Winters forgotten that he agreed to talk with her about Dylan McCabe?
She was about to remind him … when she heard him say:
“Yes. Come on up.”
Then a loud buzz, and the gate began to slowly open as if unlocking the way to the Emerald City.
And when it was fully open, she drove up the winding driveway, a snake-like path, all gravel, and lined on either side by tall poplars.
Not a common tree for the area, she thought.
And she guessed the same would be true of the house.
*
From the driveway, Winters’ house looked deceptively modest. The façade not overly grand, even with two white columns flanking a double doorway
But she noticed as she got closer that the house extended well to the back, and other buildings sat to the left and right, one perhaps for the gardener, the other maybe a small guest house.
Very impressive, she thought.
The construction business — for Winters at least — had to be going well.
She turned the engine off and, grabbing her notepad from the passenger seat, walked up to the double wooden doors.
Which opened as she hit the top step, as a smiling Winters waited there.
“Hi! Better hurry,” he said with a warm smile. “Nasty weather, this.”
She smiled at that. “It’s freezing,” she said … and as soon as she entered, she detected the rich smell of a fire.
“Got a nice fire going for our chat. Guaranteed to take the chill away.”
She followed Winters into the house, and as soon as she entered the sitting room she noticed something.
Something more than the thick Persian rug on the floor, or the dark leather furniture with wooden arms … or the floor-to-ceiling windows to the side where she could glimpse a garden, with small tress wrapped up with insulation to protect them from the frost.
No. She immediately looked at the wall and the mantelpiece, all filled with photos of children, babies, young kids, birthdays. A young family on a beach, a small ballerina on pointe, a boy holding a football with a winning smile that matched his dad’s.
Hardly a space without a photo of one of his kids.
All young.
“Quite a family,” she said, with genuine admiration.
Clearly here was a man who loved his children.
“Oh, you noticed the photos,” he said laughing.
And in that laugh she heard something.
A bit of roughness — a reminder of what Charlie Winters must’ve done to get here, having to be so determined and hard-working, building his business.
“Three girls, two boys,” he said proudly. “Though I can’t say I see much of them … ”
“Kids these days — lead pretty busy lives,” said Sarah.
And then — as if on his cue, a woman who had to be Mrs. Winters entered. Dark hair, warm smile, and a tray with a teapot, cups and biscuits.
“Thought you’d like some tea,” she said. “For your chat.”
“My better half,” Charlie said going over to take the tray, and smiling warmly at his wife.
Their relationship immediately seeming very strong and close, their family the most important thing in the room.
“Tricia,” she said, introducing herself.
“Sarah Edwards,” she answered, shaking the woman’s hand.
Probably his school sweetheart.
“And — well, I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Sarah guessed that he had told her what they would be talking about.
But after she left, Charlie gestured to one of the leather armchairs while he handed her a cup of tea and then sat facing her.
It almost seemed wrong to open her notepad.
But she had questions that only he could answer.
So after a few sips — and bite of shortbread — she began …
*
“When did you find out that McCabe had a fake ID?”
The question seemed to startle Charlie Winters.
Both his hands went up, accompanied by a broad smile that didn’t seem to be one of amusement at all.
“Hold on, Sarah. You must think I run these operations by myself …”
“Well, I know you have a supervisor, like Gary Sparks …”
“Damn r—”
He caught himself.
“Hmm, right , about
She was about to remind him … when she heard him say:
“Yes. Come on up.”
Then a loud buzz, and the gate began to slowly open as if unlocking the way to the Emerald City.
And when it was fully open, she drove up the winding driveway, a snake-like path, all gravel, and lined on either side by tall poplars.
Not a common tree for the area, she thought.
And she guessed the same would be true of the house.
*
From the driveway, Winters’ house looked deceptively modest. The façade not overly grand, even with two white columns flanking a double doorway
But she noticed as she got closer that the house extended well to the back, and other buildings sat to the left and right, one perhaps for the gardener, the other maybe a small guest house.
Very impressive, she thought.
The construction business — for Winters at least — had to be going well.
She turned the engine off and, grabbing her notepad from the passenger seat, walked up to the double wooden doors.
Which opened as she hit the top step, as a smiling Winters waited there.
“Hi! Better hurry,” he said with a warm smile. “Nasty weather, this.”
She smiled at that. “It’s freezing,” she said … and as soon as she entered, she detected the rich smell of a fire.
“Got a nice fire going for our chat. Guaranteed to take the chill away.”
She followed Winters into the house, and as soon as she entered the sitting room she noticed something.
Something more than the thick Persian rug on the floor, or the dark leather furniture with wooden arms … or the floor-to-ceiling windows to the side where she could glimpse a garden, with small tress wrapped up with insulation to protect them from the frost.
No. She immediately looked at the wall and the mantelpiece, all filled with photos of children, babies, young kids, birthdays. A young family on a beach, a small ballerina on pointe, a boy holding a football with a winning smile that matched his dad’s.
Hardly a space without a photo of one of his kids.
All young.
“Quite a family,” she said, with genuine admiration.
Clearly here was a man who loved his children.
“Oh, you noticed the photos,” he said laughing.
And in that laugh she heard something.
A bit of roughness — a reminder of what Charlie Winters must’ve done to get here, having to be so determined and hard-working, building his business.
“Three girls, two boys,” he said proudly. “Though I can’t say I see much of them … ”
“Kids these days — lead pretty busy lives,” said Sarah.
And then — as if on his cue, a woman who had to be Mrs. Winters entered. Dark hair, warm smile, and a tray with a teapot, cups and biscuits.
“Thought you’d like some tea,” she said. “For your chat.”
“My better half,” Charlie said going over to take the tray, and smiling warmly at his wife.
Their relationship immediately seeming very strong and close, their family the most important thing in the room.
“Tricia,” she said, introducing herself.
“Sarah Edwards,” she answered, shaking the woman’s hand.
Probably his school sweetheart.
“And — well, I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Sarah guessed that he had told her what they would be talking about.
But after she left, Charlie gestured to one of the leather armchairs while he handed her a cup of tea and then sat facing her.
It almost seemed wrong to open her notepad.
But she had questions that only he could answer.
So after a few sips — and bite of shortbread — she began …
*
“When did you find out that McCabe had a fake ID?”
The question seemed to startle Charlie Winters.
Both his hands went up, accompanied by a broad smile that didn’t seem to be one of amusement at all.
“Hold on, Sarah. You must think I run these operations by myself …”
“Well, I know you have a supervisor, like Gary Sparks …”
“Damn r—”
He caught himself.
“Hmm, right , about
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