When Ghosts Come Home(84)

“Hell of a night,” Glenn said.

“Hell of a night,” Winston repeated.

On the drive, Glenn told Winston that Janelle had not come outside after Jay had been arrested, nor had anyone else in the Grove. Glenn had taken a flashlight and searched the street and yards around Janelle’s for any signs of the person who’d shot Bradley Frye, but there seemed to be nothing to find. The paramedics had told him that Frye had been shot in the center of his back, that his heart had probably been punctured, and Glenn knew that only a high-powered rifle and a shooter of considerable skill could’ve done that much damage from that far away.

After they drove into Plantation Cove, Glenn slowed and came to a stop behind Winston’s cruiser. He put his car in park and looked over at Winston. “I think we should go back to the Grove, set up a perimeter. Call in patrol. Maybe even knock on doors to see if anybody saw anything.”

“I don’t know,” Winston said. “There’s just no way to know where that shot came from. I don’t even know where we’d start, especially getting people up out of bed.”

“That whole neighborhood was awake when it happened,” Glenn said. “No way anybody could’ve slept through all that commotion.”

“Better to wait until morning,” Winston said. “Get a team out there.”

“Sheriff,” Glenn said, “with all due respect, your challenger was shot dead tonight right in front of you. It’s in the county’s best interest and yours too to make sure we investigate this the right way. There’s a vigilante out there who knows how to use a rifle, and he might not be done killing.”

“Whoever took that shot saved that kid’s life,” Winston said. “Probably saved mine too.”

“That’s not the point,” Glenn said. Winston could feel Glenn’s eyes probing the side of his face as if trying to uncover something he did not want to reveal. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Sheriff?”

Winston clenched his teeth as if conscious that his mouth could open and he could speak and tell the truth at any moment. He and Glenn had worked together for years, and during that time Glenn had been his most trusted deputy, and Winston hoped that one day Glenn would become sheriff because he was honest and consistent and fair. As far as he knew, they had never misled each other or withheld anything, and they’d certainly never lied to one another. But Winston knew that he was lying now; if not lying, then what was he doing? If he were being honest, he would admit that he wasn’t sad that Bradley Frye had been shot and killed—and perhaps he would even admit to Glenn that he, if only for a moment, had considered doing the same thing just the night before—but he also wished that Frye were still alive because his being murdered made the way forward more complicated for everybody. But regardless of what Winston wanted or didn’t want, in that moment, he knew that he could be either a good man and keep his mouth shut, or a good sheriff and tell Glenn all that he knew. He hoped that if Glenn ever became sheriff, he would somehow find a way to be both a good man and a good sheriff all the time. Winston had always assumed that would be true of himself, but now he knew differently. “Tomorrow morning,” he said, “we’ll knock on doors in the Grove. Get the coroner’s report, see what can be learned about the weapon.”

“It’s a mistake to wait until tomorrow,” Glenn said.

“It might be.”

“It is.” Glenn sighed and shook his head. He turned and looked up at the house that Jay had set fire to just a few hours earlier. From where they sat, it was too dark to see much aside from the white construction plastic that covered the structure’s exterior. “What do you think Englehart was doing out here?”

“Playing security guard,” Winston said. “It’s pretty clear that Frye hired him to keep an eye on things. I reckon Englehart was trying to get in good with the new sheriff.”

“Maybe he was already in with him,” Glenn said.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Glenn said. “It just strikes me as strange that Frye sent Englehart back out here after the fire.” The mention of the fire seemed to remind Glenn who’d set it, and he looked over at Winston. “What did you do with that kid?”

“Turned him loose,” Winston said.

“No charges?”

“No.”

“That’s what I figured you’d do.”

“Yeah,” Winston said. “It seemed like the right thing.”

“Hard to say,” Glenn said.

“It always is.”

The two men sat there for a moment as if waiting for the other to either confess something or ask a question that would lead to a confession, but neither of them spoke.

“Well, I’m going to get,” Winston finally said. He put his hand on the door handle. “We’ve got liftoff tomorrow morning.”

“Yep,” Glenn said.

“All right,” Winston said.

Glenn nodded in the direction of the house. “I might nose around up there,” he said.

“What are you hoping to find?” Winston asked.

“I don’t know,” Glenn said. “I’m just not ready to go home yet.”

“All right,” Winston said. He opened the door and stepped out.