The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(85)

She checked the clock. It was eight-thirty. Grandma Myrtie wouldn’t call until around noon because, unlike her mother, her grandma understood her perfectly. She knew Charlotte loved to sleep in and wake slowly—and Grandma Myrtie respected that.

Charlotte stared out at the seething waves for another moment before hurrying into her tidy kitchenette and blending a quick smoothie. She pulled on her wetsuit and tied her long blond hair up in a high ponytail. Then she grabbed a cover-up, beach towel, and her bag and skipped lightly down the stairs.

She’d made it to her car when Kate, her next-door neighbor who was in her Intro to Marine Biology class, called from across the parking lot to her.

“Hey, Charlotte! You’re not going to the beach, are you?” Kate eyed the beach bag and towel. “The hurricane’s been downgraded to a tropical storm, but it’s really not safe out there.”

“Oh, I know,” Charlotte replied cheerfully. “I’m not actually going in the water,” she lied. “I’m just going for a quick jog.”

“Suit yourself, but I say the school’s gym and a dry, warm treadmill is a better choice.”

“I hear ya! Thanks!” Charlotte dismissed her with a wave and a smile as she slid behind the wheel of the old Focus. “And that is exactly why it’s good I don’t have any friends. Yet. Friends are nosy. Acquaintances are not so nosy.”

Charlotte pulled out of the parking lot and let her instincts guide her. She turned east onto Highway 87 because it felt like the right way to go, and began to meander along the seaside, happy that the impending storm made the usually heavy weekend traffic sparse.

She’d planned on parking and walking along the beach, listening for the sounds of singing in the waves, but decided to cross the bridge onto the Bolivar Peninsula instead. She hadn’t explored much there yet, and Charlotte quickly fell in love with the little strip of rugged lowlands.

She’d gone quite a ways east when the sign for Cobb’s Cove caught her eye, and she took a right, bumping along the narrow, sandy road until she came to a small, deserted beach parking lot where she parked. Grabbing her bag and her towel, Charlotte locked her car and then hurried toward the waves and the sound of beautiful voices that called seductively to her.





Mark


“Okay, breakfast is more than ready!” Eve called from the kitchen. “Mark, I do not care if that old man is still French-kissing that damn dog. He’s been out there half an hour. Go get him. Now.”

“I love it when Markey’s in trouble,” Matthew said without looking up from his laptop.

“Ditto, my bro!” Luke’s laugh was tinged with cruelty as he and Matthew fist-bumped.

“Grow up. Both of you,” Mark told them, then called to his sister. “I’ll go out and get him.” With one last frown aimed at his asshole brothers, Mark went out onto the porch.

The old man wasn’t in sight, so Mark sighed in resignation and made his way slowly down the stairs to the garage. He liked Bowen. He also respected him for not betraying his grandson, and for being a tough old guy and not being intimidated by the four of them. He stopped at the garage door, and then realized that he couldn’t get in that way without an opener, so he searched around and found the side door, which swung open easily.

“Mr. Bowen, sorry about rushing you, but Eve says breakfast is ready. She doesn’t cook very often, so she gets pretty touchy about all of us sitting down at the same time to eat when she does. I know you don’t want to leave Bugsy, but I’ll come back out here with you afterward. Maybe we could even take her for a little walk if you feel up to—” Mark’s words broke off as he realized the only thing in the garage was the sporty Miata and a bunch of woodworking equipment.

Mark backed out of the garage quickly, scanning the area nearby. With a terrible feeling of dread, he looked down and read the story in the sand.

The cane was there, discarded as superfluous. Near the cane were the tracks of a large, excited dog and a man who was clearly not injured or frail. They disappeared, side by side, into the sand and sea grass that stretched between the garage and the dunes that began several yards away.

Cursing under his breath, Mark sprinted back to the house.

“He’s gone!”

Luke and Matthew looked up disbelievingly as Eve hurried out of the kitchen. She wiped her hands on a dish towel; her expression was a storm cloud.

“What did you say?” she asked ominously.

“Bowen. He’s not in the garage. Neither is the dog. Their tracks lead off into the dunes.”

Luke laughed sarcastically. “Well, I don’t know what all the rush and fuss is about. The old bastard could barely walk.”

Matthew closed his laptop and stood, stretching like a lazy cat. “Yeah, the biggest pain in the ass about this is going to be hauling his crippled ass back here. Old geezer is thick. Probably weighs two-ten.”

“That fucking dog’s a pain in the ass, too,” Luke said. “I think it’s time fire had a little talk with her. It’ll be payback for Bowen running away.”

“Running!” Matthew made a show of laughing and wiping his eyes. “Luke, you crack me up.”

“Shut up. Both of you,” Eve said. “Let’s go get him.” She paused. “Luke, Matthew, there’s a bag of zip ties in the kitchen pantry. Get them. Grab some rags and rope, too.”