Save Me: A dark romantic thriller (Novel) (24 page)

“Wow! That is a magnificent view,” Ashley agreed, gazing at the deserted white beach that seemed to stretch forever.

They stepped out the creaky back door onto a large cement patio. Nearby squawking gulls were walking around. A few of them, closer to the Atlantic, appeared to be pecking at either a fish carcass or a horseshoe crab.

“So why do they call this town Castle Beach?” Ashley had learned of this winter rental in the newspaper.

“My young friend, at my age you’d think I’d know the answer to that. Afraid I can only offer a theory.”

“All right. What’s your theory?”

Blake Cromwell was of medium height. Had silver hair and a Civil-war-style mustache. Ashley estimated the landlord to be in his middle seventies.

“Do you see those big Victorian homes on either side of us?”

“Yeah. What about them?” To Ashley, the houses looked similar to Brad and Eve’s Victorian. Except these homes were smaller and more weather-beaten.

“Follow me.” Blake started walking down toward the rough sea. As he did, he zipped his hooded jacket.

“Why are we going down here?”

“You’ll see.”

When they had reached the thundering breakwater, the old man said, “Pretend we’re on a ship coming from Europe to America in the late 1800‘s. And pretend we’ve just sighted land here along the Jersey Shore.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t those Victorians look like castles, the way they merge from the grassy dunes?”

“You know, come to think of it, they do,” Ashley used her hand to maneuver her wind-blown bangs away from her black sunglasses. “So that’s why you think they call this town Castle Beach, because a lot of the homes look like-”

“Castles. Precisely.” The landlord grinned. “Didn’t say it was an intelligent theory. Just said it was my theory.”

Today, Ashley, with her suitcases in the trunk, had left home while it had still been dark, at four in the morning.

When she arrived in Castle Beach, she enjoyed a casual breakfast at IHOP. Then, after located the tiny cottage, she had slept in her car for quite some time until she met with Blake ten minutes ago. The property owner, who was married, also lived along the beach, two hundred yards to the south.

Now, as they went back inside the rental, Ashley kept thinking about how she had abandoned the baby, as well as how her mother might be reacting to the note she had left.

“Is this all you have?” Blake asked. He was referring to Ashley’s belongings.

“No,” she promptly responded. “I also have those giant canvases in the car. Except I suppose I can get those myself.”

“Okay.”

Blake grabbed the bags from the porch, and then set them down on the hardwood floor.

Although the cottage was furnished, to Ashley, it still felt somewhat bare.

In addition, the Victorian atmosphere was not exactly what she had been looking for. Ashley kept reminding herself, she probably wasn’t going to be here that long, so what did it matter. Yet, it would definitely be longer than the two weeks she had stated in the note to her mother. Ashley had specified two weeks in the note because she hadn’t felt like narrating what her true intentions were.

“It smells wonderful in here,” she commented cordially, leaning the big canvases against the wall in the sitting room. “Fragrant. Like fresh pinecones. What is that?”

The elderly man pointed to the redbrick fireplace.

“It’s those logs over there,” he explained. “Since it’s getting close to winter, I figured whoever was going to be renting the place, might want to build an occasional fire. Sometimes it can get mighty chilly in these parts . . . Yeah, when those winds come whipping in off the Atlantic, a warm fire can sure feel nice.”

“Speaking of feeling nice,” Ashley said, stepping into the kitchen, where, on the tan, paneled wall, she was surprised to see a phone. “Could I offer you a cup of hot chocolate? I have a can of Swiss Miss in one of my bags.”

“Hot chocolate. No thank you,” Blake replied, smiling merrily. “Don’t have much of a sweet tooth anymore. Did when I was a young buck. Used to practically live on sugar, until I realized how detrimental it is for your teeth. Now I’m stuck wearing dentures.”

If Ashley had coffee, she’d offer him that. Though, until she went out and picked up some supplies, all she had to eat or drink, aside from the hot chocolate, was wine, some soda, and a bag of stale cheese doodles.

“Wait a minute,” she said, getting water for the hot coca. “What’s that dripping noise? Do you hear that?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately I do hear that,” Blake Cromwell sighed. “Must be that dag garn pipe under the sink again. Rotten plumber. I told my wife Lavern that fellow was a rotten plumber. But no, she insisted he knew what he was doing.”

