The Precipice (2 page)

She took a deep breath and reached for the receiver to speak to her grandmother.

Chapter 2

E
lizabeth rode down in the elevator with two middle-aged men in dark suits. She recognized them as attorneys from the firm of Mendelson, Jenkins, and Leate. They had entered on the nineteenth floor and stood next to her, self-absorbed in their own conversation, without so much as a nod or a word. They didn’t seem to notice she was even in the elevator. She was entertained by their chatter, though, tossing client names around like confetti, bantering back and forth about this judge and that judge.
Amazing how unprofessional two guys can be
.

The elevator doors opened to the lobby and the two men pushed forward to exit before Elizabeth. She stood back. A smirk spread across her face as she watched them enter the bustle of the lobby and stride swiftly across the broad room, their egos in tow. She shook her head. “Jerks.” Her voice was barely audible. She stepped out into the flurry of activity.

It was a grand room with a high ceiling, antique brass chandeliers, and dark marble pillars spaced evenly throughout. Warm burgundy carpet with a stylized oriental pattern anchored the large space. It was furnished with traditional mahogany side and coffee tables, paired with stately wingback chairs, and set in small groupings. Since the location was a popular meeting place after work on a Friday afternoon, many of the chairs were occupied by other young professionals, with glasses in hand. Located on the far left side of the lobby was a rather large, European style bistro that catered to the lunch and dinner crowds. Happy hour was in full swing with a noisy crowd of young urban movers and shakers. On the opposite side of the lobby were a newspaper stand, a shoe shine booth, and a modest flower shop.

Elizabeth noticed a small group of men in suits gathered just ahead and to the left of her path to the exit. She recognized the one gesturing with his hands while he talked as the mayor of New York City. The rest were probably aides and a handful of the city’s well connected.

Elizabeth walked halfway across the lobby when someone stepped out from behind one of the grand pillars from her left, startling her. “Elizabeth, so good to see you again.” It was Drescher and he was right in her face, smiling with a strange look in his eyes. She wasn’t surprised that he was among the mayor’s entourage at happy hour.

“Mr. Drescher!” She stepped back to put more space between the two of them, but looked him directly in the eyes, trying to figure out what he was up to. The smell of his cologne made her nose wrinkle slightly. She rubbed her nose with a couple fingers to try to stifle a sneeze.

“Elizabeth, please call me Jack.” His voice was sickening sweet. He stepped closer to her and gently touched her forearm with his hand. “Elizabeth, why don’t we go grab a drink?” He motioned with his head toward the lively bistro. “Then we can talk further about this new project.”

He leaned in toward her. His face was so close to hers that she could feel his breath. She was so uncomfortable that she desperately wanted to back away. She could hear Vera’s voice in her head reminding her to keep Drescher happy. His happiness was going to have to wait.

He looked into her eyes and seemed to be able to tell that she was not going to acquiesce. “It’s the weekend,” he implored.

“Mr. Drescher, I’m sorry. I’m on my way out for the weekend. I can’t really stay.” She was polite, but firm. “I’m sorry.” The two stood there for a moment looking at each other in the awkwardness of the situation gone sour. Elizabeth turned away from him and headed directly for the revolving doors, leaving him standing alone by the pillar. She could feel her stomach becoming nauseous. Too many times over the last couple of years, Jack had gotten too close for comfort with Elizabeth. She had turned him down on several occasions when he asked her out for drinks or dinner. Although she had to admit to herself that there was something about his self-confidence and his powerful presence that attracted her to him, she had no intention of jeopardizing her career by making a mistake like that. It concerned her, though, that he appeared very frustrated each time she declined his offer. Clearly he was not used to having to take “no” for an answer.
Sensing his eyes following her out, she tried to shake off her uneasiness and lengthened her strides.

