The Precipice

by Penny Goetjen

  She waited and listened. Still nothing. She reached for her pants pocket. No cell phone! So much for calling a knight in shining armor. She was on her own...The silence was deafening. She was nearly paralyzed with fear. Did she just imagine the door slamming? Had she been dreaming? It was taking everything she had to convince herself to head down the lighthouse stairs but she knew she had work to do, for her grandmother and her boss.

  She cursed under her breath and started to slowly make her way down the dozens of steps on the inside of the lighthouse, stopping and listening periodically. There seemed to be many more steps than there were when she had headed up earlier. The occasional small windows that punctuated the sides of the lighthouse let in enough sunshine to negotiate the stairs safely but she could not see if there was anyone waiting for her at the bottom. It was quite dark there, darker than she imagined. As she reached the last step the shadows overwhelmed her. She jammed her right hand down into the pocket of her pants, groping for the key to the lighthouse door and her freedom. Quickly retrieving it, she took a few more steps toward the exit in the shadows, guessing where the door was, and fumbled with both hands to grasp the key and guide it into the lock. She squinted in the dim light to help her aim. In her haste, the key kept missing its mark. She sensed someone lurking behind her. She tried the key again. Suddenly she felt a large hand on her right shoulder. Letting out a shriek, she whirled around, slamming her back against the door, eyes wide in fright. The sound of the key hitting the floor took a second to sink in.

  “Need help with the key, miss?” It was a low, almost sinister male voice.

  Suddenly, there was a click. Elizabeth was staring into the eyes of Renard, his face illuminated by his flashlight. He was a large man. Not really that tall, but what he didn’t have in height, he made up for in bulk. She didn’t remember him looking so threatening before. She tried to conceal the fact that he had startled her. The sound of her heart racing was loud in her ears. Could he hear it? Was she breathing? Keep breathing! Her body had an annoying habit of shutting down the breathing function in extreme situations or even during periods of intense focus. But she couldn’t afford to pass out right now.

  Renard bent down to retrieve the key, never taking his eyes from hers. Elizabeth froze, not knowing what he was going to do. He stood up with the key resting in the palm of his hand. She started to reach for it and he quickly closed his fingers into a fist, still looking deeply into her eyes. She pulled her hand back slowly, returning his gaze. What was he up to? She was completely trapped. She wondered why she hadn’t pulled the key out of her pocket sooner, as she was descending the stairs. Of course, taking her eyes off of where she was placing her feet on the narrow stairs could have caused her to misstep and go tumbling—certainly not a better scenario…What is this guy going to do? She searched his eyes looking for a clue.

  Elizabeth watched in amazement as he started tossing the key into the air, just a few inches at first, and then higher and higher until it reached a height of twelve to eighteen inches. Her nostrils flared as she caught a whiff of his sweaty body odor mixed with the mustiness of the old building. Should she try to grab the key in mid-air? Even if she successfully snagged it, she still would have to get it into the lock, turn it, push the door, and get out. He didn’t look like he would allow her to do that. Maybe she should try reasoning with him.

  Before she could speak, he opened his mouth and barked, “What were you doing here?” His eyes narrowed, demanding an answer.

  She gasped quietly, taken aback by his question. Who was he to question her about why she was there? She could ask him the same thing. She decided to just play along and not get him riled up. He literally held the key to her release from the lighthouse. And no one really knew she was there. Could this guy be connected to the disappearance of the girl?

  “Well?” He was getting impatient. She needed to choose her words carefully.

  “Oh…I used to come here all the time as a kid. My grandmother, Amelia, would come find me here when it was time for dinner,” she desperately threw that out as thinly veiled justification.

  He furrowed his brow slightly, looking a bit puzzled. Just as quickly, though, his face brightened, acknowledging his understanding. “Oh, Miss Elizabeth. It’s you.” His voice softened slightly. His words were slow and deliberate. “I didn’t realize you were back,” stopping short of an apology for scaring her half to death. “I was just concerned about just anyone, ya know, one of the guests, finding their way up here and getting hurt, what with the railing being repaired and all.”

  “Well that’s certainly understandable…and very responsible of you,” she added, trying to give him a verbal pat on the back. Lord knows she wouldn’t want to touch him. Please let me out of here. She felt panic starting to rise inside of her and she was doing everything in her power to repress it. “Thank you for doing that. I’m sure my grandmother would be very pleased to hear that. I should go and catch up with her now…thanks for your help.” Did she dare ask a question? “But if the door is kept locked, how would any of the guests be able to get in?”

  He carefully considered her question before answering. “Because one of the keys came up missing recently.” He let that hang in the air for a while.

  Great! It could be in just about anyone’s hands. This was not good. She needed to get out of there. “Well, I should really be going.” She looked at him expectantly and stepped to the side so he could open the door for her.

