Underground

Chapter 11

At nine o'clock my mobile phone rang, nearly sending me through the roof. I snatched it up and stared at the screen. It was a local number. I sat the phone down and let it go to my message bank. I received the missed call message and took a deep breath before listening to it.

"Adrienne? It's Meredith from Goldberg Sutton Real Estate. I have a new listing that I thought you might be interested in for renovation. It's not on the website yet. You've got my number."

I closed the message and collapsed onto the lounge. My heart rate slowly dropped to a healthier level. I rang Meredith's number. She answered after three rings.

"Hi, Meredith. It's Adrienne Lockley. Sorry, I just missed your call."

"Hi, Adrienne. Not a problem. I have a small block of six units, one street back from the Esplanade. The owner has passed away, and her son is not in a position to renovate or develop. He wants it sold ASAP."

"Why doesn't he just rent out the units?" I asked.

"Mmmm." Meredith didn't elaborate.

"I guess some people don't want the hassle," I offered.

"Yes, there's that too," replied Meredith.

"I'll have a look."

She gave me the address, and we agreed to meet later that day.

"See you then Meredith," I said.

"Ok, bye."

I hung up and googled the address. No news articles about deaths at that address. That was a good start.

I parked my car in the car park in front of the block of rundown units. I looked up at the dilapidated three-storey building. There were two units per floor. The top two floors had balconies facing the street. The ground level had fenced-in patios. None had lock-up garages. I looked around at the new high-rise blocks of units that surrounded it, dwarfing the little block. They were mainly holiday units. No ocean view for this block. The Coast wasn't like it used to be. It was no longer a cheap, family-oriented beach getaway. Developers wanting to make big bucks from investors had ruined it. The lack of care of holiday-makers made insurance of these units expensive. Body corporate fees were as high as in the city. Locals had been run out of their homes by exorbitant council rates. They moved to less expensive and less desirable areas. Those who stayed barely scraped by. No matter what developers did to pretty-up the place, there were still the drug dealers lurking around bars and clubs. The heroin addicts continued to shoot up under bridges and in the parks, although, these days it was Ice seeping through the cracks and ruining lives. The appearance of safety on the Coast was a well-designed illusion, created by developers and tourist bureaus. The Coast was a dangerous place. No perfect life here.

A car pulled into the park beside mine. Meredith strutted up to me in her stilettos.

"Thanks for meeting me, Adrienne." She extended a hand. I shook it.

"It's quite a blast from the past," I said, nodding at the block of units.

"That it is," Meredith agreed, "Do you want to have a look inside?"

"Sure." I followed her up the driveway, and around the back of the units.

The external stairs zigzagged up the back of the building to the top floor. Meredith unlocked the door to one of the top floor units and walked in. She flung open curtains and blinds. Mustiness infused the walls and curtains. Water damage on the walls had been barely covered up by a coat of paint, probably a decade ago. I stared out of the kitchen window, down to the rubbish piles in the overgrown rear yard. I followed Meredith to the front of the unit. She opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the patio. I followed her out. "This block had been residential until the owner died. The son decided he wanted tourist money but didn't want to spend the money on renovations."