“Dippy eggs.” That’s what he called them because he liked to dip his toast into the yolk. When he didn’t answer she added, “Sunny-side up, right? Or have you changed your preference.”
“No, no, that’s perfect.” He stayed watching. “You can cook?”
“Dad, I’ve lived on my own for eight years now. What do you think I do? Eat out all the time?”
“Trish always said you didn’t cook.”
“Yeah, I bet she did.”
“So what did Trish say?”
“About what?”
“About Scott being drunk.”
“I didn’t tell her.”
“She wasn’t with him?”
“Uh, noooo. You think he would be drunk if Trish was with him?”
“He’s an odd duck. Won’t even have a beer with me.”
Walter shook his head. Now at the refrigerator he poured orange juice for both of them. Then he did something that almost made Liz drop her spatula. He started setting the table: plates, coffee cups, sugar bowl, cream, silverware, even napkins and place mats. She stopped herself from commenting. Trish would have to correct him, make sure he switched the fork to the other side of the plate or that he folded the napkin. Liz just dropped bread in the toaster.
“I’m off until noon today,” she told him. “Anything I can do to help you?”
“In the canteen?”
“No, Dad. Here at the house. For the hurricane. Did you get everything you need? I’m sure store shelves are picked over by today.”
“Apple Market had all their refrigerated items discounted. Ground beef, twenty-five cents a pound.”
“Aren’t your own refrigerators full enough?”
“Maybe I’ll take the grill and do up a few burgers alongside the hot dogs.”
“Are you really taking the canteen out on the beach today?”
“Thought I would for a few hours around lunch.”
“People are going to be packing up. Everything will be closing down.”
“Exactly, and folks are still gonna need to get a bite to eat.”
She prepared their plates and, again, stopped herself from commenting. The canteen had saved him. Liz was willing to recognize that even if Trish wasn’t. It had given him something to do after their mom was gone. He didn’t need the money. The house was paid for and his pension as a retired navy commander seemed to be more than enough for him. But he did need the routine the Coney Island Canteen had brought into his life. More important, it surrounded him with people. Everybody on the beach knew the hot-dog man, or if they knew him well, it was “Mr. B.”
“So what will they have you doing today?” He asked as he dipped the corner of his toast into his egg yolk.
“Little bit of everything, I imagine. Patrolling the waters, warning boaters, at least until the winds get out of hand. Then we’ll probably be helping evacuate.”
“You know Danny? Works on the beach cleanup crew? Little guy. Loves to surf.”
She watched her dad out of the corner of her eye. He was devouring her breakfast and she wanted to smile. That was probably the biggest compliment Walter Bailey could pay her.
“I’ve seen him around.”
“Lives in his car. An old red Chevy Impala.”
“Yeah, he lives in that car?”
“Make sure he evacuates, would you? He’s from Kansas where they try to outrun tornadoes. I just want to make sure he doesn’t think he can do the same with a hurricane.”
“Sure. I’ll look for him.”
“Say, whatever happened to that fishing cooler?”
Before Liz could answer there was a knock at the front door, a twist of a key followed by, “Hello, hello.”
Trish stomped into the kitchen. She didn’t seem to notice that she was interrupting a meal. She led off with: “I’m going to kill that husband of mine.”
CHAPTER 34
Maggie stared down at the male torso on the stainless-steel table and couldn’t help thinking how much it looked like a slab of meat.
“Body was refrigerated, possibly frozen,” Dr. Tomich, the medical examiner, said into the wireless microphone clipped to the top of his scrubs. His comments were meant for his recorded notes, not necessarily for his audience. “Cuts are precise. Efficient, but not surgical.”
“What does that mean?” the Escambia County sheriff asked from the corner. This morning he paced out his impatience along the wall of the autopsy suite. “I don’t want to be in the way,” he’d said earlier. But he didn’t want to miss anything, either.
Technically the contents of the fishing cooler were under Sheriff Clayton’s jurisdiction. When pieces of a body are found, the county with the heart—in this case, the whole torso—usually holds jurisdiction. Maggie had watched law enforcement agencies argue over who got to be in charge. This sheriff had put up a good fight to not be in charge. In his defense, Maggie understood that he was preoccupied with hurricane preparations. Making sure people were safe and ready for the storm certainly held more urgency than a body that had been missing and frozen for who knew how long.
“It means the person who did this knew how to dismember a body. But he or she is not necessarily a doctor or surgeon.”