Dark Beach

FOUR





“I don’t know why I’m here; it’s ridiculous,” Jenny whispered to herself.

“What’s that?” asked Kip.

“It’s a supply shop. Come with me.” She unbuckled Kip.

Kurt’s Tackle place looked new, not how she had imagined. It was very clean and very white. She pushed open the glass door. Inside, it was a fisherman’s dream. Every pole, net, and fishing item possible packed the three narrow aisles, cramming the register into the back left-hand corner. Kip eyed it all with delight.

“Come in, come in. Don’t be shy,” came Kurt’s gruff voice. “How may I help you today? Need a pole, some line, lures, a life ring?”

Jenny squeezed down the aisle, all the way to the counter with Kip close behind.

“Or you could sign up for some salmon fishing,” he said. “I have a tour going out in a few hours. There are a couple of spots open.”

Did he not recognize her? Her initial bewilderment was turning into a feeling that she should turn around and get the hell out of there. “I think, well … uh … do you have any tape?” she mumbled, grabbing Kip’s hand to stop her pulling at a display of tackle boxes.

“Tape?” Kurt smiled. “I’m teasing you. I knew you would come.”

Now she most definitely wanted to leave. Instead, she stood as stoic and poker-faced as possible.

“Know how I knew you’d come?”

Jenny shook her head and her sleek ponytail whipped to and fro.

Lowering his voice, Kurt said, “Because you’re looking for something.”

“I am?”

“Yes. You have that look women get.”

“What look?”

“... When they need more.”

“More of what?”

Kurt smiled.

“I have to go.” She turned. “Come on, Kip.”

“Wait!”

She shook her head. “No. No thanks. I have to get home.”

“Come out with me tomorrow—on my boat, at noon. Meet me here. I’ll make you lunch.”

“No…no thanks.” As she left, tugging a curious Kip along after her, she heard him yell that he’d be waiting for her.



* * *



Ron reached up and wiped a trail of sweat and soot from his face. His red-rimmed eyes took in the destroyed dry dock. Even after many hours of cleaning up, it still looked a disaster. And they were still unsuccessful at opening the doors—the damage was too great. He climbed down into dry dock two and snuck through to dry dock one using an old access tunnel.

“Carl? Carl!” he called.

Carl was busy yelling at some kid welder who was standing up on the grey destroyer and looking down over the railing.

“Carl!” Ron called again.

“What?” he yelled back.

“We can’t get the doors open. The wiring is too badly burned. We’ll have to take them off manually.”

“Christ. Can you cut them off?”

“Piece of cake—our last resort, though. I’m on it. I need some welding leads and some power. And can you get me an electrician? Why wasn’t the sub in the covered dry dock anyway? Aren’t they supposed to be covered?”

“You know …” Carl shook his head and then readjusted his white hard hat. “If the sub had been covered, the damage wouldn’t have happened? Do they know?”

“No, they don’t know. And Ah sure ain’t gonna tell ’em neither.”

“You can’t cover this sort of thing up!”

“Well, the Admiral ain’t here; he’s out to sea. And what he don’t know don’t hurt him. Besides, I’d rather beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.”

“You better let him know—or I will.”

Carl pointed to the dry dock. “Just get those damn doors off so the Admiral can have his sub.”

“Security is toast. This sub is open to air for anyone to see, and you don’t care?”

“Ah’ve got men burned—dead an’ injured,” Carl yelled. “Ah do care. Ah’ve been workin’ this dock for seven years. Don’t you come in here an’ tell me otherwise!”

Ron backed up. “Fine, but I have to document this.”

“You can take your document and stick it where you will.”

“Carl, what the hell?”

“What?”

“We have to work together here.”

“I am workin’. Why don’t you stop wasting my goddamn time.”

“Fine!”

“You just send the Admiral a message, short an’ brief. There’ll be an’ investigation anyway,” Carl said as he watched Ron walk away. Then he turned his attention back to yelling at the welder.



* * *



The line rang and rang.

“Hey, this is Ron,”—his voicemail picked up—“I’m not available at the moment, please leave me a message.”

