The Precipice Read Online Free PDF Page A

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