Damaged

CHAPTER 31

"Don't take this the wrong way, O'Dell, but you look like something the cat dragged in."

Maggie didn't want to tell Charlie Wurth that she felt a little bit like she had been dragged. She'd been up all night with insomnia.

After her helicopter adventure she should have been exhausted enough to fall into bed and sleep. Instead she found herself on the beach from midnight till two in the morning walking the shore and watching the full moon light up the waves. Liz had warned her that it wasn't safe to be alone on the beach at night. But Maggie figured that advice didn't apply if you carried a .38 Smith & Wesson stuffed in your waistband.

"Couldn't sleep," she told Wurth and left it at that. No sense explaining about leaky compartments in her subconscious and ghosts from past murder cases keeping her awake at night.

Wurth had promised a real breakfast. Now, as he held open the door to the cafe, Maggie realized that she shouldn't have been surprised to see a number of strangers waving and saying "good morning" and "hello." Less than twenty-four hours in the city and Charlie Wurth not only knew his way around but also seemed to know the hot spot for breakfast.

The Coffee Cup in downtown Pensacola was crowded, some clientele in shirts and ties with BlackBerrys and others in boots and jeans with the local newspaper scattered across the tabletop.

Despite the clatter of stoneware, the sizzle of bacon, and the shouts of waitresses to the short-order cooks, several customers immediately recognized Wurth. A businessman at a window table waved a hello and another at the counter looked up from his conversation to nod at him. A tall, skinny waitress called him "hon" like they were old friends and led them to a table that was still being bussed. As soon as they sat, she handed them menus.

"Two coffees?" she said, plopping down stoneware mugs in front of them.

"Black coffee for me, Rita. Diet Pepsi for my partner, here."

"Diet Coke okay, hon?" But she asked Wurth, not Maggie, while she retrieved the mug in front of her as quickly as she had set it down.

Wurth looked to Maggie and waited for an answer, which made Rita look to Maggie. She had to give him credit. It would have been so much easier to just say yes. But it was a big deal to Charlie Wurth that the people surrounding him were always acknowledged.

"Diet Coke's fine," Maggie said.

She waited for the waitress to leave while taking in the cafe's surroundings. Then she leaned across the small table. "How do you already know all these people?"

"Had coffee here yesterday. You can meet all the movers and shakers in a community if you find their watering hole."

He paused to wave at two women who had just come in.

"And believe me," he smiled and leaned in, "with a hurricane coming, the federal guy who's promising to bring the cavalry is much more popular than Jim Cantore from the Weather Channel. You'll see there's already a couple of signs telling him to stay the hell away."

"Who's Jim Cantore?"

He tilted his head at her, trying to tell if she was serious. "I forget you're a hurricane neophyte. With the last several storms, anywhere Cantore goes so goes the hurricane. He either has an uncanny ability to predict or he's a jinx. Either way, nobody wants to see him here."

"Is he here?"

"If he isn't, he will be. It's looking like the Panhandle is Isaac's bull's-eye."

He sat back when he saw the waitress heading to their table. She brought Maggie's Diet Coke and a pot of steaming coffee to fill Wurth's mug.

"So what can I get you two?" This time she included Maggie.

"I'll have a cheese-and-mushroom omelet."

The waitress kept looking at her like she was waiting for more. Finally she said, "That's it, hon?"

"You gotta have some grits with that," Wurth told her. "Bring her some grits, Rita. I'll have two eggs scrambled, sausage links, wheat toast, hash browns, and the Nassau grits."

As soon as Rita turned to leave, Maggie raised her eyebrow at Wurth's breakfast order.

"What? There's a hurricane coming. Might be the last hot meal I get," he said.

He glanced around and leaned in again.

"This one's looking bad. Bulldozed over Cuba like it was a speed bump. Land masses usually slow them down a little. Instead, Isaac's entering the Gulf as a cat 5, sustained winds at 156 miles per hour. There's nothing between here and there to slow it down. Another day over warm waters and this monster might pick up even more steam. If it makes landfall as a cat 5, that's brutal. We're no longer talking about damage, we're talking catastrophic damage."

Maggie's eyes darted around but she stayed with elbows on the table, hands circling her condensation-drenched plastic glass. "I guess I'm surprised there doesn't seem to be much panic or anxiety."

"Oh, there's anxiety. Long lines yesterday. Hardware stores are sold out of generators and plywood. Grocery stores' shelves are picked clean. Can't find any bagged ice or bottled water. Most of the gas stations are pumped dry or just about there. But these folks"--Wurth pointed discreetly with his chin--"they look out for themselves and their neighbors. They know the drill. The Panhandle has already had a couple of tropical storms hit earlier this year, and with three hurricanes making landfall on Florida, they realize their odds.

"That's the locals. Now the transplants--and there are plenty of them--they're the ones I have to convince to evacuate and get to a shelter. The city commissioners will be declaring a state of emergency later this morning. You watch. We start getting closer to the realization that this storm's gonna hit, that quiet anxiety will boil. Tempers will flare. Patience wears thin. We'll start getting some pushing and shoving."

Rita appeared again with half a dozen plates to set on their table. Maggie had to admit, everything smelled wonderful and it reminded her that she hadn't had dinner last night.

She sliced into the omelet with her fork and melted cheese oozed out. Wurth scooped his grits into his scrambled eggs and using a slice of toast as a wedge he proceeded to wolf down the concoction.

"I haven't exactly figured out what to do with you," he said in between bites.

"You'll drop me at the morgue. I can probably find my way back to the hotel."

He shook his head, smothering his hash browns with salt and pepper. "No, no, I can pick you up and get you back to the hotel. I mean during the hurricane. We won't be able to stay on the beach. Actually most of the hotel guests were checking out this morning. The manager's doing us a favor letting us stay until he's ordered to leave. Which will probably be tomorrow, depending on how soon the outer bands hit."

"Ordered to leave?"

"Mandatory evacuation on the beach and in low-lying areas. Sheriff's department goes door to door. Anyone wants to stay they have to sign off that they're doing so at their own risk and are relieving the authorities of any further obligation."

"Where will you be during the storm?"

"Probably working one of the shelters."

"Then I'll work one of the shelters."

"I can't ask you to do that, Maggie."

"You're not asking. I'm volunteering."

He put his fork down and sat back to look at her. "I don't know what I was thinking when I asked you to ride down here with me. All three hurricanes this season I've been the anti-Jim Cantore. Wherever I was sent, the storm turned and headed in the opposite direction. But I should have known my luck would change. Now I've brought you smack-dab in the middle and this one looks like it'll be a monster."

"Charlie, I can take care of myself. It's one storm. How bad can it be?"

The look he gave her said she had no idea.