“Ron, I have called three times now—once this morning, twice now! What is going on? Please call me. I don’t even know if you got there okay.” Jenny snapped her silver cell phone shut and tossed it inside, on the bed. Where the hell is he? She continued to pace the paint-peeled deck outside. It was freezing out, but she stayed there anyway, shivering. The dark ocean matched her mood.

“God, Ron!” She slammed a fist down on the white balcony railing. “I need you.”

“Mamma?”

“It’s okay, honey,” she soothed, calming down a bit, not wanting her daughter to notice her frame of mind.

“Mamma, play me?”

“Sure. What would you like to play?”

“Puzzle.”

“Come on. We can do a puzzle. We’ll go inside.”

After three animal puzzles and two storybooks about color and numbers, Jenny decided that, despite the overcast skies, they should go and explore the town.

The roads were dead; it was midweek, the tail end of tourist season. The car wound through the ocean side streets, then further in, closer to town.

“Look!” Kip pointed. “Looooooook!”

“What, honey? What do you see?”

“Shark!”

Slowing the car, Jenny looked left, following the direction of Kip’s tiny finger. A huge grey shark with razor-sharp teeth leered back at her. Her heart skipped for a second, but it was only the specially designed entrance to a souvenir shop. She kept driving.

“Mamma! See, see!”

“I think we’ll skip that one, honey. We can get ice cream.”

“Uh-uh.” Kip shook her blonde head emphatically. “See shark!”

“Oh, honey. There’s chocolate ice cream, or vanilla,” she said, hopefully. “I can hear them calling us over there. Yum, yum,” she tried to sound as sweet and convincing as possible.

“Uh-uh!” The toddler’s mind was made up.

“Fine.” Jenny turned back and parked in front of the looming entrance, trying not to look at it too closely.

Kip just clapped in excitement. “Shark! Shark!”

Jenny got out. What am I thinking? She unbuckled Kip.

Hysterical with happiness, Kip ran to stand inside the creature’s enormous maw. Its blood-red gums seemed about to chomp down, like Kip was being eaten alive by a store.

“Just don’t look,” Jenny said. “Just don’t look.”

Somehow, she managed to get them both inside without glancing at the teeth. The door opened with a jingle to reveal a shop packed with hundreds of shark-themed trinkets—shark T-shirts, shark candy, shark hats, inflatable sharks for the pool, and much more. Jenny felt dizzy. Teeth jutted out from the shelves—from everywhere.

“Hi there! How can we help you?” a young girl asked in a sour, bored tone.

Jenny just gulped.

The girl was joined by a coworker, an enthusiastic young man who was obviously in love with the subject matter. “Someone’s been bitten by the shark bug.” He grinned at Kip.

“It takes all kinds,” Jenny muttered.

“Excuse me?” The boy said.

“Nothing.”

“Let us know if we can help you.”

Jenny went after Kip, who had wandered off and discovered a bright-red rubber lobster.

“Thank God you want that one.”

“Yes.” Kip handed it over.

“This I can do.” Jenny paid and ushered Kip out as quickly as they had entered.

“Come on. Let’s go home. It’s time to relax, honey—have some dinner, watch TV, maybe read a little.” Who are you trying to convince? her mind said.

Kip was too busy admiring the lobster to acknowledge her. To calm herself, she took a deep breath and sat a moment before turning the key in the ignition. She was starting to feel out of it again. The jagged menace of teeth flashed in and out of her vision, their white contrasting the sudden swirl of black.

“Come on, Jenny! Focus! Focus here,” she demanded of herself.

It was a battle of wills—hers versus the whale’s.

Come on, Jenny. Focus now. Focus. She tried to think of something else—some happy thought. This was not the place, not the time. Damn you, Ron! Where are you when I need you? She slammed her head down on the steering wheel. The pain—sharp in the middle of her forehead—helped.

“Think of something else. Focus.” she whispered again.



* * *



The dress was the most brilliant white—a sweetheart bodice sleek down to the waist, where it frou-frou-ed out in layers of puffy tulle.

“I feel sick.” Jenny put a hand to her forehead.

“Oh, nonsense! Here, have a glass of water. You’re going to be fine, sweetheart.”

