(8)
 "New home?" Tamsin lit up. She pressed her hands together and did one of those little jumping jigs women do when they are happy. I was happy for her, and felt relieved. I felt grateful to Rector for snapping her out of her funk.
"We are going to Coronado," he said.
"Oh my God," we both said and hugged each other. "Our new home is in Coronado?"
"Dark Coronado," he said, "but Coronado nonetheless."
We drove with Rector (we could have sprinted or flown, but this was more polite). He has a very stylish car (what else?) that is about the same color as his shoes, this tony, glowing deep chocolaty-wine color on the outside, and inside a richly padded cream leather. The windows are lightly tinted, and the air inside smells faintly of leather and violets.
He took us down Harbor Drive, and up across the soaring Coronado Bay Bridge. From 300 feet or so, you get a marvelous view of the City of San Diego on the land side, and the City of Coronado across the Bay on South Island. San Diego has one of the largest natural harbors on the Pacific coast of the Americas. It is contained by a long strip of land called the Peninsula of San Diego, which includes the long, narrow Silver Strand, then South Island (City of Coronado, sometimes called Coronado Island). The northernmost appendage of the peninsula is North Island, which at one time was almost severed from South Island by a now extinct channel called Spanish Bight. A bight is a small bay. Thus, the Bight of Benin is a smaller inlet of water in the Bay of Bengal. Spanish Bight was filled in by the U.S. Navy with harbor dredgings by 1945. Since I was about to become a resident (or ghostly denizen) of Coronado, I might as well learn something about it, eh? Hein?
Coronado is an amazing place. It is as if someone took a small town from somewhere, maybe along the Boston Post Road in New England, and plopped it on this peninsula opposite the sixth-largest city in the United States. Millions of people on the land side, versus 26,000 people on the Coronado side. You can park your car on the San Diego side, putting in over a dollar an hour, or you can park it in a garage for upwards of fifty bucks a day, and then take the ferry across (a very pleasant boat ride lasting 15 minutes, a nice harbor cruise). Or you can drive across the bridge to the quaint little town of Coronado. There, if you want to park near the water, you pay 25 cents an hour. If you park on a side street, it's free, if you can find parking. The main street is Orange Avenue, curving about 1.3 mile from the ferry landing to the Hotel del Coronado (a U.S. National Landmark) where the Silver Strand begins, at the Pacific shore. Down the center of Orange avenue is a long strip of manicured, perfect green grass inset with flowers and palm trees. A trolley ran here in the late 1800s, early 1900s. Up and down Orange Avenue are shops and restaurants in a mix of touristy and stubbornly local flavors. There is a huge naval air station on North Island, and Coronado has its own high school and everything. It is famous for its Admirals' Row near the base. There are two excellent golf courses, but only the empty shell of a long-ago closed movie theater. The beach is one of the most picturesque in the country. What more can I say? I knew I wouild enjoy living here, and I can't tell you the glow in Tamsin's eyes.
"For one thing," Rector said as we cruised slowly down one of the residential back streets, "I don't think Unfaithful Tamsin and Marcus ever come here."
Tamsin let out an enormous sigh. "Thank God."
I squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. She's been very emotional and labile since she was violently murdered. Who wouldn’t be?
"There it is," Rector said as he parked the car. We pressed our noses to the window. "It's bigger inside than it looks. Real estate in Coronado is very expensive, and it's a little crowded. But you'll be amazed how spacious it is. And it has one feature no house has that you have ever seen or imagined." It was a typical little San Diego house with no basement or attic, a dollhouse, surrounded by a tiny lawn and some bushes. The windows looked opaque and shuttered, but the walls were a pleasant yellow and the roof a demure gray, while the trim around the doors and windows was off-white, so there was nothing forbidding about it.
"I can't wait," Tamsin said as she streaked through the car wall without opening the door (which would have scared anyone kibitzing from a window, seeing a car door open and close by itself). I followed her in like manner.
Rector fiddled with a mass of keys and picked one. "It's empty and ready for you to move in. The Upside is furnished but empty. Nobody is going to live here while you occupy its Downside. That way, you'll have privacy, and you can lounge in the sun up top. Almost as good as being alive, except no danger of sunburn."
He unlocked the door, and we stepped inside. I had an immediate impression that was clean, pleasant, well-kept. The wood floors echoed with his footsteps (not ours). There was a couch, a table, some chairs, a few throw rugs. There were a few homey touches—a candle, flowers, paintings on the walls, a hutch with glassware and decorative plates standing on edge.
He showed us a device on the wall that resembled a thermostat. "You see this round knob here, that looks like a dimmer switch?" We noded. "This is your elevator control. Since it's all metaphor, we didn't bother going the elevator route. Watch this. " As he turned the nob, the room around us changed. The whole house changed. Outside, it was suddenly pitch black night. I could hear the distant hooves of centaurs.
"Is it like the Shore Road?" I asked, and Tamsin said: "Do we have a beach view with mermaids?"
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