“Are you okay?”
He sat across from her, grabbing a menu before he got settled.
“Of course, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He scooted the wooden chair in, scraping the floor and arranging himself so he could see out the window. Without looking at her, he said, “They have excellent cream of asparagus soup here.”
Sam shrugged it off. Jeffery was an interesting study in contrasts: hot then cold, black and white, up and down. Like a sports car, he could go from calm to enraged in less than sixty seconds. However, she had no inclination to study him. It was tough enough keeping up with him and staying out of his way or on his good side.
“What can I get for you two?” A waitress appeared and slammed down two glasses of water. The one she set in front of Jeffery splashed over the rim.
Jeffery stared at the puddle like it was toxic waste while he held the menu, his elbow planted on the table not far from the spill. Immediately Sam’s jaw started to clench. She had witnessed him blow up at a waiter for bringing him a salad fork when he had asked specifically for a dinner fork.
“I’ll have a bowl of the cream of asparagus soup,” Sam said quickly, in an attempt to distract Jeffery.
“Oh honey, we don’t have the asparagus. It’s chicken and rice today.”
“I just told my colleague how delicious the cream of asparagus is, Rita.” Jeffery read the waitress’s nameplate with what Sam recognized as his best fake smile, the calm before the storm. “You sure your cook can’t whip some up for us?”
“Asparagus is on Mondays, sweetie. I can bring you a couple bowls of chicken and rice.”
“You know what, I bet the chicken and rice is just as delicious,” Sam said. “I’ll have that. And a grilled cheese.”
She closed the menu and slapped it down, hoping to distract Jeffery. She tried not to wince, tried not to look at him. It was never pretty. First, he’d tell the waitress that she obviously had no idea who she was waiting on. Then he’d ask to speak to the cook. Once in a Miami restaurant he made Sam translate his complaints into Spanish along with instructions on how his entrée should be cooked and served.
Sam looked away, glancing out the window to avoid watching the education of Rita. She didn’t even see the stream of smoke until Jeffery’s arm shot out across the table, pointing it out.
“What the hell is that?” He was already on his feet and headed for the door.
CHAPTER 40
“One body doesn’t mean it’s a serial killer,” Maggie told Ganza. “And thankfully the Edmund Kempers of the world are still a rare breed.”
He nodded and took a bite of lasagna.
“I just can’t figure out how the arsons play into the murders,” Maggie said. “Kunze wants Tully and me to profile this arsonist, but so far he blows away—no pun intended—all the typical motives.”
“ATF’s ruled out insurance fraud, from what I’ve been told,” Ganza said.
“Did they bring you evidence from last week’s fires?”
He shook his head. “Kunze asked me to take a look at these two. Said no one could connect these warehouses. Told me to see what I could do.”
“All of the warehouses are owned by different companies, so revenge seems unlikely. They’ve all happened in the middle of the night and in the same vicinity. Racine said the cops have canvassed that whole area and have come up empty-handed.”
“Nobody’s seen anything?”
“Or they’re not willing to talk about it.”
“Looked like a homeless district.”
“It is. But if he’s targeting the homeless why dump the body of a victim from somewhere else? Someone who’s not homeless? And then not burn the body?”
“You’re sure she wasn’t homeless?”
“Shaved legs, manicure, pedicure.”
“He could have picked her up somewhere on a road trip.”
“Racine said it looked like road-trip food in the woman’s stomach. Are you thinking she may have gotten stranded?”
“Actually, I was wondering if she could have been a prostitute.”
“Somewhere along the highway?”
“I believe they call them love lizards … Wait, that’s not correct.” He held up his empty fork like an orchestra conductor, as though the gesture helped conjure up the correct term. “Lot lizards. It’s a whole subculture at interstate rest areas and truck stops. They say it’s impossible for a regular traveler to detect them but if you’re a trucker with a CB radio there are certain channels you can go to and order up prostitutes, drugs, whatever you want, wherever you want it, and any time of the day or night.”
He proceeded to fork off another piece of lasagna and stuff it into his mouth.
“And you know all this because?”