The mirror was small, narrow, but somehow Jenny—even slimmer back then—had managed to twirl all the way around to see the back.

Her mother fastened a pearl necklace around her delicate neck and shellacked a few odd hairs back into Jenny’s French twist using hairspray.



No! Not that! Jenny came to, slipping back into the present again. You were too nervous then, too young. Something else. Think!”



“Almost to the top.”

Ron took Jenny’s hand. He was so strong. The earth was wet and muddy. She would have slipped if he hadn’t pulled her up the last few steps.

They pushed through the ferns, through the trees, through the dark, damp forest that smelled of heaven.

“We’re here. Look.” Ron slowed.

The woods ended abruptly at a rocky cliff.

“Don’t go any further, and don’t look down. Just look straight ahead.” Ron held her hand tight, as if for dear life.

“Oh my.” There were no words for the view—the endless snowy peaks of the Cascade Mountains for miles and miles, gradients of blues and greys so breathtaking that Jenny felt like her soul itself was liberated. Suddenly, a ray of sun pierced the sooty, white-tipped curl of clouds, as if to greet them.

They sat and ate plain cheese sandwiches and tasteless granola bars that seemed like manna.



Jenny stayed there for a while, on that cliff in her mind, until she was calm enough to put the car in drive.



* * *



Later, with Kip in bed, she lit a fire in the hearth of the hex room. She liked it up there. The windows made the small space feel huge, open—free. And the fire made it that much cozier, its glow reflecting in the windows.

The journals were piled next to her on the bed. They had been too enticing to pass up. She giggled as she took up the very bottom one. “Chronological order, maybe?” she murmured, opening to the first page.



Damn this place! Damn this place here! And damn him.



Jenny stopped reading and scratched her head. “Well, this is depressing.” She turned on her side, pulled the blanket up over her shoulder, and glanced at the torn-up paperback sitting on the pillow next to her—her back-up book. It was a romance.

“So not in the mood for that.” She threw the book across the room, and it made a soft thud when it hit the floor. As her eyes followed its trajectory, she noticed a light out in the distance. She moved to the window and squinted against the cold glass, cupping her hands around her eyes to block out the firelight.

A lantern? It seemed strange, but she thought she could make out a figure standing out there, on the beach. Backing away from the window, she hopped back into bed and pulled the covers firmly up over her. She pulled up the hood of her grey sweatshirt too. “There!” she said, and continued on with the journal.



This house is cursed. This beach is cursed. I must get out of here. I have to. I can’t bear it.

I saw him the other day. It’s like he’s following me everywhere. I’ve made a report to the police, but they just think I’m crazy.



Jenny shivered, and wondered whether the journal’s belonged to Ron’s mom, Rachael. She read further, carefully. The handwriting was fast deteriorating into an illegible scrawl.



I swear I heard that rocking chair going the other day—back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes it’s like he’s right downstairs again. I don’t know what is wrong with this place, him, this house. I can’t leave yet, can I? Our son is doing so well here. Getting so smart, so handsome. I look at him and feel … I don’t know. I can’t even describe it most of the time. He’s in bed now. Sometimes I catch him snoring—so adorable.



Jenny sighed. Is she talking about Ron? They must be Rachael’s journals. “He is adorable,” she said, and turned back to the page, but she couldn’t concentrate. The lantern was nagging at her. The bedside clock had a picture of a lighthouse on it, hands extending from the center like beams of light. It was midnight. She didn’t want to move; she felt too warm and cozy. But she had to look.

The lantern was still out there, its glow even closer now.

It was moving towards her, towards the house.

“What the…? Who is that?”

She fumbled down the dark staircase and into the master suite for a better look, opening the balcony doors to a gust of salty air that immediately pushed the doors back behind her. It was wet and slippery out on the deck and her rubber slippers provided little grip. She eased her way to the edge.

The lantern was hidden by a dune. She waited until it bobbed back up.

The shadow carrying it looked male, and it was moving quickly.

“Oh, Christ.” Whoever this was, she wasn’t in the mood for visitors. Retreating back inside, she made her way to the bottom level, into the kitchen, expecting a knock on the door at any moment.

