Page 117 of Ten Beach Road

Forty

A little later came what sounded—and felt—like all hell breaking loose. The wind whipped and howled and the rain pounded down. Unseen things collided. As they cowered in the bathroom, Avery’s emotions kept pace with the storm. She felt as if someone had grabbed hold of everything inside her, shaken it around for a while, and then tried to wrench it out of her. Deirdre was self-centered and she had used their desperation to her advantage. But she was not completely unthinking or unfeeling and her apology had seemed stunningly sincere. The fabric of Avery’s hurt and anger had been ripped into tiny shreds and brutally rearranged—still there but unrecognizable. Her last coherent thought before her eyes fluttered shut was that it was so much easier and cleaner to hate from afar.

Avery roused about five A.M. when the electricity finally flickered on. She’d fallen asleep with her knees folded up against her chest, Kyra’s head on her shoulder, and her cell phone clutched in one hand. When they emerged from the bathroom a short time later, they discovered how lucky they were. The parking lot was strewn with debris. A tree on one edge had fallen across the roof of a small SUV and another had smashed into a unit at the opposite end. But Maddie’s van was undamaged. All of them were rattled but unharmed.

Inside, the TV stations were filled with reports that large sections of the Tampa Bay area were without electricity and would be for some time. The beaches had been hard hit as Charlene, erratic to the end, skimmed up the west coast of Florida then skittered westward.

“Can we get back onto St. Pete Beach?” Maddie asked as they watched the images on the TV screen.

“Go to one of the local channels and see if they’ve got that info posted.”

Maddie passed the remote to Kyra and the channel surfing, with intent, began.

“Charlene is headed toward the Mississippi coast. They think she may make landfall there.”

“Jesus,” Deirdre said. “That’s the last thing they need up there after Katrina and the oil spill.”

“They’re reporting torrential rain up and down the western half of Florida,” Kyra said. “Which could be impacting anyone trying to drive down from Georgia or North Carolina.” She looked at her mother. “That means Dad and Andrew might have trouble getting down here.”

“If they’re coming,” Maddie said.

“Mom, you know they’ll come.”

Maddie didn’t comment. Avery couldn’t help remembering how certain Kyra had been that Daniel Deranian would come and take her away. She’d been half right.

“That could mean the Hardins might be having trouble getting back, too,” Kyra said moments after Avery had thought it.

“If Chase were here, we could maybe go by boat and take a look from the water.” Avery wished he were here right now, though she wasn’t about to admit it. She felt someone’s gaze on her and looked up to see Deirdre watching her. Avery looked away, hoping Deirdre hadn’t been able to read her thoughts.

“I can’t even imagine what the bay and Gulf are like right now. I don’t think I’d want to be out in a boat at the moment, even if it were possible,” Maddie said.

“Have you tried to reach him?” Deirdre asked. “Or heard anything at all from the Hardins?”

Avery looked down at her phone. “No bars.” She lifted it to her ear. Nothing. “Has anybody got a cell phone signal?”

No one did.

“The land line doesn’t work, either.” Nikki held the receiver to her ear. “No dial tone.”

They looked at each other.

“I need to see Bella Flora,” Avery said. “I need to make sure she’s still there and intact.” Her pulse quickened at the thought of the abuse that must have been heaped on her.

“Why don’t we see if we can get something to eat first?” Deirdre suggested. “Now that my heart’s not in my stomach anymore, it’s feeling kind of empty. Hopefully by then there’ll be more information.”

“Deirdre’s right,” Maddie said, surprising them all. “Nikki, can you talk to your friend at the desk and see if there’s anything close enough to walk to and where the closest gas stations are?”

“I’m on it.”

A few minutes later they were at a Waffle House two streets over. Only the cook and one waitress had made it in that morning, but there was electricity and that meant food. They wolfed down their breakfasts as other customers trickled in. There was a TV mounted nearby and as they ate they learned that five people had died and twelve were unaccounted for. Reports about which beaches had been hardest hit and who did and did not have electricity continued to pour in, but those reports seemed conflicting.

A photo of Malcolm Dyer flashed on the screen for a few brief seconds along with the caption “Financial Schemer Captured,” and Avery let out a whoop. They all stopped eating to watch footage of Dyer being led toward a police car in handcuffs while a knot of people wearing FBI windbreakers looked on.

Nicole’s gaze remained riveted on the screen even after the images faded and were replaced by a radar map that showed Hurricane Charlene roaring toward Biloxi. Her face reflected both regret and resignation. A few moments later she turned her attention back to her plate.

Avery could hardly sit still long enough to swallow. All she wanted was to get back to Ten Beach Road and see Bella Flora for herself. But it was two days before they were allowed back across the Howard Franklin to St. Petersburg.

Avery rode shotgun and noted the things in Tampa Bay that didn’t belong there—things like half-submerged cars and a hotel roof. A palm tree, apparently uprooted, floated against a piling. A power- and a sailboat sat aground, rammed up against a tree on the side of the causeway.

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