  “Yes. Well, let me help you with the door. It can be a bit stubborn, especially after we had it re-keyed not too long ago. Gives me a bit of trouble now and again, too.” He skillfully slipped the metal key into the lock in the door, turned it, put his hand on the handle, but stopped short of actually opening the door. He paused. Elizabeth held her breath. Please let me out. He turned and met her eyes. “You need to be careful that you don’t get hurt while you’re here, Miss Elizabeth. I’m sure your grandmother would not like anything to happen to you.” He turned back toward the door, leaving Elizabeth to wonder what that meant. She didn’t have long to ponder. He gave the door a solid push, allowing the bright sunshine to flood the small, dark room.

  Before he had time to stop her, Elizabeth pushed past him, brushing against his body, into the warmth of the day and the freedom of being on the outside of the lighthouse. She took a deep breath. The brisk sea air never smelled so good. Then she considered the key that was still in his possession. She turned back toward the door and boldly put her hand out for the key. Renard was standing, straddling the doorway with the door pulled close to him, as if trying to prevent her from seeing what was inside. It made her curious what she wasn’t able to see in the dim light but her desire to flee was much stronger than her curiosity at the moment. She would have to return another time to find out. “I should return the key to the shed,” she ventured.

  He didn’t move. It was as if his feet were cemented in place like a sentry at his post. He held his gaze into her eyes and calmly answered, “I’ll take care of it when I head back up the hill.”

  Realizing she really had no choice, she turned back toward the rocky breakwater and headed away from the light. She pushed an outstretched arm into the air and offered, “Okay, thanks. See you later.” She hoped that sounded as casual and nonchalant as she needed it to be. She then scampered deftly across the rocks, not taking the time to look back.

  ____________

  Elizabeth reached the clearing in front of the inn, after racing up the hill and through the woods from the lighthouse, a little winded again and still trying to shake off her encounter with Renard. She made a mental note to get to the gym more often. Arriving with a sense of determination to help her grandmother get to the bottom of whatever was going on, she needed to find Chief Austin to find out as much as she could. She wasn’t sure what just transpired at the lighthouse and was feeling very uncomfortable about it. What is Renard’s dea
l, anyway? Elizabeth also had a nagging feeling about those tunnels. She shuddered at the thought, but her gut was telling her she should take a look just to be sure there was nothing amiss below. First, she would find the chief and start with him.

  Just as she reached the front door to the inn, she had to step back because Kurt pushed the screen door from the inside. She was face to face with him again, a little too close for her comfort. She stepped backwards, bumping into one of the bikes parked near the porch railing. Elizabeth whirled around just in time to watch it fall over, knocking over the bike next to it. She cringed. Thankfully it was just the first two and not the entire fleet lined up on the porch waiting for guests to take them for a ride. Kurt rushed to her aid to right the bikes. “Here, let me give you a hand with these.”

  Elizabeth felt her face turning red in embarrassment. Way to make an entrance! “Thanks…not one of my more coordinated moments,” trying to make light of the moment. She took a double take at the entire offering of bikes, noting that there were a couple more available than she remembered seeing last night. Of course, it had been late and it is possible she just didn’t notice all of them.

  “So, how about a little tennis?” he offered.

  “Oh, I don’t know…I didn’t bring my racquet,” she blurted out, as if that was going to make a difference.

  “Not a problem. I’ve got several demos that the sales reps have been pressing me to try. Besides, I actually just had a cancellation so I’m free for the next hour.”

  “Well, I don’t know about a lesson…” She was trying hard not to blush.

  “It doesn’t have to be a lesson. We could just hit the ball around a bit.”

  Elizabeth recognized this as an opportunity to get to know him a little better and, perhaps, find out what he knew. She wondered what she was afraid of.

  “C’mon. What are you afraid of?”

  She tried not to look startled at his question. “Alright. Give me a minute to get changed.” The chief would have to wait. So would the tunnels.

  Chapter 6

  Elizabeth re-emerged through the inn’s front door onto the porch to find Kurt leaning up against the railing, his right arm extended upward with a flip phone pressed to his ear, his left hand on his hip. He quickly ended the conversation and dismissed the unknown person at the other end. In one swift motion, he flipped the phone closed, slid it into the right pocket of his white Adidas warm up pants and crossed his arms as a warm smile spread across his face, a twinkle in his eye. She felt herself being drawn in and she was fighting hard to push away. There was something about him she wasn’t sure about. She wasn’t prepared to trust him just yet, if ever. “All set?” he finally spoke.

  “Well, I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She was sporting an outfit pulled together quickly with Rashelle’s help. When she had gathered her essentials for the weekend as she was leaving the city, she hadn’t planned on playing tennis while she was in Maine. Fortunately, she and Shelle were close enough in size to borrow clothes.

  They headed down the path to the left of Amelia’s garden through the pines to the tennis courts, engaged in small talk as they walked. She was careful what she revealed to him, but also tried to learn a little something from him. He did tell her that he had gone to school at Colby, where he played varsity tennis. Okay, so maybe he could play the sport and might be qualified to teach.

  Arriving at the courts, Elizabeth noticed there was another couple on the far court of the two courts who were standing together at the baseline closest to the entrance gate. A chain-link fence wrapped completely around the two courts. The couple in tennis whites were sipping water and conversing softly. She couldn’t tell if they were finishing up or just taking a water break, but tried not to show her disappointment that she and Kurt were not alone. This encounter with Kurt might not turn out to be productive after all. She was beginning to wonder why she had let herself get talked into doing this.

