Riptide by Catherine Coulter

day, gone the next. No word, no message, nothing at all. That was

fifteen months, two weeks, and three days ago. She’s listed as a

Missing Person.”

“I’m very sorry,Tyler.”

“Yeah, so am I. So is her son.” He shrugged. “We’re getting by.

It gets better as the time passes.”

What an odd way to put it. Wasn’t Sam his son, too?

“The townspeople are like folk everywhere. They don’t want to believe that Ann just up and left Riptide. They’d rather think I did

her in.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I agree. Now, Becca, don’t worry. Things will get better. I’m an

expert at things eventually getting better, particularly when they

can’t possibly get any worse.”

She sure hoped he was right. They made a date to go to the gym

together the following day. His wife had just walked out–on him

and on her own little boy? That had to be incredibly tough for both

of them. Why did folks want to believe he’d kill her?

Three nights later, on June 26, Becca was watching TV, not to

see if she was still a footnote in Governor Bledsoe’s ongoing story,

but to check in on the weather again. The most violent storm to

hit the Maine coast in nearly fifteen years was surging relentlessly

toward them, bringing with it forecasts of fifty-mile-per-hour

winds, torrential rains, and the probability of immense property

damage. Everyone was warned to go to shelters, which Becca considered

doing for about three minutes. No, she wasn’t about to

leave. Being with other people up close and personal as one would

be in a shelter would put her at greater risk of being recognized.

She didn’t think many of the Mainers would even consider leaving

their homes. They were incredibly tough, only nodding philosophically

when discussing the incoming storm.

Becca paced the widow’s walk as the storm approached, watching

the skies, the now disappearing stars as clouds blanketed them,

the boats in the harbor, bobbing about in the rising waves. Then

the winds suddenly increased and tore through the trees. The air

turned as cold as a morning in January. When the rain finally hit,

crashing down hard and fast, she was driven inside. It was just before

ten o’clock at night.

The lights flickered. Becca had bought candles and matches and

she set them on her bedside table. She paused to listen as the storm

bludgeoned the shoreline. She heard a newscaster predict great destruction

of lobster boats and pleasure craft if they hadn’t been

thoroughly secured. She could imagine what the harbor looked

like now, waves frothing high, whipping against the sides of the

boats, probably sending water crashing over the sides.

She shivered as she pulled on a sweater and snuggled down into

her bed. She kept the TV on nonstop weather coverage and looked

at the light show outside her bedroom window. The thunder was

deafening. The house rattled with the force of it.

The meteorologist on channel 7 said that the winds were

strengthening, nearly up to sixty miles per hour now. He said

people should go to official shelters away from the coast for protection.

Oddly, he sounded excited. Becca still had no intention of

leaving. This old house had doubtless seen its share of comparably

violent storms in its hundred-year history just as the Piper Light

house had up the road. Both had survived. Both would survive another

storm, she didn’t doubt that, although she couldn’t help but

cringe as the house groaned and creaked.

Suddenly, with no warning, thunder boomed, lightning streaked

through the sky, and the lights went out.

Chapter 6

It wasn’t dark for long. The lightning and thunder kept the sky lit

up for a good five minutes, without a break. She could easily read

her clock. It was just after one in the morning. She finally couldn’t

stand it any longer and reached for the phone, to call Tyler, but the

line was dead. She stared at the receiver, then looked out her bedroom

window as a huge streak of lightning lit up the sky. She felt

the thunder deep in her eardrums as it boomed, almost simultaneous

with the flash. It would be all right. It was only a storm.

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