Page 39 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Twenty-Six

The day of a hurricane was like Christmas, if the idea of Christmas filled you with dread.

Sophie woke up in her darkened apartment, already feeling cooped up even though the storm wasn’t hitting until later in the day. She’d be hunkering down soon enough; may as well get some time outside while she could.

Tristan’s front door was closed, and she only let her gaze linger on it for a moment before turning to the stairs. He was going to be fine. He didn’t need her.

The Supernatural Market was already boarded up—so much for picking up more snacks. Red spray-paint graffiti scrawled across the plywood: Fuck Off Flynn .

Nice. Alliterative. Who said people weren’t classy in this town?

There was an additional sign taped to the inside of the front door: Closed Till After the Storm. Stay Safe Out There! The store was ready to ride out the storm, just like the rest of the town.

She didn’t need any more hurricane snacks, anyway. She just needed to ration. There was nothing worse than eating all the hurricane snacks before the hurricane actually hit.

For a day that promised landfall of a major hurricane, it had no business being so beautiful. The morning was sunny and warm, with barely a hint of a breeze off the Gulf. If Sophie didn’t know any better, there was no reason for all this hurricane-prep nonsense.

She thought, as she often did in times like these, about the people who’d lived here before her.

Back in the days when Boneyard Key was a newly settled city, in the days before meteorology and twenty-four-hour news coverage.

What had that day been like, when the Great Storm of 1897 had hit?

Had there been any kind of warning? Did they think they were getting just another summer Florida thunderstorm until the winds picked up, and then suddenly everything they knew was gone?

Destroyed in a hurricane that they hadn’t even seen coming.

It was a sobering thought, one that didn’t match the gorgeous morning outside.

Everything downtown was closed and in some stage of being boarded up.

The Chamber of Commerce had their hurricane shutters rolled down over every window, protecting the old house as much as possible.

Across the street, Hallowed Grounds was boarded up too, but without the profanity of the corner grocery.

Nick was just locking the front door of the café, and he threw Sophie a wave.

“What are you doing out here?” he called out with a frown. “The news said to be inside by noon.”

“And it’s ten thirty,” she shot back. “I’ll be fine.

” She looked up and down the street, where even on a Thursday in the hottest part of the summer there should be some signs of life.

Shoppers, locals, somebody. But it was a literal ghost town.

She all but expected a tumbleweed to blow down Beachside.

“Suit yourself. Nothing to do down here, though. I was the only one stupid enough to open. I think I’ve had four customers all morning.”

“But that’s good, right?” she said. “That means the tourists got out.” The next couple days were likely to be challenging enough without people wandering around demanding coffee and expecting pizza delivery.

Nick checked his phone before stowing it in his back pocket. “It’s about that time,” he said. “We’ll start getting some of the outer bands any minute, and you know it’s gonna get bad fast. Stay safe, okay?”

A common refrain on hurricane days. “You too.” She watched as Nick headed north up the street, past the closed shops toward home. She was officially the only person downtown. It was unsettling.

The wind had picked up now. Not a lot, but enough to feel ominous.

Whitecaps had started popping up out on the water, and dark clouds gathered on the horizon, like evil witches with sinister intent.

Something wicked this way comes. Nick was right.

It was time to go home. Her dungeon might be dark and depressing, but the storm was coming, and it was safe behind those shutters.

A drop of rain hit her shoulder as she walked past The Haunt, which was boarded up tight. More rain bounced off the hot sidewalk, leaving dark dots in their wake. By the time Sophie made it back to her place, it was a steady drizzle. Not quite a downpour yet, but it was coming. Not long now.

Inside, Sophie turned on all the lights—smoke ’em while you’ve got ’em—and clicked the television on, tuning into the cable news coverage.

Libby’s text this morning had been all about landfall happening somewhere around Key West. The TV had said the same, showing lots of footage of the Southernmost Point monument being pounded by rain and angry ocean waves.

But things were different now. The weatherman looked a little more manic this time.

