The Precipice

by Penny Goetjen

  The girls stood back while he passed them, and then breathed a huge sigh of relief. They followed behind him, making their exit to the left up the carpeted stairs. Out of their line of sight, the kitchen staff were returning to the inn through the back porch, each one loaded down with the essentials necessary for the clambake on the beach. Once the girls reached the landing and they thought they were out of Perkins’ earshot, they stopped long enough to strategize. Elizabeth turned toward Rashelle, grabbing onto both forearms. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Now what!” She was scared.

  “Let’s go to my room. I’ve got a stash there.”

  Elizabeth was puzzled. “A what?! A stash? What stash? What do you have—” She was getting the wrong idea.

  “Wine…I’ve got a little fridge with a few bottles of wine—.” Rashelle set her straight.

  “I don’t care about the wine!” She was losing her patience. “If you haven’t noticed, I have a couple other things to worry about right now.” Her voice was rising with her frustration and fear.

  Rashelle slowed the tempo and lowered the volume. “Oh, I know you do. But I know you could use a glass of wine, too.” She practically winked.

  Lizzi almost smiled. She would have, under different circumstances. She thought about Rashelle’s suggestion for a moment but changed her mind. “No, not now. I’m going to go down to the beach and take a look around.”

  “The beach. A look around?! It’s dark out!”

  “I know. The moon is out, though. I just need to take a look down there. Satisfy my curiosity.”

  “Satisfy your curiosity.” Rashelle did not like the idea at all. “And I suppose you want me to go with you.”

  “That would be great, but you don’t have to.” Elizabeth was sounding braver than she felt.

  “Alright, let’s go.” Rashelle reluctantly reached out to take her friend’s arm. Together, the two did an about face and started heading back down the stairs. “Hold it!” They both stopped abruptly on the second step. Elizabeth had to reach out and grab onto the railing to keep herself from falling forward from their momentum. Rashelle reached into her pants pocket and retrieved her vibrating cell phone. “Hello?” Elizabeth listened to the one sided conversation. “Uh-huh…Yes, of course…Yes…I’ll take care of it right away.” She flipped her phone closed and turned to look at Elizabeth. Awkwardness hung in the air. “I’m sorry. There are some things I need to take care of…I…I can’t go with you.”

  “What kind of things? They can’t wait?”

  Shelle shook her head, but remained tight-lipped about what she needed to do specifically.

  Elizabeth looked at her puzzled for a moment and finally decided she wouldn’t pursue it. She let it go. She didn’t need to stick her nose in her friend’s business when it pertained to her job. She needed to be a good friend and just trust her. Of course, that was the tough part, knowing who to trust around there, even her friend. Rashelle didn’t seem as forthcoming with information as Elizabeth would like. “Okay. I understand. You do what you need to do. I’ll go alone.”

  Rashelle gasped. “Are you serious? I’m so sorry. I would go with you if I could—”

  “Don’t sweat it. I’ll just meet you back here…in your room. Okay? We’ll have that glass of wine.”

  “That sounds great. See you then.” Rashelle was obviously very uncomfortable with her going alone. “Ya know, Liz. I’ll try to finish up quickly and meet you down there...on the beach. Okay?”

  “Great.” She tried to make it sound as noncommittal as possible. She really didn’t expect to see Rashelle on the beach.

  They continued down to the bottom of the stairs to the lobby. Rashelle took a left into the office and Elizabeth headed toward the front door. Rashelle watched from behind the reception desk as her friend exited the inn.

  Elizabeth reached the bottom of the stairs of the porch and set off across the front lawn at a steady gate, determined in her purpose. She noticed that the grass was getting a little long. It tickled her ankles as she trekked through it. Her feet crunched on the gravel in the circular driveway and then she was back onto the grass heading for the top of the stairway leading down to the beach. The hedges along the edge of the cliff were getting scraggly and unshaped. Renard and Girard had been slacking off a bit.

