Free Watch for the Dead (Relatively Dead Book 4) by Sheila Connolly

shape.”
    “You’re right. In fact, it came through the biggest storm of the last century pretty well, I think.”
    “Do you remember that one?” Ellie asked.
    Abby laughed. “No, I’d have to be ancient. That one took place in 1938, long before I was born. There’s a book of newspaper articles about it in the living room, that somebody collected. We could look at that—if you promise it won’t scare you.”
    Ellie looked out the window. “Doesn’t look like there’s a storm, does it?”
    “No, it’s still far away, but it’s big and it can move fast. Depends on a lot of things.”
    “Can we wait until morning before we decide?” Ellie asked.
    “I think that’s okay. I’ll talk to Ned and see what he thinks.”
    “Okay. Can I see that book?”
    “Fine—you can look at that, and I’ll talk to Ned.”
    They adjourned to the living room, and Abby located the old binder that she had set on the dining room table earlier and handed it to Ellie, who sat down on a faded couch and started leafing through it. Abby took her phone out to the porch. The sun was setting, and the sky looked kind of bleached out. The sun was not red, anyway. What was the old saying? “Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.” She hit Ned’s number.
    “Hey, there,” he answered quickly. “How’re you holding up?”
    “We’re fine. We spent the day looking at a lighthouse and a nice empty beach and Provincetown. I made Ellie taste a bite of lobster, and we watched saltwater taffy being made. Think I’ve warped her for life?” Abby joked.
    “I doubt it. Listen, about the weather . . .”
    “What?” Abby said.
    “It looks like it’s heading out to sea, but you’re pretty exposed there. Are you comfortable with that?”
    “Ned, I’ve never known you to worry like this. I’m not playing ostrich here, you know. From the weather reports I’ve just looked at, all we’ll get is wet, with some wind. This house is sturdy and well maintained. We’ve got real shutters, not just those glue-on plastic ones—I checked. We can close those. We’ve got flashlights and batteries if the power goes out. It’s just a storm. Oh, and Ellie and I are going to look at the album about the last big hurricane, which was truly awful. That should make this weather look like a little sprinkle. So could you maybe back off?”
    Ned sighed but didn’t argue. “All right. I’ll try to get away Friday if I can. Saturday definitely. Call me if you’ve got trouble.”
    “I will.” Abby refrained from saying that if they got into trouble on the Cape, there was no way Ned could get to them. But the thought that he wanted to was comforting. “By the way, you might want to nail down a few bits on our house before you leave. I wouldn’t want anybody to get whacked by a piece of flying gingerbread.”
    “Oh. Right. If I have time. Love you!”
    Abby signed off in a pensive mood, trying to figure out why Ned’s anxiety level was so high. Normally he was fairly laid-back. Of course, he’d been working hard lately, so maybe he was more tired than usual. And now Ellie was here on the Cape, and if anything happened to her—not that that was likely—then he’d take the blame. So he was being cautious, right? Over-protective? Was there really anything worth worrying about?
    Then Ellie called out, “Hey, come see this!”

Chapter 8
     
    The yellowed clippings in the old album and the grainy images they contained seemed somehow unreal, like they’d been fabricated. The descriptions of the Great New England Hurricane were mind-boggling. Unlike a lot of storms, this one hadn’t lost strength when it made landfall, but kept right on going, with sustained hurricane-force winds. The storm surge had averaged fourteen to eighteen feet, and on parts of Cape Cod the tides had reached as much as twenty-five feet. Areas of Falmouth had been under up to eight feet of water. Some areas of the state had received as