Dark Beach - By Lauren Ash Page 0,17
lifted the heavy lock and let it go with a dull thud. This has its own keys, separate from everything else. Let me guess—you don’t have those either?” He ventured a smile.
Jenny put a hand on his frail shoulder. “You are very right.”
“Wait here.” He returned with a worn tanned-leather pouch. Unzipping it revealed a selection of elongated silver lock picks, each with a unique tip. A couple of seconds later, the lock clicked open.
He motioned for her and Kip to enter. “I’ll leave you to it. I have to go into town to get what I need, and then I can replace everything up front. You’re lucky it’s Monday; the glasscutter is in. He’s fixing up a hexagonal window. I had to call in a special rush order, hundred dollars extra.”
“That’s fine,” Jenny said, pushing the heavy door open. It barely moved, but she managed to get in after some force. “I’m sure if Ron had tried the same thing, he would have broken it somehow.” She laughed, picturing it.
She flicked on the light switch and a single bulb illuminated a thick coating of dust.
“Kip, stay here,” she instructed, leaving her in the doorway. Aside from dust, the basement contained only a bunch of old stuff: an old wooden-framed TV in the corner, some rusty bicycles, piles of magazines. She picked one up: Life 1964? They kept this. What the heck!”
Venturing further in, she inspected a metal storage unit. It held nothing but jars—jars and jars of peaches, and preserves of some other unfamiliar fruits. “Watermelon rinds?” She touched the jar. It was as if no one had been in there for decades. With little room to turn around, she tripped over an old red-leather chest with a frame made of rugged cast metal. It was also locked.
“More locks? Where’s John when I need him?” She put her hands on her hips and kicked it.
Scanning for tools, Jenny noticed a rusty garden rake. She lifted it and used the metal end to hammer the lock. No luck. She pounded away incessantly.
“Piece of—” Sitting down on the chest, out of breath, she thought, I better go and make my girl lunch before I get in this room any deeper.
The chest would have to wait.
“Sweetheart, are you hungry?”
Kip nodded. “Pancakes!” She grinned, the sea breeze pasting her curls all over her face.
“You had pancakes for breakfast. It’s lunchtime.” She led Kip out of the basement.
“Pancakes!”
“How about a cheese sandwich?”
“Cheese, um.”
“Good, aren’t they? I’ll make you one up.” Jenny carried her down to the kitchen and sat her on one of the tall stools facing the bench. Kip stood on it, leaning on the counter.
“Dada?”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. He had to go to work. He’s on a plane, in the sky to San Diego.” She pointed up.
“Dee-A-Go?”
“Yes, that’s right, honey.”
“Dada. Dee-A-Go.”
The bread was buttered, the cheese added, and the sandwich already in Kip’s mouth when a knock came at the kitchen window.
“Hello? Anyone there?”
In the gap created by the missing front door stood a tiny, snowy-haired old woman. She was bent over so far it seemed she could barely walk until she hobbled her way over. “Good day to you there,” she said in a strange singsong lilt. “I’m Mrs. Coggington.”
“Oh, yes! You’re a friend of Gerry’s?” Jenny welcomed her in.
“It’s been a few months since I’ve been here. I will tell you, though, that Gerry and I are very good friends, maybe best friends—if I were to have a best one. I’m surprised she didn’t tell me you were coming. Although, she’s been unwell lately, has Gerry.”
“I see,” said Jenny.
“And the door ... what happened? You’re getting a new one, and a new window? I’ve often thought this place could do with new windows. It’s a bit drafty in the winter. One time, I came over and someone had left a window open and it was just so cold, although it was winter, and it was raining as well, I suppose. I did have that new cardigan I knitted with me though, which made it sort of tolerable.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Jenny watched as her visitor shrewdly examined every detail of the kitchen.
“As you’ve asked, I would like some juice—prune juice if you have any. I need my prune juice, but I prefer apple.”
“I have apple juice; I will get you some. Ice?” Jenny moved to the refrigerator.
“No, no … no ice. As I said earlier, I don’t like the cold.”
Picking out a small glass for the equally