  A brisk breeze off the water caressed her face. She slowed her pace and took a deep breath as she neared the stairs. The salty sea air was invigorating to her. It was dark and the fog hung in the air, but the half-moon provided some illumination as she started to descend the wooden stairs. She held onto the railing, trying not to look down, and focused on where she was placing her feet. This wasn’t her favorite set of stairs to walk on. She moved at a steady pace, not too fast to risk tripping or slipping, but fast enough so she could cover ground in a reasonable amount of time. Elizabeth just wanted to take a look at the beach, to see for herself that everything was as it should be. She could hear the waves crashing against the beach and she could just make them out. The impending storm had stirred up the ocean ahead of it.

  Suddenly she heard the whir of a car engine nearby. It sounded like it was approaching the circular drive. Elizabeth headed back up the stairs far enough to peak around the bushes. She watched the lights of a car drive toward her before it rounded the circular drive and came to a stop near the front door of the inn. It looked like a small car, perhaps a sports car. It was hard to tell in the limited light of the grounds and the glare of the inn’s porch lights. Who had been allowed in? Wasn’t the inn in lockdown? She watched to see who got out. Instead, the car remained idling at the base of the porch stairs. The front door opened and a female headed down the stairs—Rashelle!—opened the door to the passenger side of the car and slipped in quickly. What was she doing?! Who was she going with?! The small car sped off leaving a cloud of dust from the gravel it had stirred up in its wake. Elizabeth was left to wonder if that was the same sports car that had passed her on the way in on Friday evening. Then it dawned on her. The man driving that car…was Aaron, the tennis pro who had been fired last spring. She wondered how Rashelle knew who he was. Elizabeth’s mind was racing. She needed more answers from her friend. In the meantime, she was going to go back to her task of surveying the beach. She turned toward the stairway and slowly headed back down.

  She reached the bottom step and took her first step onto the sandy beach. She hesitated before setting off down the beach. She felt very alone. Suddenly her idea of heading down by herself didn’t seem so smart. Her eyes were adjusting to the dim light. The fog was limiting visibility. She took a deep breath and started off down the beach. There didn’t seem to be anything amiss so far but she couldn’t see very far in front of her. The fog was getting thicker. She could hear the waves crashing on the beach to her right. A few more steps and Elizabeth’s foot landed on something hard that was embedded in the sand. She reached down and picked up an object that looked cylindrical. “Corn cob.” She sounded disgusted, even though there was no one there to hear. A leftover from the clambake on the beach. “No one knows how to pick up after themselves.” She tossed the cob to the side, shook her head, and pressed on.

  After a few minutes of shuffling through the sand, she could just make out the outline of the rocky outcroppings on the east end of the beach. Elizabeth kept walking, feeling very vulnerable in the darkness on the beach. Suddenly Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. There was something ahead, partially obscured by the fog. It looked like a person standing several yards ahead of her. Was someone on the beach with her? It looked like a young girl. Elizabeth kept squinting her eyes, trying to see more clearly through the fog. Her feet were frozen in place. The figure seemed to be looking at her. Who could it be? Was it the fog playing tricks on her? Slowly she started to move her feet toward the girl. The fog was suddenly thicker where the girl was standing, making it more difficult for her to see. “Who’s there?!”
Elizabeth called to her. Would she be able to hear her over the roar of the surf? No response. She could no longer make out a figure. The fog had completely obliterated her view. She kept walking in the direction she had seen the girl. It seemed like she would have caught up to her by now. She kept walking. “Hello!” Where could she have gone? Had she really been there at all? Elizabeth stood still, paralyzed with fear. She was barely breathing. The fog swirled around her. She could feel the moisture caressing her face. She listened to the waves crashing against the shore. Her thoughts turned to Slater and his boat, The Seward Lady.

