Free Swept Away by Elizabeth Seckman Page A

Ed sounded farther away. He was probably trying to escape back to the TV room.
    “Hold on a minute, there Mr. Neilson. Have you heard of Bo Jackson?”
    “Yeah, he went to school with Tucker.”
    “No, a famous athlete Bo?”
    “No. Oh wait—there was that guy on the Nike commercial…or was it Gatorade…that Bo knows this and that campaign?”
    “Hey Mom, look, you and Ed go google him. I need to get to bed.”
    “Of course. Certainly. Love you, sweetie. Keep your pants on.”
    “Love you too,” he said before he hung up the phone.
    Tucker grabbed his beer and took it to the couch. He opened the email on his phone. Santos sent him police reports. He had to give his friend credit; he was diligent.
    The information in the police reports was much the same as the news articles. The only new interesting information was Jeb Stone’s statement. He denied raping his stepdaughter…swore it was consensual. That he loved the girl, and she loved him. A real Woody Allen sort of asshole. He also swore Amanda Stone shot her own daughter and himself in an attempt to frame him. Tucker flipped through the pages. Jeb Stone wasn’t asked a single question about Maddy.  What the hell? Maddy was simply chalked up to a runaway? After a murderous pedophile was the last one to see her?
    He shut off the phone and switched on the TV. The local newsman predicted a storm brewing in the Caribbean. The island would have some heavy rains in the long-range forecast. Josie was right. A storm was coming.
    Going to the kitchen, he grabbed more beer. 
    Something moved outside his window. Pulling back the curtain, he saw her. Evidently Josie couldn’t sleep either and was going for a midnight stroll. He dropped his beer on the table and followed her. “Josie?” he called. She didn’t turn or even seem to notice he was behind her.
    Walking as if in a trance, she made her way to a small graveyard. The white rounded head stones were ancient, the writing rubbed smooth and unreadable by time. The once-white picket fence surrounding the graves was now a weathered mildew-gray with peeling paint and rotting boards. On the crooked gate hung a dead flowered wreath adorned with a tattered bow. The constant sound of chirping crickets seemed louder in the dark, and the wind blew in low, warm gusts.
    Josie opened the gate and stepped inside. Moving gracefully around the stones, she finally knelt. Bowing her head, she sat still a long time before standing and turning, nearly bumping into Tucker. 
    “You’re up late,” she said.
    “I saw you through the window, and wondered where you were going?”
    Laying a hand on his cheek, she brushed her thumb across his skin. “I needed to think some things over.”
    Looking around at the creepy place, he asked, “Here? You come here to think?”
    “Sometimes.” She walked slowly toward the gate, pausing a moment as if waiting for him to follow.
    They left the graveyard wordlessly. Once they were on the road, she turned toward him, taking his hand in hers.  “You’re troubled. I feel it. The pain I deeper than losing a friend.”
    His mouth went dry and the muscles on his shoulders tensed. He had no clue how to respond to a revelation this insane by a chick, albeit a hot one, who was just meditating in a grave yard.
    “I’m sorry.” Josie sighed and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You have such a good heart.” Then she stopped in the middle of the road and kissed him—just a slight brush over his lips with her own cool ones. She was so close he could smell the honey suckle, feel the warmth from her body. Proximity so enticing his mouth watered, but still, hanging out in graveyards was crazy. “What’s in the graveyard?”
    “Dead people.” She grinned. Her eyes sparkled with mischief in the moonlight.
    Tucker couldn’t help but smile back. He decided maybe it wasn’t all that odd. “Wow. A comedienne too. You’re freshly amazing at every turn.”
    Josie laughed, her body dipping toward him,