closed door.
Kevin counseled himself on the drive north to meet the man in a cool, unemotional way, not only for his own well-being but also because of the circumstances. His father was dying. Eventually, hopefully, they could get around to discussing what happened so long ago.
He hadn’t pursued it with his mother, partly because he knew she didn’t want to talk about it and partly because he’d had no desire to find out. He had his mother and Steve and the fire to sustain him. All that had changed.
Seven years ago, his mother, Carol, and his stepfather, Steve, had purchased a cabin in the mountains of North Carolina. Steve had been a pilot for years and owned a single-engine Cessna. The plan was for them to spend the weekends in the mountains during the summer months. One Friday night six years ago, they ran into a thunderstorm. Steve apparently lost control of the plane and it crashed, killing both of them on impact.
With his father’s impending crisis, there was now an urgency to discover the answer to this important piece of the puzzle that was his life. There was a little boy still inside of him demanding answers.
Chapter Fourteen
C arlisle’s world had changed drastically in the days since Roy Johnson’s disappearance. Vern Fleming came to his office every day, sat at his desk, and acted like his boss. Carlisle wasn’t one to take orders. Most of the time he simply ignored Vern but the man was getting on his nerves.
Every morning, Carlisle made it a point to check on Sylvia Johnson. He’d go up to the back door of the mansion, the one that led out to the garden, and give a special knock and Aida would let him in. Sylvia always came down when he showed up, and they had a cup of coffee and Carlisle filled her in on the investigation even though nothing was happening.
She’d had a minor breakdown when Carlisle told her about the discovery of Roy’s wallet. He had stayed with her most of the day. He hadn’t planned to, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave someone in that much distress alone. Ever since that day, there’d been something between them.
Things really started to heat up after the third week of the ordeal, when the search officially turned from rescue to recovery.
Sylvia began to cry upon hearing the news that the rescue effort was over and Carlisle comforted her, putting his arm around her as he usually did and stroking her head with his strong hands. On this day, however, she picked her head up off his shoulder, looked into his eyes, and kissed him. He kissed her back slowly, sweetly. After a few minutes, without saying a word, she took his hand and led him upstairs.
He stayed with her until almost two when he moseyed over to Rosie’s. He was avoiding the office and Vern.
Things were starting to get back to normal in town as the recovery phase of the search started. The tourist business had pretty much petered out and the place was once again empty.
“Two more minutes and you woulda been outta luck,” Rosie told him as she personally delivered a serving of gator fritters that he had never ordered. “I was about to empty the Frialator when you showed up.”
“Timing is everything,” Carlisle replied.
“Speaking of timing, a few of the high school kids were here for lunch. They do that sometimes—cut a class and sneak out. Anyway, I was cleaning up and kinda listening to their conversation. I do that so in case they’re up to no good I can tell their parents or something.”
Carlisle didn’t believe a word of it. Rosie was just nosy, that’s all. She listened in on everybody’s conversations. He nodded like he understood just so she would tell him what she’d overheard. He wasn’t averse to hearing gossip.
“Do you know Freddie Jenkins, Margie Jenkins’s boy?”
“Yeah, I know him. He and his dad are real good fishermen.”
“Well, he was telling his buddies that he was out neckin’ with Becky Yates in the parking lot of the Chamber of Commerce, right
Kevin counseled himself on the drive north to meet the man in a cool, unemotional way, not only for his own well-being but also because of the circumstances. His father was dying. Eventually, hopefully, they could get around to discussing what happened so long ago.
He hadn’t pursued it with his mother, partly because he knew she didn’t want to talk about it and partly because he’d had no desire to find out. He had his mother and Steve and the fire to sustain him. All that had changed.
Seven years ago, his mother, Carol, and his stepfather, Steve, had purchased a cabin in the mountains of North Carolina. Steve had been a pilot for years and owned a single-engine Cessna. The plan was for them to spend the weekends in the mountains during the summer months. One Friday night six years ago, they ran into a thunderstorm. Steve apparently lost control of the plane and it crashed, killing both of them on impact.
With his father’s impending crisis, there was now an urgency to discover the answer to this important piece of the puzzle that was his life. There was a little boy still inside of him demanding answers.
Chapter Fourteen
C arlisle’s world had changed drastically in the days since Roy Johnson’s disappearance. Vern Fleming came to his office every day, sat at his desk, and acted like his boss. Carlisle wasn’t one to take orders. Most of the time he simply ignored Vern but the man was getting on his nerves.
Every morning, Carlisle made it a point to check on Sylvia Johnson. He’d go up to the back door of the mansion, the one that led out to the garden, and give a special knock and Aida would let him in. Sylvia always came down when he showed up, and they had a cup of coffee and Carlisle filled her in on the investigation even though nothing was happening.
She’d had a minor breakdown when Carlisle told her about the discovery of Roy’s wallet. He had stayed with her most of the day. He hadn’t planned to, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave someone in that much distress alone. Ever since that day, there’d been something between them.
Things really started to heat up after the third week of the ordeal, when the search officially turned from rescue to recovery.
Sylvia began to cry upon hearing the news that the rescue effort was over and Carlisle comforted her, putting his arm around her as he usually did and stroking her head with his strong hands. On this day, however, she picked her head up off his shoulder, looked into his eyes, and kissed him. He kissed her back slowly, sweetly. After a few minutes, without saying a word, she took his hand and led him upstairs.
He stayed with her until almost two when he moseyed over to Rosie’s. He was avoiding the office and Vern.
Things were starting to get back to normal in town as the recovery phase of the search started. The tourist business had pretty much petered out and the place was once again empty.
“Two more minutes and you woulda been outta luck,” Rosie told him as she personally delivered a serving of gator fritters that he had never ordered. “I was about to empty the Frialator when you showed up.”
“Timing is everything,” Carlisle replied.
“Speaking of timing, a few of the high school kids were here for lunch. They do that sometimes—cut a class and sneak out. Anyway, I was cleaning up and kinda listening to their conversation. I do that so in case they’re up to no good I can tell their parents or something.”
Carlisle didn’t believe a word of it. Rosie was just nosy, that’s all. She listened in on everybody’s conversations. He nodded like he understood just so she would tell him what she’d overheard. He wasn’t averse to hearing gossip.
“Do you know Freddie Jenkins, Margie Jenkins’s boy?”
“Yeah, I know him. He and his dad are real good fishermen.”
“Well, he was telling his buddies that he was out neckin’ with Becky Yates in the parking lot of the Chamber of Commerce, right
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