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.
CHAPTER 32
Scott Larsen had left before Trish woke up. He felt like he hadn't slept at all. His eyelids were heavy. His head throbbed. His mouth insisted he had swallowed a wad of cotton. Even his hair hurt when he combed it. Never again would he drink so much. In fact, he didn't care if he had an ounce of alcohol ever again.
To make matters worse, he saw Joe had been back to the funeral home. One tap of a button and the alarm system revealed that someone using Scott's key and code had entered at 3:10 in the morning and left at 4:00. What the hell was Joe doing?
Scott hoped he wouldn't be sorry he had given Joe the code. As he came in the back door of the funeral home he caught himself wincing, the throbbing in his head bouncing off the backs of his eyeballs. He dreaded finding another mess in the embalming room. He could already smell the pungent odor of cleaners mixed with ... what was that? Oh, yeah. Menthol.
He stopped before he got to the doorway. Clean. Thank God, it was clean. So the odors were from their afternoon work. Maybe Joe had added some specimens to the walk-in fridge. Scott was on his way to check when the buzzer at the back door went off. He glanced at his watch. The power guy he had called earlier was right on time. Damn well should be for what they were charging just to show Scott where to flip a switch for the generator.
'Mr. Larsen?' The guy towered over Scott. Or maybe the massive tool belt and size-twelve work boots made the man seem huge. An embroidered patch on his breast pocket said his name was Ted.
'That's right, I'm Larsen,' Scott told him while he straightened his tie. It was a nervous habit and he stopped himself. Stupid to think he needed to show some authority with this guy. 'I think all the electrical stuff is outside, around back.'
Scott led the way. He could feel sweat sliding down his back and sticking to his crisply pressed shirt. Luckily he kept spares in the office. Nobody trusted a sweaty funeral director.
The sky was murky, but it didn't seem to block out the heat. If anything it heightened the humidity. Scott noticed the wind had picked up. Son of a bitch, that storm might actually hit.
'Here it is.' He pointed to the rectangular metal boxes with electrical wires weaving their way out of the top and bottom.
Ted flipped open the box's door.
'Yeah, you're all set up.'
Scott held back a sigh of relief. Of course, he was set up. He just needed to know how to turn the damn generator on.
'You push this button.' Ted pointed. 'Followed by this one. That sequence, okay?' He was talking to him as if Scott were a third grader.
'Yeah, sure. No problem.' Scott answered, wanting to add 'bastard.'
'Then you pull this lever.'
'Got it. Guess I'm good to go.' He turned, ready to walk the guy back.
'Wait a minute. What's this one?' Ted had opened the other box.
'Oh that's some stuff I added when I bought the place. A walkway to connect the buildings. Brand-new walk- in cooler. Couple of freezers. The old ones were too small. Pretty outdated.'
'You know that everything on this circuit board isn't connected?'
'What are you talking about?'
'You won't have generator power for anything you added on these circuits.'
'No, that can't be right.'
'It's not connected.' Ted pointed down below both boxes.
'Will it take long for you to connect it?'
Ted laughed. Then he must have seen the panic on Scott's face. 'Sorry, man. Even if I could connect it, your current generator wouldn't have enough juice for everything on the second panel.'
'What the hell am I supposed to do?'