  It was a modest-sized boat, probably forty feet in length with a main deck and a lower level that only Slater and his crew frequented. The main deck was set up with bench seating along the sides at the bow and stern so the passengers could observe Slater pulling in lobster traps. About a third of the way back from the bow was a very primitive captain’s deck with a wheel, a two way radio, and the throttle behind a simple windshield that protected the captain on three sides from inclement weather. On the right side of the boat was a rig with a pulley system that he used to pull up the lobster traps. He would steer the boat close to one of his buoys that was bobbing on top of the water. There was a rope attached to the buoy, the other end of which was attached to the lobster trap that was sitting on the ocean floor. Each lobster fisherman had one or two specific color patterns that he or she had the exclusive right to use on their buoys so that there would be no mistaking which buoys belonged to which fisherman. Most could tell you who owned each one. Slater would use a long handled tool with a hook on the end of it to snag the buoy and pull it up onto the side of the boat. He would then raise it up over the rig, threading the rope onto the pulley, and use the crank to wind in the rope and pull the trap to the surface. Fingers were always crossed so that, after all the cranking, there would be a lobster in the trap and it would be large enough to keep. There were very strict guidelines as to which lobsters were large enough to keep and each lobsterman had a measuring tool handy to verify his catch. In addition, any female lobsters that were carrying eggs must be returned to the sea, even if they were otherwise large enough to keep, so the eggs would have the chance to hatch. These rules were in place so that the lobsters were not over fished and the industry could sustain itself. Sometimes the lobsters were just large enough. Other times the lobsters were too small or there was no lobster in the trap at all. Lobstering could be a very frustrating industry, one that required long days of back breaking work. Those who lasted any length of time usually had lobstering in their blood and came from a long line of lobstermen.

  She wondered with a sad heart what had become of Slater and his passengers. This was absolutely awful. Poor Slater.

  Elizabeth suddenly felt very vulnerable out on the beach alone, shrouded in fog. She had seen enough. She suddenly needed to get out of there. Little did she know, if she had taken just a few more steps, she would have kicked something very hard that was lying in the sand. A life preserver with a name printed on it: The Seward Lady.

  She turned to start heading back across the beach toward the wooden stairs. Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. In the time she had been standing there remembering Slater and his vessel, the fog rolled in and completely swallowed the beach. She could only see a few yards in front of her. Elizabeth was fighting panic rising up inside of her. She needed to remain calm. The ocean was on her left and she could hear the waves crashing onto the beach. She just needed to keep that sound on her left as she headed back across the beach. Without anything to look at besides the white fog all around her, she started her feet moving again and reminisced about the times she and her grandmother would walk the beach after a storm when the waves were still crashing in. The sound was like a roar. The large shells she harvested from the beach faintly mimicked the sound if you held them up to your ear. Right after a storm was the best time to find wonderful shells and sand dollars that had been washed onto the beach by the powerful waves. You had to get to the beach before everyone else found the treasures that the sea had left behind.

  Elizabeth had covered a few yards across the sand when she realized the texture of the sand had changed beneath her feet. What had been soft and transient was now flat and firm. She was on wet sand! She was veering toward the ocean! She stopped in her tracks again. She resumed her trekking at a snail’s pace, a little further to the right. Soon she was back on the soft sand. She kept walking slowly with her arms out in front of her, hoping to feel the railing of the stairs. Suddenly a rational thought entered her mind. She decided to try sidestepping. If she was heading in the right direction, then if she sidestepped to the right, eventually she would run into the cliff. Then she could just run her right hand along the cliff wall and walk forward until she found the stairway. Slowly she stepped to the right. Methodically moving her right foot, and then bringing her left up next to it. Over and over she did this. Was it working? Or was she veering too far to the right and heading back toward the rocky outcroppings? She listened for the waves. She thought they were still directly to her left so she resumed her sidestepping with her right arm extended, hoping to feel the side of the cliff. Step one, two. One, two. One, two. After several minutes, her right hand pushed against a cold, hard, wet surface. The cliff! Now she picked up her pace and headed toward the stairway with her right hand running along the cliff, brushing across the occasional tuft of grasses or cliff roses along the way. She held her left hand out in front of her. One foot in front of the other. Keep going. Steady pace. Keep breathing. Suddenly the palm of her hand bumped against something hard. “Ow!” The stairway railing! She breathed a sigh of relief and headed up the stairs, with one hand firmly on the railing.

