Did some deep-sea fishing myself while I was down in the Tampa area. Caught a lot of snapper about twenty miles offshore — one of those charter drift boats.”

“I assume you like freshwater?”

“That's right. Granted, the fish are smaller but they've got a fighting spirit you just don't find in ocean fish. Unless you go hunting for one of those big bill fish.”

Skyler picked up a fly. “A bucktail. Beautiful workmanship. Real deer hair?”

“Absolutely.”

“You must sell these as fast as you make them.”

“I have a pretty loyal clientele.” With a sweep of his hand he motioned to the pictures covering the wall. Then he pulled a red bandanna out of his hip pocket and blew his nose. “Damn allergies. So what did you want to talk about, Mr. Skyler? Directions to the best fishing holes in the area, maybe?”

“Actually, I was interested in a company you once worked for — Niagara Technologies. I understand you were the general manager. I'm trying to get some information on a mineral called korium and my research tells me Niagara Technologies was a principle user the early sixties.”

“You're correct. Unfortunately there just wasn't that much of it to be had. Eventually we lost our government contracts because of its scarcity, and a lot of bad luck.”

“You mean the cargo plane crash?”

“Yes. Everything was fine until that shipment of korium went down somewhere in the North Atlantic. Then things fell apart after that.”

“You must have done some interesting work at Niagara.”

“Oh, nothing all that exciting. Mostly electroplating.”

“So when Niagara folded, you retired?”

“I wanted to, but Uncle Sam insisted on keeping me around. Moved out to Texas in the mid-seventies to do some research for the government.”

“More electroplating?”

“Alternative energy experiments.”

“I take it you weren’t successful?”

“I'm afraid that's something I can't discuss.”

“Are you saying it's still classified even after all these years?”

“Nobody's told me different.”

Skyler paused for a moment. “Who’s using korium today?”

“Nobody, Mr. Skyler. It's all gone. So no one could be using it, now could they?” Penn turned back to his workbench and started winding a new fly. His irritation was obvious.

Skyler moved around to the side of the bench so he could watch the old man's face. ““Have you ever heard of something called Project Candle Power?”

Penn's hands tensed. He wiped his forehead with the bandanna. “You know, Mr. Skyler, it's getting hotter every day. Summer's here for sure.” He looked up. “What's this got to do with fishing?”

“Let's just say I'm fishing for information.”

Penn gave out a nervous laugh. “At least you're honest. How long will you be staying with us?”

“Just for tonight.”

“I've got to finish these bucktails and get them up to O'Grady's before noon. Maybe we'll chat after dinner.”

“I'll look forward to it.”

“Fine, then you won't mind excusing me so I can get my work done?”

“Not at all.”

Skyler walked out of the boathouse following the path back to the Inn. He heard the constant droning of bees as they moved through the flowerbeds. Nothing like exposing a raw nerve, he thought.

Skyler spent time on the phone checking on the latest developments covering the events in Mexico, the mineral korium, the current whereabouts of Yankee-class subs and Cartagena I&E. He also spoke with Mickey Gates who was in route from the Pegasus to OceanQuest headquarters.

After talking with Gates, Skyler called Dick Miller at the Pentagon. Miller said he had never heard of anything called Project Candle Power, and korium was one of those “ium” words he’d managed to forget from high school science class. Finally, Skyler called a contact with Scotland Yard in London and found out where to start looking for records of the search and rescue attempt and last known transmissions of Arctic Air Cargo flight 101.

At dinner that evening, Skyler enjoyed a home cooked meal of baked pork chops, fried potatoes, candied carrots, and iced sun tea with a generous helping of cinnamon bread pudding and whipped cream for desert. There were only a handful of others in the dining room — an elderly couple who told their waitress they had spent their honeymoon at the falls fifty-two years ago, a middle-aged couple visiting from Canada, and a retired college professor touring historical landmarks in the region.

Skyler saw no sign of Lilly or Harry Penn during the meal. The waitress said it was unusual for them not to come down at dinnertime to chat with their guests. After dinner, he wandered through the lobby and out onto the front porch. Skyler chose a big wooden rocker and sat back watching the fireflies dance across the front lawn. The evening air was cool and dry, the stars just beginning to cover the sky. After a few minutes, someone approached. He turned to see Lilly Penn coming toward him. She stood by the railing, her back to him, arms crossed.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I've told you who I am, Lilly. Is there a problem?”

“There certainly is.” She turned to face him, her eyes burning with anger. “I don't know what you said to Harry but I haven't seen him this upset in ages.”

“Upsetting him was not my intention. I simply need information and he may be the only person who can give it to me.”

“My husband is in poor health. He doesn't need this sort of thing.”

“I apologize if I caused any harm, Lilly, but you have to take my word for it. There's a great deal at stake and a number of very important questions need to be answered.”

“Like what?”

“I believe that a project your father worked on many years ago has resurfaced with threatening overtones.”

“I'm sorry, but I just don't understand.”

“It's all right, Lilly.” Harry Penn came across the porch and stood beside her. “What Mr. Skyler said didn't upset me. Only the memories he awoke.”

“What do you mean?”

“Go in and greet our other guests. Mr. Skyler and I are going to take a walk down to my shop. I'll tell you all about it later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Now go.”

Reluctantly, Lilly left them and went inside.

Once she was gone, Harry Penn said, “I'm a Catholic, Mr. Skyler, but I haven't been to confession in years. I'm looking forward to this.”