Tie off, sleeves rolled up, he looked like Casual Friday as he gesticulated to the weather map behind him.

“Looks like Flynn has some surprises for us! We expected landfall down in the Florida Keys, followed by an inland turn, but he’s still riding the coastline right now.

We’re now expecting him to make landfall somewhere around here…

” He moved his arm in a wide arc, somewhere around the Tampa Bay area.

That was a lot closer to Boneyard Key than Key West was.

Sophie didn’t like the look of that at all.

—

As Tristan took his second cup of coffee out onto his balcony, he watched as the sunrise threw pink streaks across the sky. He didn’t know what he expected on the morning of his first hurricane, but he thought it shouldn’t be this peaceful. This quiet.

It was too quiet, he realized almost right away.

Usually this time of morning things were happening.

The grounds maintenance crew should be outside, doing its thing with lawn mowers and leaf blowers and weed whackers, keeping the green spaces in the common areas manicured.

Like Tristan with his early-morning runs, those crews got the work done before the sun was too high in the sky.

But they weren’t there today. Today it was just Tristan and his coffee and the early-morning sun sparkling off the water.

The air of anticipation was unavoidable.

Once it hit nine, his phone started lighting up with texts.

The property manager first, to confirm that no, this unit didn’t have hurricane shutters.

It had been recommended when the place had been renovated, but had ultimately been cut as a cost-saving measure.

Thanks, Dad. Eric had texted three times in an hour, each time with links to national news stories about Hurricane Flynn and its potential danger.

Are you sure you shouldn’t get out of there?

, he asked each time, only stopping when Tristan threatened to block his number.

His father didn’t text at all.

It was fascinating, how subtly the weather deteriorated outside.

He spotted the dark clouds out over the water first, then noticed that the palm trees outside his building started swaying as the wind picked up.

Then the rain came, a trickle that intensified until it was coming down in sheets, and the world became dark and gray and nothing but water pounding down from the sky and wind sending that water crashing into his windows and the sliding-glass door leading out to the balcony.

He felt helpless. He couldn’t do anything about the storm outside.

All he could do was sit on his couch and watch it happen.

Wait for it to be over. He got a beer out of the fridge—he was turning into a real Florida Man, beer before noon and all—and settled himself on the sofa with the news coverage.

Somewhere in southwest Florida a roof was getting torn off a trailer, like the lid coming off one of the cans of ravioli in Tristan’s pantry.

Waves crashed against a faraway seawall, angry and violent.

“We’re looking at storm surges of at least ten feet,” the weatherman said, as though that was something Tristan was familiar with. “So you’re going to want to—”

The power went out before he finished his sentence. Tristan had no idea what he was going to want to do.

—

Sophie’s phone chimed with a text from Libby.

Landfall due to hit north of Tampa!! I knew I should have gotten Nan out of here.

I’m all shuttered up if y’all need to come hunker down here.

We’re boarded up too. Should be ok.

Stay safe!

Sophie blew out a long breath. This could be bad.

If they’d known a day or two ago that landfall would be this close to Boneyard Key, the town would most likely have been evacuated.

But with a few hours’ notice? It was too late now.

She thought of her friends, everyone she knew here in town, hunkered down and waiting for the storm to pass.

It helped to know that most everyone was safe behind their storm-protected homes. This wasn’t any of their first rodeo.

Tristan . Her stomach plunged. This was his first rodeo. And he was about to ride out the meanest bucking bronco ever, in a condo that was practically nothing but windows. She shouldn’t have left him alone.

Outside, the storm had intensified. Rain pounded on the roof and slapped against her hurricane shutters. The television showed a trailer park getting decimated by driving winds.

“We’re looking at storm surges of at least ten feet!

” Sophie didn’t like the tone of worry in the meteorologist’s voice.

She relied on those guys to be calm when the storms hit.

Not pacing the studio, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to the weather map. “So you’re going to want to—”

Everything went black. The room, the television, everything. The last couple words from the meteorologist echoed in the sudden silence of the living room. The end of that sentence was for people further away from the storm.