When she reached the sidewalk in front of the building along Lexington Avenue, the rain had slowed to a fine mist. She barely noticed it. Delayed by the encounter with Drescher and distracted by the phone call from her grandmother, she had some things to sort through in her head. Nana, as Elizabeth referred to her, did not go into a lot of details but was obviously concerned about some things that were happening at the inn that she ran in Pennington Point, Maine. The inn had been in the family for several generations. It was originally built as a private school for girls and run successfully for decades. That is, until the mysterious disappearance and presumed death of a student under questionable circumstances. The case was never solved which forced the permanent closure of Pennington School and still haunts the family to this day. It was later reopened, after extensive renovations, as a charming New England seaside inn.

Nana seemed to think that one of the handymen for the inn had turned up missing. Elizabeth didn’t take this news too seriously. Girard was a forgetful sort of man who was diligent and hard-working, but could easily misplace tools or supplies and be looking for them for days before they turned up in a most unusual place. Perhaps he had headed out for an errand and forgot why and where he was going. All in all, Girard was a pleasant guy and seemed to be an asset to the inn. His brother, Renard, on the other hand, who also worked around the inn doing odd jobs, was a bit of a nuisance to Elizabeth. He seemed to be infatuated with her and often went out of his way to be near her and speak to her during her occasional visits.

Elizabeth switched the portfolio she was carrying to her other hand and pulled her taupe trench coat closer to her neckline. Before heading out the door she had grabbed drawing supplies and sketch pads, not knowing how long she would be out of the office. She had deliberately neglected to stop into Vera’s office. No telling how long she would have been delayed if she hadn’t. Vera tended to get a little long winded when she is excited about a new project and this one would certainly be no exception.

She was on her way to Maine. Her grandmother, Amelia Pennington, had asked if she could come up and spend a little time at the inn. That was all Elizabeth needed to hear. It was a three day holiday weekend and she loved to have an excuse to go help Nana. She loved the city very much, but the rugged, rocky coast of Maine with the salty sea air blowing in her face was in her blood, having grown up in the inn.

It wasn’t the best of childhoods, but Elizabeth chose to dwell on the positives from it. She was very close to her grandmother; she loved her very much. Her grandmother had raised little Lizzi after her parents died when she was very young. No one ever really talked about what had happened to them and Elizabeth had left it that way as a child. As an adult, however, she struggled with a nagging urge to find out. And the older Amelia gets, there is a very real possibility of her taking the story to her grave.

Besides Elizabeth and Amelia, the Pennington family also included Cecelia, Amelia’s husband’s younger sister, who had never married. Elizabeth remembered her great aunt as an angry woman who seemed to spend a lot of time in the upper rooms where the family kept house, often erupting in fits of rage toward little Lizzi. A bedroom closet was her refuge when Cecelia was particularly ornery. She felt safe in the small, dark space. When the air had cleared, Elizabeth emerged cautiously and quickly searched out her grandmother. She never spoke of her great aunt to anyone, but often wondered why she contributed so little to the day-to-day operations of the inn.

Amelia had done the best she could balancing the responsibilities of running the inn with raising her granddaughter. As a young child, Lizzi looked for ways to help out, longing to be at her grandmother’s side. It seemed as though Amelia was always working her fingers to the bone. In spite of her hardship, she was a warm, loving individual who ran the inn as efficiently as a ship captain. Her husband of twenty-nine years had been the captain of a large fishing vessel that had succumbed to Mother Nature while trying to outrun an approaching storm. He had widowed Amelia when she was only forty-nine. The girls’ school and subsequent inn had been in his family as long as anyone could remember. It was believed to have been built by his great, great grandfather, with additions and outbuildings added over the years.

Amelia treated the staff and guests as family. She had a soft voice and a gentle touch and a way of looking into your eyes with the experience and knowledge the years have afforded her, all the while touching your heart. Elizabeth would do anything for her grandmother, including dropping everything at work to go to her aid. But, at the moment, she was feeling a bit uncomfortable because she had just given her boss the slip. She would have to catch up later with Vera by cell in the car and try to explain.

Elizabeth was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not notice the man who had fallen in behind her, several strides back but keeping the same pace as her. He kept her in his sights. She was walking the three blocks to the parking garage on East 45th Street to retrieve her car, a prized, silver BMW Z4. It had been a recent splurge that she justified as a reward for all the late nights and weekends that had become the norm at Loran Design. Elizabeth was heading for what she hoped would be a relaxing couple of days off but she wondered exactly what she would find when she got to Pennington Point.

The mist turned back into a light rain, but Elizabeth didn’t bother with her compact umbrella. Only one more block to go. She quickened her pace and the man in the wind breaker and baseball cap behind her followed suit. She reached the garage and headed straight for the elevators. A set of doors opened as soon as she pressed the button. She slipped in and quickly pressed the button to close the doors. The man behind her was not quick enough to catch the elevator with her. Elizabeth reached the top floor of the garage and stepped out onto the roof. As usual, there were only a few cars parked on this level on a Friday afternoon, particularly since it was just before Labor Day Weekend. Late August/early September seemed to be a popular vacation time so traffic was slightly lighter and the parking garage was a little less crowded than usual. A smile spread across her face when she saw her car, backed neatly into a corner parking space that allowed ample room on either side. It wasn’t easy to protect that car in the city the way she wanted to, the way she should, but she did her best to care for it. She couldn’t wait to get in, start the powerful little engine, and shift into first gear. She was itching to get out of the city and onto the open road heading northeast.

Elizabeth skillfully negotiated the downward spiral of the parking garage ramp, pressing the button to lower the driver’s side window at the precise moment on the last curve. Reaching the ticket booth, she slipped her monthly parking card into the slot and the gate retreated slowly toward the low ceiling. She pressed the button to close the car window. Slowly releasing the clutch, she pressed the gas pedal. As the car started forward, a man lunged from the left and banged his left hand onto the hood of the car, his face pressed up to the driver’s side window. Elizabeth shrieked and hit the brake and clutch simultaneously. Then she caught her breath. It was just Lenny from the mail room, standing there, towering over her car looking a bit pitiful, like something the cat dragged in after a rainstorm. He looked wetter than the past few minutes of light rain could possibly have caused. Tufts of his chestnut brown, curly hair were poking out from underneath his baseball cap, flipping up and partially obscuring the bottom edge. His bushy brown eyebrows were touching the brim. Water was dripping off his hair and cap. Raindrops glistened on his navy blue jacket. She started to feel sorry for him and a bit foolish for overreacting. Lenny seemed like a harmless guy, probably the only one who had been working at Loran Design longer than Elizabeth. No one really knew. No one seemed to know him. He was quiet, kept to himself. Tried to keep his nose clean and avoid Vera as much as possible. Elizabeth wondered how old he was. Hard to tell. She guessed late twenties or could it be early thirties? She couldn’t be sure.

As Elizabeth lowered the window, she noticed he was clutching a package tightly in both hands. Lenny didn’t wait until the window was completely down before he started babbling about Sara and the package that she thought Miss Pennington needed. Elizabeth didn’t remember ever being so close to his face before. He had sad brown puppy eyes. His face was covered in red splotches of acne. Some areas looked particularly red and irritated, perhaps infected. Her stomach started to turn. Elizabeth thanked him and relieved him of the damp and dog-eared, manila envelope. She was sure it had not looked this way when the receptionist had sent him on his errand. It appeared to be something that one of the courier services delivered. There was no return address. One thing was sure, though. If Sara knew Elizabeth had left the office, Vera would know soon, too. Sara runs the front desk like a control center and keeps her boss informed. Not much gets past either one of them.

Elizabeth took a cleansing breath, tossed the package on the seat beside her, pressed the button for the window one final time, and set out onto the rain soaked streets of New York, giving Lenny one final wave. She was finally on her way. A pit stop at her apartment to pick up the essentials was all that stood between her and her long, Labor Day weekend in Maine.

Chapter 3

T
he drive from New York City to Pennington Point could take anywhere from five and a half to six hours, depending upon the traffic, but Elizabeth usually cut the trip down to just under five hours in her little sports car. She spent the time alone with her thoughts, focusing only on the radio when a station started to fade out, compelling her to tune in a new one. With the impending phone call that Elizabeth would have to make, her thoughts drifted to what she had just left behind.

