Riptide Read Free Page B

not gonna happen, Woody.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Well, in all likelihood, pieces would wash up on the beach, not a body missing one foot.”
    Woody gave Wyatt a stricken look and Wyatt held up a hand.
    “I’m kidding, Woody.” He pulled a piece of note paper out of his shirt pocket and held it out to the other man. “I wrote some notes down for you. Just keep it short and simple. I appreciate it.”
    Woody stared at the paper for a moment, as if not taking the paper might make the foot go away.
    “Woody,” Wyatt said firmly.
    Woody reached out and took the note with two fingers. He shook his head slowly. “Between BP and storms and the feet, we just can’t get a break down here.”
    Wyatt headed for the door. “Cheer up, Woody. The weather’s looking good.”
    He waved goodbye to Mrs. Dailey, as he hotfooted it to the door before she could tell him how upset she was with him. The mid-morning heat blasted him as he stepped outside to the sidewalk. The air was humid enough to make him feel like he was wading to his cruiser rather than walking.
    His door handle was scorching and he put a finger in his mouth to soothe it, then flipped at the handle a few times in an effort to open the door without actually touching it again. Once he got it open, he stood there with the door open to let the interior cool off a minute.
    He looked down the street, lined on either side with cafes, gift shops, seafood restaurants and local art galleries. He didn’t blame Woody for being upset. Apalach needed the tourists that flocked to it every summer.  
    Hopefully, most of the tourists would assume it was a gruesome murder, and God knew, they probably came from places where that kind of stuff happened all the time. But some people probably would assume it was a shark, and that probably would be bad for business. He sighed and slid into the car as he had a vision of Richard Dreyfus following him around Piggly-Wiggly, gesturing spasmodically and telling him he needed a bigger boat.

M aggie had spent two hours looking through missing persons and accident reports to no avail, when Deputy Myles Godfrey stepped into the doorway of the office she and Terry Coyle shared on alternating days.
    “Hey, Maggie,” Myles said.
    “Hey, Myles,” she answered, glad for the interruption.
    “I just got back from running that parole violation over to Liberty County,” he said, his eyes bright behind black-framed glasses. Myles always made her think of some young news anchor from the sixties. “What’s this I hear about somebody finding a foot in a shrimp net?”
    “Yeah. Axel Blackwell was the one that found it.”
    “Well, he would be, wouldn’t he? Guy’s got the weirdest luck.” Myles licked his lower lip and shook his head. “This isn’t going to be good for business.”
    “Well, we can’t put it back.”
    “Yeah, I gotcha, but man.”
    Maggie felt for Myles. His wife was expecting their fourth baby and her gift shop was a good third of their income.
    “Sorry, Myles.”
    “So it was cut?”
    “Looks that way,” Maggie answered. “Larry’s working on it.”
    Maggie looked back at her monitor, and Myles knit his brows and stared into the air for a second. “Where do you suppose the rest of him is?”
      “Pensacola, hopefully,” Maggie answered.
    “That would be nice.”
    Wyatt appeared in the doorway behind Myles, taking off his cap and wiping at his forehead with his arm. In his other hand, he held a gigantic bottle of Mountain Dew.
    “Hey, Myles,” he said.
    “Hey boss, how are ya?”
    “Evaporating.”
    “Yeah, man. July’s a day early, huh?” Myles headed for the door, and Wyatt stepped in and aside to let him out.
    “See ya, Maggie,” Myles said, waving. Maggie smiled back and Myles headed down the hallway.
    Maggie watched Wyatt head for the metal folding chair in front of her desk.
    “Okay, so I’ve been all over marine accident reports and missing persons reports and there’s just nothing.”
    Wyatt