I was on my way back from a perfect day at the beach, lightly tanned and relaxed. Lovely weather, soft white sand, blue warm water, fantastic picnic spread. On the way home I stopped off at one of those tea break spots on the side of the road. Concrete table and seats offered small comfort, however, it was a necessary break from the long drive.
As I sat down, I noticed a woman’s handbag on the table. Small, brown leather, a lot of zips. Curious, I opened the biggest compartment. The usual female paraphernalia; lip balm, hand sanitizer, hand cream, etc. I also found an ID book, and a bunch of keys attached to a clunky wooden key holder with a black number ‘7’ and ‘Winchester Drive’ engraved on it.
Tired and in need of a cool shower, I shoved the bag onto the back seat of the car, and drove home, determined to deal with the handbag mystery the next day.
Morning arrived with an alarm siren at exactly 06h00, as usual. Rolling over for a snooze, I remembered the handbag and the strange key ring holder. Getting up for some fresh coffee, I checked the ID again: Chantelle Smythe. Chantelle clearly lived at 7 Winchester Drive, which was not far from where I lived. After a quick breakfast, I was on my way to Winchester Drive.
Pulling into the driveway, I noticed that there were no other cars visible. Hoping there was somebody home, I knocked on the front door.
What happened next shocked me to the core ...