Across the black water, the old lighthouse blinked twice. Then it went dark. Mara stood on the dock and stared. That light had no business working. The town said no one had unlocked the lighthouse door in over forty years, and no one had climbed up to light the lamp. Yet there it was, flashing. Mara grabbed her flashlight and her coat. She had to know who, or what, was up there.

Instead of rushing out, Mara went to the town library, which kept a key to the lighthouse in a glass case. She wanted to do this right. But when she got there, the case was smashed and the key was gone. Someone had beaten her to it.

Mara followed wet footprints leading away from the smashed case, out the library door, and down toward the docks. Whoever took the key was heading for the lighthouse right now. She broke into a run to catch them before they crossed the water.

At the docks she caught up to a nervous young man holding the stolen key. He was the great-grandson of the last keeper. 'The light is my family's job,' he said. 'I came home to take it back. I've been flashing it twice to learn how it works.' Mara offered to help him keep it, and he finally smiled.