  Kurt stopped at the small tennis shop, located just in front of the courts, and was fondly referred to as “the shack.” “I’ll just grab a couple racquets for you to try.” Elizabeth nodded and waited outside the door. Kurt re-emerged holding out three racquets for her to choose from. She was starting to feel a little out of her league. She couldn’t tell one from the other. “Why don’t you hold each one so you can see which feels right.” She took the racquet closest to her.

  “Kurt, look. I’m not really going to know which is right…maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “Nonsense. Let me see what your grip looks like.” He placed the other two racquets on the ground so he could use both hands. “Here, place your hand on the grip like so.” He held the racquet head with one hand, placed his free hand on top of hers and rotated her hand slightly around the grip. One quick look at the distance between her thumb and index finger and he could tell that the grip was too large for her. He picked up the other two and read the side of each to see the size of the grips. One was the same size and the other was even larger so he gathered all three racquets and headed back into the shack for another lot.

  “You know, Kurt, this is turning into a lot of trouble for you,” speaking into the doorway of the shack, but not setting foot onto its threshold. Kurt popped his head out with three more racquets in hand.

  “Don’t be silly. It’s my pleasure. Besides it’s about time these demos got some use. They’re brand new racquets that are just sitting idle, gathering dust. Sorry it’s taking a couple go ‘rounds. I didn’t realize you had such feminine hands.”

  Elizabeth took that as a compliment, but didn’t acknowledge it. Instead she busied herself with comparing the feel of the three new racquets. “This one feels okay.” She held out her right hand that was wrapped around a black and green Yonex. He examined the placement of her fingers and adjusted them slightly with his hand. It made her uncomfortable with his hand on hers, but she tried to ignore it.

  “Looks perfect. Right grip size. Not too heavy, not too light for you. Good choice.” He turned and dropped the other two racquets just inside the door. “Okay, let’s go hit a few.” Elizabeth’s stomach was in knots at the prospect of setting foot onto a tennis court with a guy she had just met. She couldn’t remember the last time she had held a racquet in her hand. She really didn’t want to make a fool out of herself. To her relief, the other couple was heading off the court. They would at least have the courts to themselves.

  After exchanging pleasantries with the departing twosome, they turned their focus to the tasks at hand, his to give a lesson to a reluctant student and hers, to find out more about him and what he knows about what was going on at the inn. After all, he had spent some time with the chief. Was that because he knew something or because he was a suspect?

  “Uh…it actually has been a while since I played tennis—quite a while. I probably could use a lesson,” she grudgingly admitted.

  “No problem. Why don’t we warm up first at the net with some gentle volleys and then we can back up and work on your ground strokes.” He picked up a racquet leaning up against the ball basket that was parked next to the gate into the court. The basket looked a lot like a grocery cart and was full of bright yellow, fuzzy balls. He pulled the cart by the front of the basket as he walked to the other side of the net on court one. “Start out a couple of steps in front of the service line. Just take it slowly. Nice and easy. Just block the ball. Don’t swing.” He started by feeding her a slow ball that she managed to return, but was way out of his reach so he calmly took another and kept the warm-up drill going. “Just squeeze the racquet right before the ball makes contact. You don’t have to squeeze hard all the time. In fact, try to relax your hand in between.” She took his advice and the volley improved dramatically, at least it appeared to be. Who knows what he’s thinking. They plowed through two to three dozen balls.

  “Okay, let’s back it up to the base line and t
ry some ground strokes. Why don’t you show me what your forehand looks like without a ball coming at you?”

  Oh, this ought to be good. I was nervous enough with a ball and you want me to do it without one? Great! Elizabeth took a feeble attempt at a forehand.

  “Pretty good, now try to step forward and then swing. And follow all the way through so your elbow points toward the net when you’re finished with your swing.” Considering his advice, she ventured two more swings. “Very good! Much better, Elizabeth! Now let’s try backhand. Show me your swing.”

  Oh, the infernal backhand. Why did it have to be part of tennis? Elizabeth felt so uncomfortable playing tennis and even more uncomfortable attempting any kind of backhand. She took the obligatory couple of backhand ground strokes so he could critique her again, feeling herself blushing with embarrassment. She hadn’t learned tennis as a child so this was rather awkward. At least he’s trying to be gentle. And he’s not laughing. Maybe he is a pro. “Not bad. Think about what I mentioned for the forehand. Step and then swing, following through so that you complete a half circle with your elbow pointing at me. The only difference is that you have both hands on the racquet for the backhand. Try a couple more.” Elizabeth obliged and he nodded in approval. “Good. Now let’s add balls.”

  The groundstroke drill turned out to be less embarrassing than expected. He certainly knew what he was talking about. This was not enabling her to speak to him one on one, though. She was learning a lot about tennis, but not what she came for. After several minutes of forehands and backhands, she was relieved to see he had stopped feeding the balls to her. “Well, that wasn’t so bad. How about a little help with my serve?” She was feeling a bit braver—but it would also get him over onto the same side of the court as her.