“The pipe?” Ashley inquired, not wanting to hear about his plumbing woes.

“Yes young lady. That’s where your problem is.”

“What’s wrong with the pipe?”

“It’s leaking again. Not to worry. I have a trusty toolbox back at my place. I’ll go get it and have this fixed up in no time.”

“All right. Do whatever you have to do.”

***

He returned in five minutes.

From his cluttered toolbox, Blake Cromwell withdrew a wrench. Then, as Ashley went in the other room to unpack her belongings, he went to work.

The telephone.

A part of Ashley wanted to call her mother to let her know that she was okay. Whereas another part of her did not want to speak to her mom for at least a week.

As for Troy, Ashley did not want that jerk in her head period. Ashley wanted to get as far away from him as possible. In fact, yesterday, the decision to rent this cottage had been made, while she had been drunk and not thinking sensibly.

“Here comes the rain,” Blake Cromwell muttered, from underneath the sink. With his monkey wrench, he banged on the leaky pipe.

“It’s raining you said?”

“Sure is. I might be as blind as a bat, but I still have the ears of a rabbit.”

Ashley, who was displeased to see that the majority of the clothes in her suitcases were wrinkled, glanced out the front door.

Blake was right.

The menacing sky had burst. Quarter-size rain had begun to pelt down upon the land, and the raw whistling wind that accompanied it, had picked up significantly. Across the road where there was a lonely marsh, the tall, brown cattails wiggled stormily from side to side.

Crestfallen, Ashley folded her arms. “How long’s this crummy rain supposed to last?”

“Just through the night I heard,” Blake’s kind voice came from the other room. “Don’t let this weather get you down. They say by this time tomorrow it’ll be as dry as a whalebone and twenty degrees warmer. As Shirley Temple once said ’The sun will come out . . . tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, they’ll be sun.’”

All evening long, the storm, with its frigid northeasterly winds, battered the coast, sending huge waves bombarding the shore.

Hour upon hour; the cold rain came down in raging torrents. Seaweed, clamshells, driftwood, and other debris, littered Castle Beach. The Weather Channel reported that this had been the strongest storm to hit the New York metropolitan area in more than a decade.

***

Nevertheless, just as Blake Cromwell had predicted, by noon the following day, the sun had returned, the ocean had calmed. It became much warmer, about fifty-five degrees.

Since it had turned into such a superb afternoon, Ashley, who still had yet to contact her mother, set up her easel on the patio, facing the sea.

As she dipped her brush into the circular pattern of color on her pallet, Ashley observed down near the quiet surf, a couple of small children in rolled up blue jeans. They were collecting shells. The taller of the duo, the girl, had pigtails. The boy with her was short and thin with a high-pitched voice.

Sadly, for Ashley, seeing these kids aroused memories of the summer when she and Troy had gone to the beach with Kimberly. In total, they had ventured to the shore together five times.

Now, as Ashley began to paint, it didn’t take long for the kids in the rolled up blue jeans to notice her. In time, they came up to chat.

“Hi,” the little girl announced when she and the boy with her had reached the cement patio. “Are you an artist?”

“Why yes I am,” Ashley responded politely. “And who might you be?” She smiled.

“My name is Caitlyn.” The girl had hair the identical shade of golden blonde that Ashley had. It was also the same length, down to her shoulders. “And this is my brother Brent.”

“Well, hello Caitlyn and Brent. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Ashley swirled more brown and white hue onto her brush.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked. He looked to be around eight years of age. His sister was probably about ten.

“I’m Ashley.” For this new project, Ashley had chosen to paint Castle Beach, with an imposing pirate ship serving as the background, either as a play on Henry Morgan or Blackbeard. She had sketched the drawing the night before, and had been forced to do it by candlelight, because from 9:00 PM until 1:00 AM, the power had been out.

“What are you painting?” Caitlyn asked, staring at the canvas. “I can’t tell what that is.”

“It‘s a ship on the ocean,” Ashley acknowledged. “By the way, do you kids live around here?”