Vera was difficult to work for. Her staff turnover rate was quite high. She had high standards,
very
high standards, and expected a lot from her employees as well as herself. Elizabeth thought that Vera could use an executive coach to help her soften the edges of her caustic personality. Of course, Vera undoubtedly had never considered such professional guidance. She probably figured she didn’t need anything of the sort. It was her business and she would run it the way she saw fit. Elizabeth seemed to be the only one of the design staff who had lasted very long with her, going on seven years. Seven long years. There had been moments when she wondered why she continued to endure Vera’s wrath. She could be totally irrational with her expectations, erupting in fits of rage. Yet, she was a design genius with a head for business, an unusual combination to be sure. Elizabeth’s plan was to bide her time, hang on as long as she could and learn as much as possible before launching out on her own. That kind of aspiration, however, was not something she could share with Vera. Elizabeth was not really sure of their relationship. On a day-to-day basis, she just felt like a lowly staff person that Vera enjoyed stepping on. Other times they were adversaries, disagreeing on design approaches. Still other times, though, they almost seemed, in a twisted, surreal sort of way, like mother and daughter. Of course, that was usually when they went out after work and had a couple of drinks together. Vera would pry a bit, trying to find out what made her tick, while offering alcohol-induced career advice. Vera was a manipulator. She played with Elizabeth’s head, trying to get inside. Elizabeth was careful how many drinks she had while with her and was selective in what she revealed to her boss, not knowing what she might do with any information she might extract. It wasn’t a matter of trust…well, yes it was. But, even so, she suspected there had to be a vulnerable side to Vera.

The demands of the job, with Vera setting the tone for the office ambience, led to stress-filled, often long, and arduous days. Elizabeth had become skillful at escaping this environment, whether it was getting away for the weekend or just hitting the streets of New York City for a brisk walk. She loved the city. She loved the aromas wafting from the street vendors’ carts as she passed; the steamed hot dogs with sour kraut and the burning smell of roasting chestnuts. She loved the roar of the taxis as they rushed their fares to their destinations, honking their horns and maneuvering through congestion; the rumble of the subway below her feet, through the sidewalk grates. She loved the throngs of people she walked shoulder to shoulder with and the ones who brushed past on their way. She could get lost in all of that, not from herself because she always had her own thoughts, but from everyone else. She could be absolutely anonymous among the tall buildings. She liked it that way. Elizabeth would walk for blocks, even in inclement weather, to clear her head before re-entering the quagmire commonly referred to as the offices of Loran Design. This was her survival technique and it had served her well.

Elizabeth had fallen in love with New York City when she had visited colleges, years ago, while trying to decide where to further her education after high school. The city was nothing like her home state of Maine, any part of it. It had a life of its own, an electricity that was contagious. After all, it is called the “city that never sleeps.” There was always something to do. So much to see. With what little time she had off from work, she tried to get out and explore her city. Central Park was one of her favorites. Located in the middle of Manhattan, it was like an oasis in a desert of asphalt, steel, and concrete, with its green grass, trees, walkways and ponds, and extended nearly three miles long. In warm weather, you could rent bikes to ride on the paths or remote control boats to navigate around a pond. Many people rollerbladed, played tennis or used the jogging trail. The Central Park Zoo offered an impressive array of wild animals including an aviary that was home to an extensive collection of rain forest birds. The carousel was a perennial favorite for park goers of all ages, but if soaring on a wooden horse wasn’t your style, there were many benches scattered throughout the park. People-watching was always an interesting pastime. Elizabeth loved to watch all the lucky pooches that were getting walked in such a beautiful place. It made her yearn for a small pup of her own. She had once considered getting a little dog, but decided that it really wouldn’t be fair to leave a four-legged pal alone in an apartment for long periods of time. And she was sure Vera would never allow her to bring a critter to work. She didn’t seem to be the type to be fond of dogs. Maybe if Elizabeth had her own design studio someday, she could bring her little dog to work. She smiled at the thought. Someday…

Elizabeth also enjoyed the museums in the city. There were so many to choose from and several were situated within walking distance of each other. Her personal favorite was the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Met was located on the east side of Central Park on 5th Avenue and was surrounded on three sides by the park. The Frick Collection was a stone’s throw away, just off 5th Avenue on East 70th street. Elizabeth also enjoyed the Guggenheim which was further north on 5th Avenue, overlooking the park, and the Museum of Modern Art which was near Rockefeller Center.

When you tired of the museums, 5th Avenue had everything you could want in a shopping excursion. All the major stores were located along this main thoroughfare and many popular smaller ones occupied the side streets. During the holidays, the city shined even more brightly, all decked out in extra lights and festive trimmings.

Some people say that New Yorkers are not the friendliest of folks. In fact, there were friends back in Maine who expressed concern over how Elizabeth would get along in the city when she was preparing to set off for college at NYU. Elizabeth found New Yorkers to be very friendly. She thought there was a further softening that occurred after 9/11 that actually brought New Yorkers closer together and made them a much more caring people.

Glancing at the green highway signs passing overhead, Elizabeth realized she was just outside of Boston. The jazz station she had been listening to since Hartford was starting to fade out so she pressed the seek button until she found something with a Latin beat to help keep her awake. She found herself moving her shoulders to the tempo of the new music. Her friend Rashelle Harper had introduced her to Latin music while they were in college together where they had become fast friends. While Elizabeth had focused her attention on interior design, Shelle majored in hotel management and hospitality. She now greeted the guests at Pennington Point Inn as their newest hire ever since Elizabeth convinced her grandmother to delegate part of the day-to-day operations. Rashelle had become a wonderful addition at the inn, fitting in with the atmosphere of warm, Down East hospitality, even if her Brooklyn accent revealed her roots. Amelia embraced her like her own granddaughter, visibly relieved to have such reliable and qualified help. She didn’t hand over the reins outright to Rashelle, but she was gradually entrusting her with more and more responsibility.

One of Shelle’s first tasks this summer was to hire a new tennis instructor. The last one had to be fired because he spent more time trying to improve his relations with the female guests than actually teaching tennis. Complaints of sexual harassment were rampant, not the sort of activity management could tolerate. Unfortunately, Aaron did not take the news of his firing very well. He insisted he was an innocent bystander and that the complaints were unfounded. His denials escalated into threats and he had to be physically removed from the property.

Just north of Portland, Elizabeth hopped off of Interstate 95 onto Route 1. Years ago, Route 1 was the main road to travel along the coast of Maine. It meanders through delightful small New England towns, twisting and turning along the rugged shoreline, past local lobster shacks and wild blueberry stands. These days, most people stayed on I 95 or the Maine Turnpike as far as they can go before getting off onto Route 1, as they hurry to get to their destination as quickly as possible. Route 1 had become congested with tourist traps and the accompanying traffic, suitable only to those with all kinds of time on their hands. Elizabeth had only a short distance to travel on Route 1 before she turned onto Route 72, a winding, hilly road that wound its way through seven miles or so of pine trees and the occasional dirt or gravel road that led to a residential dwelling. A knitting shop was located on the corner of Routes 1 and 72 and had been in the same location for as long as she could remember, probably longer. She thought it was called Dolly’s Woolery. It was across the street from Ronnie’s Clam Shack, a favorite of summer tourists as well as locals.

Elizabeth slowed down to turn right onto Route 72. The past several hours of driving were starting to take their toll. She yawned and picked up her empty Dunkin Donuts cup hoping for more caffeine to keep her going. She had already drained the last drop before Kennebunkport. It was getting late and the lack of street lights and oncoming cars created a very dark, back road. Travel had become much slower. Replacing her cup in the cup holder, she reached for her package of Twizzlers from the passenger seat only to discover it was completely empty, too. She pressed on. It wasn’t much further. After the last familiar curve, Elizabeth turned off 72 onto Pennington Road. She was nearly there. She cracked the windows for her first sniff of the salty sea air. A warm smile spread across her face as she felt welcomed home.

Pennington Road was even darker than 72, if that was possible, and snaked its way through an expanse of pines that were part of the state forest, ending in a clearing on a precipice, high above the crashing waves below. Pennington Point Inn was situated on 125 wooded acres of unspoiled Maine coastline. The main building was an impressive, stately looking structure, set back from the edge of the cliff above the water. It was like many New England inns, with white clapboard siding and multi-paned windows with black shutters. An open porch, where wicker furniture sported worn floral cushions, ran across the front of the inn and wrapped around both ends. Double width steps were set left of center of the porch; ornate carved wooden railings framed either side. The inn hadn’t changed much over the years. It stood strong, proud, and almost defiant against the tumultuous ocean, very much like its captain, Elizabeth’s grandmother, Amelia Pennington. The property included nearly a mile of unspoiled, sandy beach and, in its entirety, is quite a piece of coastal Maine real estate. Any real estate developer would salivate at the possibility of acquiring a piece of land like this. For the Pennington family, it was simply home. Over the years, rumors had surfaced from time to time that the gracious, old inn was haunted. Elizabeth found this quite amusing since she had grown up there and never experienced anything of the sort. She often wondered if those rumors actually attracted some people to stay there.

At the top of the last hill, the Z4 emerged from the woods into a small clearing where Elizabeth came upon a fork. She slowed the car to a stop, shifting it into neutral. She smiled a crooked smile as a couple of clichés came to mind; “the road less traveled,” and “the crossroads of life.” There was a wooden sign pointing to the left for Pennington Point Inn and one pointing to the right for Pennington Point Lighthouse. She resisted the temptation to follow the right fork. Not a good place to be in the dark near the rocks. Elizabeth put the car back into first gear and started to ease off of the clutch when she noticed lights coming down the road on the left toward her. Gently, she pressed the brake again to hold steady long enough for the oncoming car to pass. The road to the inn wasn’t really wide enough for two cars. Shortly a small car appeared from the pines so she glanced into the driver’s side just as her headlights shined in. The driver was male, approximately 25 to 30 years of age, with short, dark hair. He looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place him. His name would probably come to her later. He didn’t try to make eye contact, just looked straight ahead. The car was one of those sports car wannabees; probably a Mazda Miata. Couldn’t really make out the color. Something dark. Maybe dark blue or green.

After the car passed, Elizabeth steered onto the left fork that meandered through more pine trees for about a hundred yards until she came to another, larger clearing. In front of her was the open sea. She followed the drive to the left toward the inn, passing the entrance to the guest parking lot on the left and continuing on to the circular gravel driveway in the front of the inn. The placement of the parking lot behind the main building of the inn was quite deliberate, maximizing the view of the sea from inside the inn. Her headlights carved a swath in the fog that was beginning to roll in from the water as she rounded the circular driveway. She could just make out the outline of boxwood bushes near the edge of the cliff that had been planted to keep guests from doing anything foolish.

The sight of the inn sent a tingling sensation through her body. Elizabeth was so glad to be back. It had been too long. She pulled the car as close to the front door as possible along the circular drive. Relief coursed through her. She turned off the engine, inhaling deeply, and exhaling a long cleansing breath. A myriad of emotions swelled up inside of her. She was glad to be here, but wondered what was in store. Elizabeth jumped out of the car leaving everything behind. As she gently closed the driver’s side door, she stepped backwards to admire her prized possession, bathed in the lights of the front porch. A smile spread across her face in spite of her fatigue. “God, I love that car.” She laughed to herself when she realized she had said it out loud and had sounded just like a television commercial. It was just after ten o’clock, but she hoped that her grandmother would still be up. She paused to look southeast, out over the water, listening for the waves crashing against the rocks below. The moon was nearly full and was directly in front of her, casting its light across the shimmering water, from so far away. Turning back toward the inn, she glanced at the porch and noticed the familiar sight of a couple of Schwinn bikes leaning against the railing, a light brown wicker basket hanging from the handle bars of the ladies’ version. She shuffled up the front steps; her feet sounded like sandpaper on the wooden steps dusted with sand from the beach. She was too far away to hear her cell phone ringing. A disappointed Vera would have to leave a message.