Heavy steps sounded on the deck. Then stopped.

Nothing.

Jenny wondered why he didn’t come around the front.

She tiptoed over to the kitchen window and poked her head up a little. She couldn’t see much, other than the dim light cast by the lantern and a man just standing there on the deck, waiting.

What the hell? It’s midnight. Who the hell does this crap?

She ducked down again as she heard the heavy steps come closer. The kitchen cabinets were momentarily illuminated, the light from the lantern washing over them through the window above her. She froze. Held her breath.

Of all the moments to get an itch! She tried to ignore the horrible niggling above her brow. Why does that always happen to me? Ignoring it, she focused on the footsteps of this outsider blatantly invading her privacy. Charlie! Where are you when I need you? You stupid dog, you should be down here barking. There was no sign of him.

The light faded, and the steps sounded back the other way.

That’s it. I’m not doing this. Like a dog, she scooted on all fours to the island bench and pulled the knife she had used to prepare dinner earlier down off the counter. A smash of glass broke the silence. Shit! I must have knocked a wineglass off the bench. Still on the floor, she crawled the other way, to the front door. “Right. One … two … three.”

As quickly as she could, she leaped up and flicked on the outside patio light. Footsteps thumped off on the other side of the wall as she whipped back over to the window. “Off my property!” she yelled, still brandishing the knife. “Get out of here!”

By the time she made her way back upstairs, the lantern was bobbing out on the dune.

“I’m calling the police,” she yelled, throwing open the upstairs doors again. “Don’t come back here.” She made a series of air swishes with the knife in anger and pulled the glass doors shut, locking them behind her.

Then she checked in on Kip, and went back up to the hex room. She sat down on the bed, her cell phone in her lap. “There was a man on my property,” she said loudly into the silence, practicing what she would tell the police. “He looked in my window, then he left.” She shook her head. Nothing really happened. I’ll just sound ridiculous.

The jangle of her cell’s ringtone made her jump.

Glancing at the screen, she let out a deep breath. “Ron! I’ve been trying to call you.”

“I know, honey. I’m so sorry. Sorry to call so late. It’s been crazy here. I can’t even get into it with you now. I—”

“Oh, Ron. I don’t care. I’m just so happy to hear your voice. I feel like it’s been days.”

“It has. I’ve been working non-stop. It’s just...” he broke off. “I don’t even know. How are you? How have you and Kip been doing? Okay?”

“I’m okay. Well … sorta.”

“What? You sound funny. What is it? Tell me.”

Jenny stood, and paced. “There was a man on the bottom deck, just now. He looked in the window.”

“What? Did you call the police?”

“No.”

“Jenny! Call the police! You need to call them.”

“And say what? Nothing happened. He left. I chased him off with a big knife.”

“A big knife—are you kidding me? What if he had a gun?”

“Well, I guess he didn’t. He ran off.”

“Where?”

“Back down to the beach. He jumped off the dune.”

“How do you know he’s still not out there, waiting?”

Jenny picked up the knife off the bed with her left hand, clutching it even tighter than she had before. Then she noticed the red trail on the floor.

“I’m bleeding.” A sudden terror gripped her.

“Jenny, what is going on? Do you need help? Do you want me to call the police for you?” Ron’s voice rose in pitch.

She looked down at her sweatpants. Please, please don’t let this be a miscarriage. There was no blood. “Oh … I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. You’re not here.” She sat down on the bed, lifted one foot up. Blood. “I’m all alone, even the damn dog didn’t come.”

“That’s not right, Jenny. Charlie hears everything. Where is he? Have you seen him tonight?”

“No. I guess not.” She swiped at her foot.

“Okay, this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to hang up and ... why are you bleeding?”

Jenny picked a shard of glass out of her foot. “I smashed a wineglass. I must have cut my foot.”

“Okay, we’re going to get off the phone. You go take care of your foot and I’ll call the police. Then call me back once they leave, okay? I’m sure they’ll send someone out there. This guy might be lurking about. I can’t be there, but I can help you.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now go! Go!”

“I will.”