“Yupper,” Brent replied. “We live over there.” Ashley’s hunch had been correct. The boy pointed to one of the Victorians, a burgundy-colored home that had bleached black shingles.

“Looks like a castle.”

“Nah. It’s no castle. It’s just our house.” Brent suddenly hurried back down to the waves.

“I‘m sorry,” Caitlyn apologized. “Sometimes my dumb little brother gets nervous around people that he doesn’t know. He’s not as mature as me.”

“Oh. I see.”

“So Miss, where are you from? We’ve never seen you around before.”

Ashley reported to the youngster that she was from a different part of New Jersey, and that she would be staying in Castle Beach for an unspecified time.

“Why aren’t you kids in school today?” Although she was unaware of it, with her black French beret, smooth porcelain complexion, and blonde hair, Ashley looked European. Along the Jersey shore, you did not come across many artists who painted on the beach. Particularly during this time of year.

“The storm last night flooded the school parking lot,” Caitlyn explained, while still staring admiringly at the canvas. “None of the buses or teachers had anywhere to park, so they had to close.”

That wasn’t the only part of town that had been socked by water. The street in front of Ashley’s cottage had also been flooded. The nearby duck pond had spilled over, and if not for the neighborhood’s first-rate drainage system, Ashley’s yard would have likely been swamped as well.

“I bet you and your brother are happy about that.”

Caitlyn jumped up and down. “Woo hoo!” she cheered, clapping her hands. “We’re super happy. I was supposed to have a test today in math. A really hard one. Now I won’t have to worry about it until tomorrow.”

On the picnic table next to Ashley’s spare brushes, a goblet of white wine twinkled elegantly in the sunlight. She grabbed the chilly glass and took a sip.

“Miss, are you married?”

“No.” Ashley did not feel like discussing the topic. “Are you?”

Caitlyn giggled. “How can I be married? I’m only in sixth grade.”

“You just claimed you were mature.”

The youngster‘s exuberant laughter intensified. “Ha ha! Compared to my brother I am. But I’m not as grownup as my mom and dad.”

It turned out their mother was a stay-at-home parent, and their father was a coin dealer.

“You should see my daddy’s shop,” Caitlyn bragged. “It’s in New York. By Madison Square Garden. He has every coin in the world ever made.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. You should go there some time.”

“Maybe I will.” Like the wine and morphine, the one thing this girl was doing that Ashley found helpful, she served as another distraction that kept her from dwelling on her breakup with Troy. As for her mother, despite Ashley’s decision not to get in touch with her yesterday, she had resolved that she’d definitely call home in an hour. In addition, she had reached the conclusion that now she wanted Kimberly with her. Ashley already missed the baby terribly, and realized how desperately she needed her daughter in her life. “Caitlyn, do you believe in magic?”

“What kind of magic?”

“This kind of magic. Watch!” With a few speedy brush strokes, Ashley skillfully painted a treasure chest. The wooden box teemed with sparkling gold, silver, diamonds, rubies, and a long string of pearls.

“Wow! That’s so neat!” Caitlyn cried out enthusiastically. “I wish I could paint like that.”

“Thank you for the inspiration,” Ashley told her. “If you hadn’t mentioned that your father was a coin dealer, I don’t think I would have thought to paint a treasure chest. You‘ve been a big help.”

Overjoyed, Caitlyn called to her brother.

“What do you want?” Brent asked, chucking another shell into the tranquil sea.

“Come here. You have to see what this lady painted. A pirate ship and now a treasure chest. It‘s so cool.”

Overnight and throughout today, Claire Whittaker, still unaware of her daughter’s whereabouts, had been so worried, there wasn’t a fingernail left on her delicate hands.

They’d all been nervously chewed off.

“It’s been well over twenty-four hours,” Rachel Gilbert commented, while gazing at the clock on the wall. “Maybe it’s time for you to take the next step.”

Claire sighed. “You think I should call the police now?”

“Yes Claire. I don’t know what they can really do at this point, except maybe put a make out on Ashley’s car. But it’s worth a try. Especially since it doesn’t seem like your daughter is planning to call you anytime soon.”

They were at the Whittaker residence, in the family room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch.