She heard Lynda sigh. “Then maybe you will.”
The minute they hung up, they grabbed their bags and booked it out the door.
“Leave the door unlocked,” Tessa said. “If Morgan shows up, maybe she’ll come in. Leave her a message to that effect. At least she won’t be outside. Where are we going?”
Thankfully, he didn’t question the suggestion, just hauled the bags down the stairs, the wind buffeting them at every step.
“We can try the pier,” he said. “She likes to go there.”
“In this weather? Olive would blow out to sea!”
“The other idea I had was kind of out there.”
In the driveway, Tessa fought the wind, her hair blowing wildly over her face. “Out there like far away or out there like crazy?” she asked, raising her voice because there was no way to hear each other.
“Really crazy,” he called over the noise. “But we’ll be on this side of the bridge, so if we wanted to come back home and ride out the storm here, we could.”
She tried to pull her door while he threw the bags in the back, giving her a chance to look at the empty car seat and choke back a sob.
In fact, all Tessa wanted to do was cry while she waited for him to come around and get behind the wheel just as fat raindrops started to splash the windshield.
That hurricane was not far away now.
“So let’s try whatever you think. Where to?”
“The cemetery,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Her late husband and parents are in the plot at Beal, in Fort Walton. She’s told me many times that she goes there when she hits rock bottom.”
“In a hurricane?” Tessa choked.
Dusty threw her a look. “Grief has changed her in ways you can’t understand, Tessa. She’s one of the worst cases I’ve ever seen. Profoundly lonely?—”
“She has Olive!”
“And not equipped to handle a toddler,” he finished. “Even before they died, she struggled with deep depression, and her post-partum was off the charts. She gets solace from visiting them and she doesn’t always think straight. She’s…not…”
He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to.She’s not safe, Tessa thought. For herself or Olive. In fact, she might be more dangerous than the hurricane that barreled closer every minute.
“To the cemetery, then.”
No one was driving to Fort Walton Beach, so 98 was freakishly clear of other cars, but the rain grew steady as they headed east to the cemetery.
Beal Memorial Park sat on a low rise, shaded by oaks on sunny days, welcoming guests under a wrought-iron arch. A single gravel road wound past the old graves and turned toward the newer section in the back.
Dusty drove in steady and fast, the big truck tires eating up gravel and mud. Tessa sat forward with her hand braced on the dash.
“Do you know where?” she asked as they drove as far as one could without parking or rumbling over the dead and buried.
“No, but look for a?—”
“There!” Tessa screamed, spotting the small blue compact. “There’s her car! And there she is! Past that big tree! You see her?” She fumbled with the seatbelt, but Dusty reached his hand over.
“Me first,” he said. “I have to see her first.”
Dusty pulled up behind the car and gave Tessa his phone. “Call Lynda. Tell her exactly where we are. Pin the location for her.”
