“You’re always going on about how you want to get out of that place. Ask them if you can go to a pool. Check it out online, see what you can find. When do you next meet with Arnold?”
“He’s set up an appointment in five days.”
“Find out where there’s a pool before you see them.”
“Go in prepared,” he said. But now he was thinking about that other thing.
“There you go. Speaking of which, didn’t you tell me you’re having dinner—”
“I don’t want to go.”
“—With your father. And his new wife. Colin, wanting doesn’t matter. If your daddy were to raise a stink, there’s a chance he might be able to take you home. You want that?”
“No. Not ever again.”
“He’s remarried, he’s a state senator up in Raleigh, he’s in the process of adopting his new wife’s two kids. If he had half a mind, he could show a court just how great—”
“No.” The hand holding the phone felt so hot he thought he might melt the device. “All right. I’ll go.”
“Of course you will. Be polite to his new wife. It should go just like all the other visits.”
Thankfully Roger Eames’s wedding had taken place in Jessica’s hometown of Asheville, a nine-hour drive from Wilmington. Colin’s father had only given him seventy-two hours’ notice of the event. So Celeste had guided him through a nice, polite, meaningless letter apologizing for how the academy wouldn’t let him travel up on his own and wishing them every happiness. The newlyweds had stopped by for a visit three weeks later, when his father was down on some business. The new wife had shown Colin the sort of empty cheeriness that probably made her a great politician’s wife. Nothing could possibly touch this woman. She was Teflon through and through.
Colin was tempted to tell Celeste what he knew was coming. Not suspected. The fact that his father had remarried made the next moves a near certainty. Only the timing was not yet set. But Colin couldn’t risk it. Celeste was an adult. She saw things from an adult’s perspective. She would waituntil it happened before bringing her strength to bear. And by then it would be too late. They weren’t dealing with a simple cop and union chief any longer. The danger was real, and it was happening. Soon.
Celeste said, “You be sure and let me know how things go.”
CHAPTER7
Arnold Weinbrandt drove with one elbow propped on the open window, the other draped over the wheel. He took it slow, carefully describing the mile and a half distance from the school to the club. The way could not have been more straightforward. Walk down South Mooring, left on Deer Island Lane, take the Arboretum bridge over the lake, then right onto Landfall Drive. A strong wind blew from the east, rippling surface waves on the Cape Fear River. Every now and then Colin thought he could smell the ocean’s faint fragrance. A quarter mile before the club’s entrance, the golf course came into view.
Arnold drove a small Lexus SUV, the NX. Colin liked the luxury, and the way they sat fairly close together, and how Arnold’s golf clubs rattled softly in the rear hold. As if they too were excited over the journey. Arnold noticed Colin studying the rolling emerald fairway and smiled. “Say the word and I might know someone willing to introduce you to a lifelong addiction.”
“I want to learn how to swim.”
“Then swim it is.” He hesitated, then asked, “You understand why I didn’t want you going to the public pool?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m being overprotective.”
Colin said what he thought Arnold wanted to hear. “Before he entered politics my father was sheriff of Edgecombe County. You knew that.”
“Of course.”
“Rocky Mount and Wilmington are a lot alike. Money is coming in, many new companies, high-tech jobs, housing developments, shopping centers.” Colin kept his gaze on the road ahead, even when Arnold slowed so as to study him. “And then there’s the bad side. The people left behind. Rocky Mount and Greenville and Wilmington all lead the nation in per-capita opioid addiction.”
Arnold said quietly, “I’m from Greenville.”
“I know.”
“It’s a great place.”
“So is Rocky Mount. And Wilmington. I like it here a lot.” Colin faced his adviser. “I know I need to be careful.”
The club was Carolina in style, whitewashed stone with a pillared front portico and tall windows. Arnold opened the car’s rear door, shouldered his clubs, picked up his golf shoes, and waited until Colin had taken out the plastic shopping bag holding his new swim trunks, sandals, goggles, and towel. “Why do I need flip-flops?”
Arnold led him around the main house, over to where a sidewalk met a high metal fence. “Wear them when you’re in the changing rooms and the showers. This is a public place.”
