“He can pick me up at the Hilton. Have him ring me twice when he gets here and I’ll meet him in the lobby.”
Platt got off the phone just as Maggie returned.
“You’re leaving. Going back.” She said it with no hint of surprise.
“Yes. Sometimes there’s no pleasure in being right.”
“You got that right,” Wurth said, getting up, ready to leave.
“I’m going to stay on the beach this morning,” Maggie told Wurth.
“That’s not a good idea.” He looked at Platt. “Tell her that’s not a good idea.”
Platt shrugged. “What makes you think she’ll listen to me?”
“They’ll be closing Bob Sykes Bridge,” Wurth told her, “and the Navarre Bridge at one o’clock. There’s no other way off Pensacola Beach.”
“It’s okay. Liz Bailey promised I’d have a way off.”
“And what, might I ask, is it you hope to accomplish by staying?”
“Come on, Charlie, you brought me down here for a case. You can’t blame me for wanting to do some footwork.”
“Speaking of foot”—Platt held out the plastic bag with the metal bit—“I think I know what this is. It’s shrapnel.”
Maggie took the bag and looked at it again. “As in shrapnel from an explosive?”
He nodded. “I’ve removed my share of this stuff from soldiers in Afghanistan. I’ve been staring at this piece for the last hour trying to figure out how it ended up in a severed foot found in the Gulf of Mexico.”
CHAPTER 50
Liz came down the steps from her bedroom and dropped her duffel bag in the foyer. She was about to tap on the master-bedroom door to say goodbye to her dad when she heard him in the kitchen. She found him down on his knees, rummaging through one of the lower cabinets. He had food packages scattered on the floor around him. And more surprising, he was dressed in his navy jumpsuit, his canteen uniform.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
“Oh, hello, darlin’. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, I’m on my way out. I thought you’d be still sleeping.”
“Here they are,” he said as he pulled out a box. He stood and wiped at his knees while he handed her the box of power bars. “These are supposed to be really good. Lots of protein. They aren’t the cheap ones. Throw a few in your bag. Take the box if you have room.”
She took the box and watched him stuff the other packages back into the cabinet.
“You dug through the cabinet just for these?”
“I know they’ll probably have MREs for you but they get old fast. I bought these last week thinking you’d like them.”
Liz wondered if he was simply avoiding the subject of last night. Maybe he didn’t remember. She wouldn’t embarrass him.
“When did you get your car?”
So he did remember.
“Last night. Scott took me back to the beach.”
“Scott?”
“He was here picking up the generator you loaned him.”
Walter stared at her. “I know I had a bit to drink yesterday, but I haven’t talked to Scott in over a week.”
“Are you sure? Maybe he talked to you while you were at the Tiki Bar.”
“Nope. Had a few drinks with a friend of his from out of town.” He closed the cabinet and started pulling items from the refrigerator. “Nice enough but a strange young fellow. Told me his daddy’s name is Phillip Norris but he calls himself Joe Black. Now why would a boy not use his daddy’s name?”
“Maybe his mom and dad weren’t married. He told you he’s a friend of Scott’s?”
“No, not exactly.” He started searching through another cabinet, this time pulling out a small blender. “He said it was nice to be drinking with someone he liked. Said that he’d spent the last two evenings on the beach with a business associate who was a—okay, now this is his word, not mine—he said he was a dickhead funeral director. Doesn’t that sound like Scott? You saw Scott drunk the other night on the beach. It has to be Scott.”
Liz wondered if Joe Black was the friend of Scott’s who owned the fishing cooler. Didn’t he say it belonged to his friend Joe?
Her dad was gathering and arranging an array of items on the countertop: a banana, a bottle of honey, a jug of orange juice, and a carton of milk.
“What are you making here, Dad?”
“Oh, just something. I’ve got a little bit of a headache.”
“Like a hangover?”
He frowned and she let it go.
“You’re not taking the canteen to the beach today, are you?”
“Just for an hour or two.”
“Dad, they’re closing the Bob Sykes Bridge at one.”
“I’ll be gone by then. Right now there’ll be some hungry people on the beach. And I need to check on some friends.”
“Promise me you’ll be back here by noon.”
He nodded. “So I won’t see you until after the storm?”
“I’ll call and let you know when we get to Jacksonville. We’ll be doing search and rescue until they tell us to get to safety. I’m thinking that’ll be sometime this afternoon.”
“You be careful. No hotdogging.”
“You be careful, too, hot-dog man.”