Liz had already called Sheriff Joshua Clayton only to have one of his deputies call her back, saying this wasn’t of an urgent nature.
“We’ve got a hurricane on its way,” the deputy told her. “Sheriff Clayton has already determined this case is on hold until after the storm.”
He was right. Finding a fishing cooler that looked like the one filled with body parts didn’t seem urgent. But something about finding it in the back of a funeral home kept Liz from dismissing it.
She could see the top floor of the Hilton. She pulled out her cell phone again. Punched 411 and asked for the phone number.
“Hilton Pensacola Beach Gulf Front. This is the front desk.”
“Yes, I’d like to talk to one of your guests. Maggie O’Dell.”
“All of our guests have checked out. Oh, wait. O’Dell. The FBI agent with Mr. Wurth?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“She is here until noon tomorrow.” Then he hesitated. “Is this urgent?”
Liz sighed, ran fingers through her hair as she checked the time on her dashboard. It was almost midnight.
“It’s just that I usually don’t ring my guests’ rooms after ten o’clock,” he said when she took too long to answer. “I can send you to voice mail and the red light will come on her phone.”
“That’s fine.”
While she waited for the connection, she tried to formulate what to say. Was she simply being paranoid? Overly observant? Obsessive?
At the beep she gave her name and cell-phone number, then simply said she had some information. Lame, she knew, but safe. And maybe in the morning when the outer bands of Hurricane Isaac started battering the area, Liz would think the identical fishing cooler was nothing but a mere coincidence.
There were only a few cars left in the lot and as Liz pulled onto Pensacola Beach Boulevard she recognized the faded red Impala. She had promised her dad she’d check on the surfer kid, Danny. She’d talk to him tomorrow. It was late. No sense in tapping on his car window tonight and scaring the poor kid to death.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 25
TUESDAY, AUGUST 25
CHAPTER 46
The pounding came from someplace other than inside Platt’s head. Of that he was certain, though the back of his head throbbed. He opened his eyes and took a few seconds to remember where he was.
Hotel room. The Hilton. Too many free mai tais. Rum gave him a killer headache every time.
He pushed himself off the sofa and that’s when he remembered Maggie. The thought spun him around to look back at the bedroom. Awake, he realized the pounding came from the front door of the suite, not the bedroom.
Platt grabbed his shirt from a nearby chair but didn’t bother with his shoes. It was probably just hotel staff. He noticed the telephone’s flashing red button. He didn’t remember the phone ringing but he could have missed it.
By the time he opened the door he had his shirt on but not buttoned. The black man in a green polo shirt looked puzzled.
“Yes?” Platt asked.
The man stared at him, backed up and checked the number beside the doorframe, then looked over Platt’s shoulder to get a glimpse inside. Not much success. He was shorter than Platt.
“I’m looking for Maggie O’Dell.”
“Are you from the hotel?”
“Ah, no. Homeland Security.”
“Door-to-door check?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do we need to leave?”
“Is Maggie here?”
“Charlie?” Maggie called from behind Platt.
With a glance over his shoulder, Platt saw her come out of the bathroom. Her hair was wet and she wore one of the hotel’s white robes. The fresh scent of soap wafted through the entry and as distracting as it was, Platt couldn’t take his eyes off Charlie, whose eyes had widened. His jaw hung open. It was classic.
“I’m sorry,” Platt said. “You’re Charlie Wurth. When you said Homeland Security, I thought you were here to tell us that we had to leave. I’m Benjamin Platt.”
He held his hand out and waited while Wurth processed the information, still trying to figure out what he was seeing. Platt spotted the paper bag in Wurth’s right hand. He could smell the pastry as Wurth moved it to his left hand in order to shake.
“Come on in, Charlie. Keep Ben company while I put on some clothes,” Maggie told him. “I overslept.” Then to Platt and with a smile, she said, “I actually slept.”
“I’ll bet,” Platt heard Wurth say, but under his breath.
Maggie was already headed through the bedroom door and Platt swore he saw a bit of a skip in her step.
CHAPTER 46
The pounding came from someplace other than inside Platt’s head. Of that he was certain, though the back of his head throbbed. He opened his eyes and took a few seconds to remember where he was.
Hotel room. The Hilton. Too many free mai tais. Rum gave him a killer headache every time.