* * *



Jenny sat on the toilet with her travel first aid kit in her lap. She always packed one in her luggage, but had never had to use it before. The ibuprofen bottle had expired, so had the painkillers and the anti-itch cream.

“Guess I won’t be using those.”

The wounds were superficial, nothing too terrible. The sting was the worst part of it. She picked out the glass, cleaned the cuts and bandaged her foot, covering it with a sock. She finished just as the knock came.

Red and blue lights flashed around her as she opened the door.

“Ma’am, we got a call. You have a trespasser who may still be around?” A young, rookie and an older, rounder, police officer stood on the deck.

“Yes. He ran off around the back of the house, toward the beach. He had a lantern.”

“Did you see his face, ma’am?” The kid was excited, ready for some action.

Things must be slow on the shore, Jenny thought, taking a closer look at him. He looked in his early twenties; maybe he was still in training. “No,” she finally answered. “He was in dark clothing—a dark trench or slicker, I think? He was tall, a large build. I couldn’t see his face or much else. Oh, and heavy boots.”

“We’re going to take a look. We’ll need you to remain inside.”

“I will.”

They began their search, Jenny watching them impatiently from the window. The only encounter she’d had with the police before was a one-and-only speeding ticket—and even that wasn’t her fault, or so she had convinced herself. The truth was that she sped all the time. Did this guy do this all the time? A chill went through her.

The officers stopped, focusing intently on something down on the dunes. When they left the dunes, heading down to the beach, Jenny lost sight of them until they reappeared farther down the shore, heading in the opposite direction.

“They have a trail. I know it.” She paced, fidgeting with her cell phone. Eventually, after what seemed like an hour, she decided to sit.

KNOCK, KNOCK. KNOCK, KNOCK.

Jenny startled awake. What? I feel asleep! She sat up in the rocking chair, recalling the situation and trying to determine whether it had all been a dream. With a yawn, she got up and opened the door to two very wet policemen. It was not a dream.

“Ma’am, we found a trail, but the tide eventually washed it away.”

“So I didn’t imagine it,” she murmured.

The rookie officer cocked his head in confusion. “Excuse me, ma’am? We found very large boot prints. They were very clear.”

“Oh nothing, nothing. I’m just happy you found something. Don’t mind me, I’ve been here alone now for a few days. You see my husband had to go back to work.”

“Yes, we know. He called us.”

Jenny nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s right. Sorry. I’m just so exhausted. With all of this nonsense going on ... I don’t know what to think.”

The older officer put a hand on the doorframe. “We don’t think you need to worry, ma’am.” His tone was serious but reassuring. Whoever it was has left. No signs of him.” He shone a flashlight toward the windows. “No signs of forced entry. But we want you to call immediately if he comes back. He’s probably just a prowler, looking to see if the house is vacant or something. Do you have any sort of home protection?”

Jenny racked her brain, thinking of the knife. “Uh ... my dog?”

“What sort of dog is it?” the younger officer asked.

“A dachshund.”

They both just looked at her.

“Do you have a gun?” asked the older cop.

“No. No gun. I don’t know how to use one anyway.”

“Your dog may warn you of an intruder, but you should be prepared. Maybe you should consider installing an alarm system? Just call us if you notice anything unusual or suspicious. We’ll write up a report tonight and do the rounds by here for the next few weeks. How long will you be staying, ma’am?”

“You can call me Jenny. What are your names?”

“I’m Sheriff Browning,” the older officer answered, and then gestured to the rookie. “This is Deputy Mott.”

“Nice to meet you both. I’ll be here another week or two. I may go home early. I haven’t decided.”

“In any case, we’ll be about if you need us. Here’s my card with my office number if you think of anything.”

A crackle from the radio in the police car indicated it was time to go; some other emergency. Jenny shut the door behind them, locked and checked all the doors and windows, checked on Kip, and went right to bed, falling into another blank, dreamless slumber.



***



By the time she awoke, the morning had almost passed. Jenny found Kip downstairs on the sofa, devouring a box of cereal, half of which had been spread all over the living room floor. The carpet had acquired a new, polka-dotted pattern of Cheerios.

“Kip! You’re a rascal, come here.”

