Ruth was up early. Sometimes her body was so full of energy it was all she could do to sit still until she worked out the wiggles. Walking was one of her best ways to move her muscles and calm her mind and body.

Talley was still sleeping, but no wonder. She’d been up late reading, and when she’d finally fallen asleep, she had tossed and turned and several times moaned in her sleep.

Ruth rose out of bed, picked up her clothes, and slipped out of the room to the bathroom, and when she returned, she was dressed and ready to leave. She reached for her shoes.

“Where are you going?” Talley asked, her voice thick with sleep.

“For a walk on the beach.”

“I’ll come.” She rolled on her back and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“You don’t have to,” Ruth said.

“I want to. Give me a second.” Talley tossed back the covers and slid her feet into worn slippers. She hurried down the hallway and, as promised, was back in minutes.

“You were reading late last night,” Ruth said.

Talley’s face was pale, and dark smudges hung under her eyes. “That Nancy Drew.”

They climbed down the steps and over the dunes, and the buttery-yellow sun peered toward the horizon. Ruth inhaled. Mornings were the best time.

As they walked along the beach, she looked up toward Carlotta’s house and saw that the lights were on. “She’s not usually up this early.”

Talley’s gaze trailed hers. “I imagine she keeps all kinds of hours. Days and nights always mixed up.”

As they moved down the beach, she noticed that the ocean was reclaiming the wreck. It was nearly covered in sand. She was sorry to see it go but glad the spirits would be put back to rest.

Beyond the wreck, Ruth spotted what looked like a creature lying in the surf. She’d seen her share of dead animals on the beach. Crabs, fish, birds, even an old sea turtle once. But as she hurried toward it, she realized it was a man and stopped short. His face was buried in the sand, but she recognized the trousers and shirt from yesterday. It was Mr. Manchester.

Talley screamed and jumped back.

As her surprise wore off, Ruth’s curiosity grew. She walked up to him and nudged him with her foot, thinking maybe he had passed out or was playing some kind of bad joke. He would be the type, and she could almost imagine him sitting up and yelling, Gotcha.

“Get away from him,” Talley said.

Ruth kicked the scuffed bottom of his wing tip shoe. His leg wobbled back and forth, but there was no resistance in the muscles. Still, he could be clever.

She nudged his midsection, where the damp shirt clung to his skin. “Time to get up, Mr. Manchester. You can’t lay in the surf.”