Dark Beach - By Lauren Ash Page 0,30
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