John put his hands in his back pockets, his face worried. “She’s nowhere in the house.”
“When was the last time anyone saw her?” David asked.
“I checked on her right before we sat down for dinner. She was sound asleep,” Emmi said.
“That was over hours ago,” Cara said. “She could be anywhere.”
“Should we call the police?” asked Emmi, worry making her voice wobble.
“We’ve gone through this before,” Cara said, interjecting a note of calm. “She walks, so I don’t believe we have to worry about her going in the ocean.”
“But it’s getting dark,” Emmi argued. “She won’t be easy to find.”
John said, “Let’s break into pairs and start searching for her. We’ll meet back here in half an hour. The sun should be setting by then.” Looking up he added, “And the rain should be coming in soon after. If we don’t find her by then, I say we bring in the police.”
Pairing off and arming themselves with flashlights, they all took off. Palmer and Julia headed toward Palm Boulevard. Cara and David took Hope with them to fetch the golf cart and search Ocean Boulevard. The young couples headed for the beach.
“Gordon,” said John. “Why don’t you and Pandora head toward Front Beach. You know that area well.”
Gordon opened his mouth to protest but then tightened his lips and nodded.
“Okay,” Linnea said. “John, that leaves you and me. We’ll head toward Breach Inlet.” To Gordon she said, “See you back at the house in thirty.”
The wind was picking up, scattering sand and sending the final stragglers on the beach packing up their gear and heading to home or to their cars. The crowd had thinned but there were long lines of cars jockeying for space in the exit lanes off the island.
“I hope we find her before that storm hits,” Linnea said, picking up the pace.
“We’ll find her,” John reassured her. “How many old women are out here in a brewing storm for a stroll?”
A gust of wind laced with biting drops of rain slapped her face. She caught her breath at the sudden shift in weather. Overhead all trace of the sky had been replaced by clouds tinged an eerie green. The ocean was tumultuous, whipping up steely-colored waves that crashed against the shoreline.
Suddenly everything was aquiver. The wind picked up to swirl around Linnea in a strange mixture of warm and cool, humid and icy. The young stalks of sea oats rattled like castanets. It felt like a tornado.
“It’s really blowing up a storm and its coming on fast,” John said, and turned her way to be heard over the wind. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Let’s keep going. Flo!” she called out at the top of her lungs. Her voice was lost in the roar of the surf.
They kept walking at a fast clip toward Breach Inlet, where even on good days the treacherous water swirled with deadly undercurrents. The quickly changing tides often fooled tourists into thinking it was safe to wander far out on the sand at low tide, not aware how fast the tides could roll back in. Every year there were rescues in Breach Inlet, not all of them successful. Tonight it swirled like a Mixmaster. Linnea silently prayed, Please, God, don’t let her wander into the water.
“John, look,” she said. She pointed to what looked like a dark gray wall in the air, straight ahead. “What is that? Rain?”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding as amazed as she was. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
In another few steps, Linnea couldn’t believe they were walking right into a wall of rain. It was like stepping from one universe into another. The rain was pelting, cold and stinging on their bare skin. Neither had brought a rain jacket or an umbrella. Linnea shielded her eyes with her hand as they picked up the pace. They called Flo’s name over and over, to no avail.
The island curved southward toward the Hunley Bridge. Overhead, the sky had darkened to the deep purple of a bruise. Few house lights pierced the black, and fewer headlights flickered on the bridge. It was so dark, they were losing their bearings. John stopped and, using his flashlight, checked his watch.
“It’s been a half hour,” he said. “We should head back. We can’t see anything anyway. We’d better call the police.”
“Wait,” Linnea said. “Let’s check under the bridge first.”
“She won’t be there. She may already be home.”
“Listen, when I do my turtle walks, we have to check every inch of the designated walk. I can’t tell you how many times we get a call from some tourist that they found tracks in some remote spot that was skipped. It pays to be thorough.”
“Okay. Let’s check it out.”
John set the pace through the cold rain. They were both thoroughly drenched by the time they reached the bridge. Once they’d ducked underneath, they were spared the beating of the rain, but Linnea shivered nonetheless. The blackness was blinding and the humidity was close in the confined space. The light from John’s flashlight snaked along the rippled sand, illuminating a narrow path for them to follow.
“John!” Linnea gasped as she pointed.
There seemed to be someone huddled against the cement wall of the bridge covered with bold green and red graffiti. Drawing closer, Linnea cried out, “It’s Flo.”
She was wearing her nightgown, a flimsy blue sheath of cotton that clung to her trembling frame, so thin now that she looked like a child. Her knees were close up to her chest. Her wispy white hair was plastered against her head. When the light hit her face, Flo’s blue eyes revealed her terror and utter confusion. She lifted a pale, bony hand to shelter her eyes from the penetrating beam of light. Linnea spotted what looked like a discarded chunk of soggy sandwich clutched in her hand.
When they moved toward her, Flo crouched back and put both hands over her head, crying out, “No! No! Leave me alone!”
John signaled Linnea to back off.
She froze, her heart beating hard in her chest.
“Call my mother,” John said in a clipped voice. “Tell her we’ve found her. To bring a car. And to hurry.”
She did as he ordered, pulling out her phone and punching in the number. While the phone rang, she watched John approach Flo slowly, speaking in a low, calm voice. He set the flashlight down so it wouldn’t startle her. Flo shrank farther back against the wet wall, her hand held out as pieces of wilted lettuce and stale meat fell from the soggy bread.
“Hello?” Emmi’s voice was curt and shrill.
“We found her.”
“Thank God,” Emmi said, her voice breaking. Linnea heard Emmi shout out, “They found her! Linnea and John found her!”
In a few short sentences, Linnea gave directions to where they were. “We’ll meet you in the parking lot at Breach Inlet. And, Emmi, bring a blanket.”
She tucked her phone back in her pocket and took a few steps closer to John and Flo. He’d succeeded in calming her down. She was no longer screaming, but she still trembled visibly from the cold.
“Well, hey there, Flo,” John crooned, smiling. He was crouched to walk hunchbacked under the curve of the bridge’s foundation. “It’s me. John. You remember my handsome face?”
Flo lowered her hand and peered into his face. Her head tilted, the light casting shadows on the sharp cheekbones of her thin face.