When Ghosts Come Home(21)

“Brad,” Winston said. He reached out and shook Frye’s hand. Kepler did the same. Winston noted a sense of embarrassment on Kepler’s behalf, and it endeared him to Winston, this small recognition of the awkwardness he found himself in as the two rivals stood toe-to-toe at a crime scene within earshot of the local media.

“I thought I’d come by and see if I could help out,” Frye said. “I heard y’all might have your hands full this morning.” He looked out toward the runway, and then he looked over at the gathered group of reporters. A few of them were recording the scene on the runway where the ambulance had parked. Two paramedics lifted a stretcher holding Rodney’s covered body into the back of the ambulance. Rollins and Rountree stood by and watched.

“We’re doing okay,” Winston said. “Things are moving along. Ain’t that right, Deputy Kepler?”

“That’s right, Sheriff,” Kepler said, his voice quiet. “Moving along.”

Winston looked at Frye. “But we appreciate you coming by.”

“Heard y’all had a dead colored boy out there on the runway,” Frye said.

For the moment, Winston ignored him and looked at Kepler. “You mind heading back out there? I’ll get somebody here soon to relieve you.” Kepler nodded, and then he turned and walked back toward the runway.

Winston turned to face Frye. “Man,” he said.

“What?”

“He was a man,” Winston said. “You said ‘boy,’ but he was a man.”

“Yeah, well,” Frye said, “y’all thinking drugs?”

“We’re not thinking anything right now, Brad,” Winston said. “We’ve got an investigation to complete. There’s plenty of time for thinking later.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see what the voters have to say about that next week, huh, Sheriff.” He smiled.

“I guess we will,” Winston said.

Frye squinted his eyes and looked out at the airplane on the runway. He smiled. “See some FBI fellows out there,” he said. “I bet that means it was drugs.” He crossed his arms. “Drugs from Mexico. And you got the coloreds out here waiting to unload them and move them through this county.”

“That’s a great theory,” Winston said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

Frye put his hand on Winston’s shoulder to stop him as he tried to step past him toward Marie’s driver’s-side door. Winston looked over at the reporters. Most of them were now busy winding cords and loading equipment back into their vans.

“You shoot him?” Frye asked.

“Don’t touch me, Brad,” Winston said.

“I know you took out a colored boy back in Gastonia. Good for you if you got this one too.” The ambulance drove past on its way out of the parking lot. “You just let me know what I can do, Sheriff,” Frye said. “I got a bunch of boys on my crew who’d be happy to lend a hand. I don’t plan to wait until I’m sworn in as sheriff to protect this county.”

Winston shrugged off Frye’s hand. He looked down at the gun on Frye’s belt, an expensive Browning Hi Power with a mother-of-pearl handle that Winston couldn’t imagine Frye even figuring out how to hold, much less shoot.

“You can start by leaving that sidearm at home,” he said. “It’s illegal to open carry, and I’d hate to have to jail my opponent so close to the election.”

“Would you now?” Frye said.

“I would,” Winston said, “but I will. Get back in your daddy’s truck, Brad. Go to work.”



Marie was standing behind the screen door when Winston pulled into the driveway. She waved, and he forced a smile instead of waving back. The truth was, his hands were shaking, just as they had been shaking since his stare-down with Bradley Frye. How had Frye known about what had happened in Gastonia? How would anyone know about that? To have it resurrected now was a shock that Winston was struggling to handle, compounding his worry over Marie, his grief for Colleen, and the appearance of this airplane that seemed to have fallen from the sky to land beside Rodney Bellamy’s dead body. And now the investigation was being taken from him and turned over to the FBI, and everyone was watching him just as Marie stood at the door and watched him now.

He climbed out of Marie’s car, and she opened the door as he stepped onto the porch.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Winston said. He squeezed her hand and walked into the hallway and opened the closet door and put his holster and pistol away. When he hung up his jacket, he realized that he was still wearing his white T-shirt from the night before. He walked into the kitchen where Marie had set out a plate with a ham sandwich and some potato chips on it. She followed behind him. He went to the sink and washed his hands.

“How was Rodney’s wife?” Marie asked.

“Bad,” Winston said. “Bad, like you’d expect.”

“Did you see the baby?”

“Yeah,” Winston said. He snapped a paper towel from the roll where it hung beneath the cabinet.

“Did you talk to Ed?”

“I did, Marie.” Winston turned and looked at her. He kept drying his hands. “I did. It was awful. All of it. All of it was awful.” He bent and opened the cabinet beneath the sink and tossed the paper towel into the trash can that was hidden there.