When Ghosts Come Home(86)

The shower made him feel fresher, but he suddenly found himself very tired despite his adrenaline. He did his best to be quiet, but Marie woke up while he was getting dressed, and she opened her eyes into the weak morning light coming through the closed blinds and frowned at him. “What in the world kept you out all night?” she asked.

He stood at the foot of their bed in his dark slacks and undershirt. He buttoned up his uniform while he talked. “Marie,” he said, “I can’t begin to explain all of it.” But of course there were things she needed to know. He told her about Bradley Frye’s death, and then he told her about finding the drugs.

“That’s terrible,” she said, and it was. But Winston could read in her face the recognition that it meant that, at least for a while, he’d remain sheriff and the thing they’d both been dreading would not happen. There was a lot left to untangle, but at least Winston would be the one untangling it, not Bradley Frye. He could attend Rodney Bellamy’s funeral service that afternoon with the assurance that progress was being made on the investigation and the promise that, hopefully, justice would be served.

In the kitchen, Winston found Groom sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in front of him, his duffel bag at his feet. “Morning, Sheriff,” Groom said.

“Morning,” Winston said. He picked up the coffeepot and poured a cup, and then he looked out the back window. A gentle breeze came off the waterway and stirred the tops of the pine trees. It seemed like the perfect day for flying. Winston found himself smiling. He looked at Groom. “You’re going to hear about it when you touch down in Wilmington,” he said, “so you may as well hear it from me. We had us a major break last night.”

Groom’s relaxed demeanor became serious. He cocked his head. “How major?” he asked.

“It’s still early, but it looks like we found about twenty million dollars’ worth of cocaine packed up and sitting in a spec house about a mile from the airport. And it looks like we now know who the local was.”

Groom’s face took on a look of disbelief. He smiled, and then he laughed. He put his hands on the edge of the table and sat back in the chair. “I’ll be, Sheriff,” he said. “I’ll be. Congratulations.”



Maybe it was the news of the bust or the fact that he’d fixed the aircraft and would be in the air soon, perhaps even back home in Florida by that evening, but whatever the reason, the drive to the airport was the most relaxed and talkative Winston had seen Groom since he’d arrived. He asked Winston about who Bradley Frye was and the crime scene and the string of events that had caused the previous night to take such unpredictable turns. Winston told him what they’d discovered, about his plan to deliver the evidence to the Wilmington field office.

“I can’t believe they didn’t make it any farther than across the street,” Groom said. “These guys must’ve been serious amateurs.”

“Well, there’s also the bust down in Myrtle Beach,” Winston said. “So they at least moved some of it that far, but who knows? We might not ever know. Maybe we can match the prints from that scene to this one. We’ll see.”

“Good stuff at the scene?” Groom asked.

“Yeah,” Winston said. “Lot of fingerprints, which is funny because we didn’t find a single one in our aircraft. Maybe they got reckless once they thought it was safe.”

“They always slip up,” Groom said. “Somebody always gets reckless.”

“Other stuff too,” Winston said. “Scales, food, handwriting, a pistol, cigarette butts.”

They came to a stop at the one stoplight on the island. A newspaper carrier in an old pickup truck rumbled past them toward the beach. Groom followed the truck with his eyes, and he watched it pass until it disappeared around the bend toward Caswell Beach. Then he turned to Winston. “You want to fly with me?” he asked.

“What?” Winston said. He looked over at Groom, expecting him to have been joking, but it was clear that he wasn’t.

“Fly with me,” Groom said. “You’re planning to drive the evidence up to Wilmington anyway to hand it off to the office. You might as well give it to them at the airport instead.”

Winston laughed because he didn’t know what else to do. The stoplight changed to green, and he made the turn toward the bridge. “In that airplane?” Winston asked. “The one you just fixed?”

“Hell,” Groom said. “You’re never going to take a safer flight than this one. And think about it, you climbing out of that plane and delivering this evidence on the runway in Wilmington? It’ll be like a movie.”

It would be like a movie, Winston thought. They’d managed to keep the fact of Groom’s departure a secret from the media, but Winston knew word would spread once the aircraft took off for Wilmington. He imagined the news stations would be there, cameras rolling, when Groom came in to land. It would mean something, especially after what had happened last night to Bradley Frye, if Winston had a hand in delivering to the FBI both the airplane and the evidence that implicated Frye. After all, the election was in four days, and while he was now running unopposed, maybe he should consider it. He could call home from Sweetney’s office, ask Colleen to pick him up in Wilmington. They could be back in plenty of time for Rodney’s funeral.