Kip smiled and continued eating. Jenny walked over, picked her daughter up and flung her over her shoulder. “Here, I’ll add some milk to it.” She set Kip down at the table.

Kip continued to eat while Jenny fixed herself some fried eggs on toast.

“Ten o’clock. What kind of time is that to wake up?” she asked, more to herself than the toddler.

Kip, too busy eating, ignored the question.

“Next time I sleep in, I want you to come get me. You hear me? Come get Mamma.”

Kip nodded. “Mamma.”

“You shouldn’t be up all alone down here. You could get into God-knows-what?” Jenny glanced at the knife on the counter, which she had forgotten to put back, and the glass still littering the floor. “Jesus!”

“Jesus.” Kip repeated.

“Don’t say that, Kip. Don’t say what I say; that’s the last thing you should do.”

“Jesus,” Kip said again, aware she was in some sort of trouble.

“Okay, okay. It’s my fault and I know it.” She looked around the room again. “This place certainly isn’t toddler proof.”

She swept up the glass and then, in between bites of egg and toast, examined the room and moved anything breakable out of the reach of small sticky hands. That included every fragile beach ornament Gerry had collected over the years.

“There, I think that’ll do it for now,” she said, wondering what she was going to do about the uncovered power outlets. Don’t let her stick anything in those outlets, okay Mrs. Coggington, she thought.

The place suddenly looked a lot emptier.

“Don’t worry,” Jenny reassured her daughter. “I’ll get you some toys while I’m out. Mrs. Coggington is coming to baby-sit you today. You two can play and watch some movies together. I might even bring you back some ice cream when I come home. That reminds me: I left your diapers in the car. I’ll be right back okay?”

Kip nodded and carried on kicking her feet against the dining table chair.

She slipped her flip-flops on at the door and hurried out onto the porch. “Ouch! What now?” Dazed, Jenny looked up to see a black lantern swaying from a hook above the door.

“Huh?” She looked around; there was no sign of anyone or anything. Reaching up, she unhooked the lantern and took it back inside, shutting and locking the door behind her. There was something wrong. She could feel it. The lantern certainly had not been there before.

Maybe I should leave it? She picked up the police officer’s card from the kitchen table and looked at the number.

“Where’s my phone anyway? And where’s Charlie? Charlie? CHARLIE!” There was no sign of the dog. “Kip, have you seen Charlie?”

“Charlie,” Kip replied.

“No honey. You haven’t seen him?” My phone. The dog. What next? she thought. Oh, and the psycho stalker. Don’t let me forget that guy.

Jenny searched every level, from the bottom floor to the family and guest bedrooms, through the master bedroom, and even the hex room, all with Kip in tow. The phone was nowhere to be found. Neither was Charlie. In the hex room, the journal still lay on the bed. Jenny picked it up.



This house is cursed. This beach is cursed. Why did I ever come here? I must leave. I saw him the other day. It’s like he’s following me everywhere. What might he do? It’s creepy. This place is cursed.



“I’m starting to think so, too,” Jenny admitted. “What do you think, Kip?” But Kip wasn’t there.

“You too, Kip? I don’t want to have to look for you.” She rubbed her face, and then, feeling a light cramp, rubbed her belly. “And you in there,” she whispered. “You just stay right there where it’s quiet and warm.” The cramp intensified. “No, no … don’t even think of it.”

Jenny sat down on the bed and put her feet up. “Kip!” she called. “Honey, come upstairs. Charlie!”

She wished Ron were there. I’m being selfish, she admonished. People are hurt, dead even. I’m just tired alone—that’s all.

But she didn’t want to be alone. She hoped Molly Coggington would arrive soon. “Kip,” she yelled again. “Come cuddle Mamma. Come on, my little curly-haired girl. Come get me.”

The cramping refused to ease up.

There’s a side I’m supposed to lie on when this happens, isn’t there? Or is that just when the baby gets big? She pursed her lips, trying to remember, and then took a deep breath and rolled over on her side anyway. I should tell Ron. Jenny rubbed her belly, remembering the day Kip was born. That wild, crazy day.