  When she reached the top, the fog was not quite as thick as it had been down on the beach, but it was rolling in off the water quite rapidly and starting to obscure the inn and its outbuildings. The roar of a car engine caught her attention again. A car was already heading back down the inn’s access road. Between the fog and the distance between the car and herself, she couldn’t really tell what it looked like. If anyone had gotten out of the car, they were already safely inside the inn. She retraced her steps across the front lawn in the hopes of hooking up with Rashelle again—if she was back yet.

  To Elizabeth’s surprise, Rashelle met her at the front door of the inn. She imagined that her face showed what she was thinking. She was dying to ask her where she had been and whom she had been with, but she kept her mouth shut. It was probably none of her business. “Alright, let’s go get that wine now.”

  Rashelle nodded.

  Chapter 15

  The two friends headed up the stairs, down the hall and turned into the third room on the right, right across from Elizabeth’s room. It was a mirror image of Elizabeth’s room. Rashelle pulled the chilled bottle of chardonnay out of a mini fridge that she was apparently using as a table, on the side of the bed closest to the door. She had the bottle opened in no time and was quick to apologize that it was not Lizzi’s favorite, as she poured two large glasses.

  “Oh, at this point, I’ll take anything.” Elizabeth eagerly put the glass to her lips and took a sip. The friends looked deeply into each other’s eyes. The event in the kitchen earlier in the evening came rushing back to both of them. They were in territory they had never visited before and never dreamed they would ever be near. They both stood there and sipped the dry white wine, lost in their quiet thoughts for a while.

  Finally the designer from the city spoke, “Rashelle, what the hell is going on here? And how did I get so involved?” She was shaking her head in disbelief. “It seems like things only got worse after I got here—like I’ve made it all worse.”

  “Lizzi, don’t be ridiculous. This whole thing has nothing to do with you. Unfortunately you’ve gotten all wrapped up in it just by being here. Your intentions were good. You came to help.”

  “And I made it worse by leaving the scene of a crime earlier!
What was I thinking?” She turned and headed for the chair on the other side of the bed.

  “Liz, you had to!” She suddenly realized their voices were escalating. Her Brooklyn accent was coming through loud and clear. She tried to bring it down a notch or two. “You know how that would have looked if someone had seen us.” With the heel of her hand she jammed the cork back down into the neck of the wine bottle and placed it back in the small refrigerator and flopped down on the bed.

  Elizabeth whipped around and looked right at Rashelle. “Thank God no one did! I thought sure someone was going to walk in on us. And that was a close call with the lieutenant.” She dropped into the comfortable floral armchair.

  “That’s for sure.”

  “I wonder how long it will take them to find the body.” She kicked off her shoes and propped her feet up on Rashelle’s bed.

  “I don’t even want to think about it.” Unbeknownst to them, the body had already been discovered. The lieutenant was reviewing a CD that had mysteriously shown up in his squad car that was related to the corpse in the kitchen.

  The two friends polished off the bottle of wine, opened a second, and got about halfway through that one when they fell asleep, Lizzi in the chair and Shelle on top of the covers on her bed. Neither one heard the officer knocking on the door across the hall in the middle of the night.

  Seconds later the two friends were awakened by a hard knock on Rashelle’s door. It startled them. They both struggled to get to their feet, still half asleep, trying to grasp what was going on. Rashelle was chilled from lying on top of the covers most of the night. She wrapped her arms around herself. Elizabeth immediately grabbed her neck that was screaming from being in an awkward position while she slept in the chair. She groaned and rubbed the side of her neck hoping for some relief. The firm knocking began again, this time even louder. Rashelle rubbed both eyes with her hands, trying desperately to wake up, as she headed for the door. They both were afraid of who it was going to be. Rashelle glanced back to Elizabeth as she grabbed the doorknob, her forehead wrinkled with concern. Slowly she turned the knob and pulled the door open.