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

much as six inches of rain, which of course had resulted in a lot of flooding. Nearly nine thousand homes had been destroyed, and almost twice as many damaged. The fishing fleets of southern New England were all but wiped out. At least five hundred people had died; some estimates put it closer to eight hundred.
    Abby kept shaking her head in disbelief. One of the worst aspects of it all was that at least one member of the then United States Weather Bureau had seen what was coming and tried to warn people, but he had been overruled by older and wiser heads. It was as though the official forecasters couldn’t even find the storm or estimate its size. Surely things were better now? There were all sorts of tracking systems and satellites. It couldn’t happen again. Could it?
    Abby checked the weather forecast on her phone again. Still no sense of urgency, but it seemed to her that the estimates of wind speed and rainfall accumulation had both increased. Dusk had fallen. It was probably too late to go knocking on the neighbors’ doors and asking what their opinion of the coming storm was. If they were renters, they probably didn’t know any more than she did. Did her “woo-woo” powers predict weather? Abby stilled for a moment to see if she could sense anything, then laughed: no. Ridiculous. She “saw” human experiences, but she couldn’t follow giant weather patterns.
    “It’s getting late, Ellie. How about a bath?”
    “Do I have to?” Ellie whined, sounding like every other kid Abby had ever babysat for.
    “Yes. Look at your feet—they’re gray.”
    “All right, I guess,” Ellie grumbled. She followed Abby up the stairs, where they experimented with the vintage bathtub until they could make the spigots produce hot water. The bathroom, like the rest of the house, was spotlessly clean, and well supplied with fluffy bath towels, soap and a variety of bubble baths, which Ellie seized on quickly. It didn’t take long to fill the tub, with more bubbles than water. Ellie was unself-conscious about shucking off her clothes and climbing in, and Abby kept an eye on her, only to make sure she didn’t slip. She wondered idly if Leslie had packed enough clothes for a week or more, or if she’d have to find a way to do laundry. Maybe someone had hidden a tidy stackable washer/dryer in the house somewhere? There was no basement, since they were so close to sea level, but there were probably closets she hadn’t explored yet.
    Finally Ellie, clad in an oversized tee shirt, was tucked into bed with a book. Abby kissed her on the forehead and went back to her own room, where she tried for a while to read. Once again her concentration failed her, so she decided to take a quick shower and go to bed herself. As she passed Ellie’s room, she could see that the light was off.
    The wind picked up during the night, loud enough to wake Abby. She lay listening for a while. There was a loose shutter somewhere—she wasn’t sure whether it was on their house or a neighbor’s, but it swung back and forth, hitting the side of whichever house. Abby was startled when Ellie suddenly appeared and slipped into bed beside her. “Scary,” was all she said. Abby didn’t protest; she was glad of the human company, not that the two of them could do any more together than Abby could on her own. Still, having that small warm body next to her, trusting her to keep her safe, was oddly comforting. Abby listened while Ellie’s breathing slowed as she fell asleep quickly.
    After a while Abby realized she was picking up something else, apart from the new sounds of the approaching storm: that odd feeling both she and Ellie had experienced when they arrived was back, and if anything, it seemed stronger. She could feel it in her chest now. Someone was—or had been—very unhappy here, in this house. She had no way of knowing who, which led her to two conclusions: this person was somehow related to her, because she didn’t pick up any old random