She had been in bed when her water broke at one in the morning, soaking the bed. Jenny had risen quietly and showered and then poked at Ron, who’d leaped out of bed and run around like a madman.

“Where’s the hospital bag?” He’d rushed around, shouting where’s this, where’s that. Everything had been right there, on the dresser. She smiled, remembering. Ron had always been like that, never been able to find a thing. They’d rushed to hospital. Kip had been born after two hours of pushing—

Jenny put a hand to her temple then sighed deeply. “Maybe it will go quicker with you?” She rubbed her tummy again. “But you have to stay in there to find out. It’s far too early, little one. Far too early.”

“Mamma?”

“Oh, Kip! Come here and snuggle me. Come on. Up on the bed.”

“I love oo, Mamma.” Kip snuggled her head into Jenny’s chest.

“I love you too, Kim,” she said, and sudden tears sprang to her eyes.



* * *



Voicemail—again! He’d called five times already, leaving only one message. And she had promised to call him back after the police left. He’d even called them back, and they’d reassured him everything was fine. So why wasn’t she answering her phone?

What if something has happened? asked the panicked voice in his head. “She’s fine … she’s fine,” he muttered, reassuring himself. Someone would have called if there was something wrong.

The coffee was dirty brown, muddy tasting. Ron could not concentrate. Things were still wild out there on the dry dock, and between calls from his boss and all the yelling, he had yet to get away to get hold of Jenny.

“Come on, pick up. Pick up,” he willed her. All he got was her pleasant voicemail message, followed by the uncaring beep. “Dammit, Jenny! You need to call me. I’m worried about you. Maybe your cell died? Just call me as soon as you can.”

He downed the rest of his cold coffee, crumpled up the cup, and dropped it back on the table. “What to do? What to do?”

Calling the police again seemed extreme, but what if something really had happened to her?

They would have called me. Surely they would have notified me? Still pondering his options, Ron dialed a different number.

“Busy Bee Meadows, Marilynn speaking. How may I help you?”

“Marilynn, I’m glad it’s you.”

“Pardon me?” She didn’t recognize his voice.

“I’m Gerry’s grandson, Ron. I was in a few days ago.”

“Oh yes … I remember now.”

“Listen, I had to leave Rocky Shores. I got called in for work. Is everything okay with Gerry?”

“I’m not supposed to get into the details over the phone. I can tell you generally but not specifically, as per your mother’s request.”

“My mother? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you filled me in on Nana’s condition.”

“Actually, she would.” Marilynn sounded sympathetic. “We notified her of Gerry’s change in condition and your visit. Rachael is Gerry’s power of attorney. She requested that we not divulge any details to other family members.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“You can’t tell me what’s going on over the phone? That doesn’t make any sense at all. Anyway, listen, what I called about is ... is there any way I can call Gerry’s friend?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, I can’t remember the name offhand.”

“Mrs. Coggington? Or Barney?”

“Mrs. Coggington—that’s the name. Do you have a number for her?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have a number.”

“Fine. I’ll find it. Who’s Barney anyway?”

“I can’t give out that kind of information.” Her tone became tight again.

“But you just gave me their names! You’re not very good at this are you?”

“It’s very busy here today.”

“I see. Have a good day now.”

“And you too.”

Accessing the Internet on his cell phone, he browsed the telephone directory until he found a listing for a Mrs. M Coggington on Rocky Shores Boulevard.

“Hello?”

“Yes. Mrs. Coggington, this is Ron—Gerry’s grandson?”

“Oh, hello! I’ve heard all about you—good things of course—from Gerry over the years, mostly about your schooling and work, and things like that. We met when you were a young boy.”

“Yes, I remember: the book club?”

“Yes. I met your wife the other day. She’s so nice. She made me a lovely salmon dinner and chatted about this and that. We were up very late, you know. I haven’t been up that late in years. Oh, congratulations, by the way. How are you doing?”

“Oh thanks,” said Ron politely, wondering what on earth she was on about. “I’m okay, but I kind of need your help.”

