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EIGHT
“Hello, Mr. Winston. Thank you for agreeing to talk to me. ” Chaya sat down on a worn, faded couch inside the single-story weathered house on the outskirts of Somerset.
Clayton Winston was a widower, and his son was a traitor. His son, Christopher Winston, had been arrested along with the Swedish mercenary and his merry band of men during the raid on the warehouse containing the stolen missiles.
Mr. Winston was stooped, his face lined with grief and pain. Rheumatoid arthritis had a cruel grip on his joints, and heart disease was draining him fast.
Sheriff Mayes stood on the other side of the room, watching Winston silently, his expression compassionate, somber.
“I didn’t raise Chris to be a traitor,” the old man sniffed. “He’s still my son, but he wasn’t right to do that. ”
He rubbed his grizzled cheek with a shaking hand before taking a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiping his eyes. Those pale blue eyes were swimming with tears.
“I’d offer you some coffee or something,” he told her. “But the cold makes it harder to move in here. ”
“I’ll get the coffee, Clay. ” Mayes headed for the Spartan kitchen.
“Good man, Sheriff Mayes. ” Clayton nodded. “Better than his daddy. His daddy was always more concerned with getting elected again than he was with doing what was right. Zeke knows that, too. He makes up for it. ”
“Don’t be talking about me, Clay,” Zeke called from the kitchen. “I’ll tell Miss Willa on you. ”
Clayton’s smile was sad. “I like to brag on the boy. He’s a good boy. ”
“Sheriff Mayes is a very kind man. ” Chaya nodded, her heart aching for the man sitting across from her.
Clayton Winston had served two tours in Vietnam. He had a medal for bravery and a file filled with commendations. Chaya’s heart broke for him as she thought of the son that had turned his back on the life his father had believed in.
“You wanna talk about Christopher, I guess. ” His voice roughened. “How’s he doin’? They moved him to that place in D. C. where they said I could come visit if I wanted, but I wasn’t able to go see him. And he can’t take calls. ” He hunched his shoulders as despair flickered in his gaze.
Chaya’s lips parted to answer him when a knock sounded on the door.
“I got it, Clay. ” Zeke moved from the kitchen, casting Chaya an impatient look as he moved to the door.
“Hey there, Zeke. Fancy seeing you here. ” Natches pushed past him and moved into the room. “And Agent Dane. You’re looking nice today. ”
Chaya rose slowly to her feet. “Natches, you’re not supposed to be here. ”
She had to speak between clenched teeth. She couldn’t believe he had barged into this interview.
“That’s my fault. ” Clayton’s shaking hands reached out to Natches as Natches knelt beside his worn recliner. “I called him when gossip came around you was askin’ questions. I asked him to be here. ”
Chaya’s lips thinned. Sitting back down slowly, she glared at Natches. “You didn’t mention that to me,” she stated, her voice clipped.
“We didn’t get a chance to discuss it. You left. ” The accusation in his voice had her breathing in deeply.
“Natches can stay if that’s your choice. ” She turned back to the old man, watching how he held on to Natches’s hand with his gnarled fingers.
“Another good boy with a lousy sire. ” Clayton’s voice trembled. “I used to sneak him sweets when ole Dayle wasn’t lookin’. ”
Chaya watched Natches’s face, his eyes. This old man meant something to him, and there were few known people that Natches cared for.
“Natches, get in here and help me with the coffee,” Zeke snapped.
“I’ll be in the other room, Clay. ” Natches rose to his feet, staring down at the grizzled, gentle giant who watched him fondly. “I’ll hear every word. Okay?”
Clayton nodded as Natches threw Chaya a hard, warning look and moved back into the other room.
“Do you think I’m going to accuse you of anything, Mr. Winston?” she asked him softly. “That’s not why I’m here. ”