“My help? I don’t know what I could do for you. I’ve been working on my knitting. I’m making a scarf, and a sweater to match. It’s been awfully cold here the past few days—”

Ron rose from his plastic chair, pushed it away, and paced impatiently, unsure if he was ever going to get a word in at all. “That sounds nice,” he finally interrupted. “You see, I need your help. I can’t get hold of my wife. I have been calling her but she’s not answering. I was wondering if you would mind going over to check on her?”

“Oh, actually I was just on my way over there. She asked me to baby-sit for her when I was over there the other night. Is something wrong with the baby?’

“Kip?” he asked, worried.

“No, the baby. Your wife told me about it. Congratulations. It’s so very exciting. I remember back to when I was pregnant—such a special time. I should really stop knitting my scarf and knit up a little hat and some baby bootees.”

Everything came to a standstill. All the noise that surrounded him seemed to fade away. It was all beginning to make sense—Jenny’s blackout, the odd behavior, everything. She stopped taking her medication.

Mrs. Coggington was still jabbering on about babies. “Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”

Great news, Ron thought. That’s just great. Now my pregnant wife is missing. He waited for a slight pause in the old woman’s monologue and said, “Mrs. Coggington … I honestly don’t know yet. I can’t get a hold of my wife and I really just need your help. When you get there, give me a call back, or tell her to call me. I would greatly appreciate that.”

“Yes, yes. I’m popping right over there now.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I appreciate it.”

He gave her his number, ensuring she had written it down, and then got off the line as politely as he could. Ron put his head in his hands, then ran his fingers through his hair, stood, and went to get another cup of bland coffee.

“You look like hell.” The southern accent gave Ron no comfort at all. He turned to find Carl behind him.

Carl gestured to the coffee. “Is it that bad? Ah don’t even drink that shit.”

“It is.”

“Want some grub?”

“This will do me.” Ron lifted his cup.

“It was a fuel tank,” Carl said.

“What was?”

“That’s what caused the explosion.”

“Oh. How’d they figure it out?”

“The fire department took samples; they just came in. We think the welder opened the wrong void, thinking it was water. But it was fuel. When he started weldin’ BOOM. They must’ve mixed up the lids when the tanks got painted last.”

“Jesus.”

Ron’s thoughts flew to the great gash the explosion had rent in the hull of the gunmetal grey destroyer.

“Ah’m sorry for what Ah said yesterday. I was pissed off, hot under the collar.”

“Enough said. Forget about it.” Ron wasn’t the type to hold a grudge.

Carl rubbed a hand over his eyes. “One’ve my best was lost down there. He was young, smart—picked everythin’ up quickly—a bright future ahead of him.”

“Yeah, I heard he was an ace. Heard he’d just gotten married, too.”

“Yip.”

“I didn’t call the Admiral.”

“Thanks,” said Carl.



* * *



When the cramping eased off, Jenny returned to the kitchen. She was starving again. I suppose I better eat before I go out. “I’ll take this as a good sign,” she told no one in particular.

The lantern sat on the kitchen bench, where she left it.

Curiosity always got the better of her. Curiosity killed Jenny—might be prophetic.

Inside the glass casing, a half-burned white candle dribbled a trail of wax in the center. She noticed a piece of paper folded underneath the base of the candle. Opening the lantern door, she tried to inch the stump of candle out, but managed only to knock it over. The paper below it was still covered by wax.

“Come on, come on,” she moaned, working at it. “Piece of—” The paper was jammed in there at a strange angle, between the base and the glass pane. She picked up the lantern and shook it. “Come on. Come on! Come free.”

It did not.

“This isn’t rocket science,” she scolded herself, knowing Ron would be laughing at her if he were here witness to it. “Hmmm.” Glancing around, she selected her favorite knife from the counter. The knife stabbed deep into the lump of wax and, with a twist, it popped loose.

“There!”

The note sat on the bottom. White paper perfectly folded in a neat little square. With trembling hands, Jenny reached in and grabbed it.



What are you looking for?



That was it. That was all it said. She flicked the note across the kitchen. Kurt’s words came back to her: Because you’re looking for something.

“What an idiot,” she muttered. “I can’t believe this guy. Who does he think he is?”

“My dear?” Mrs. Coggington’s words were followed by a soft tap on the door. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m a little late.”