Wisteria Cottage

The Bust

Carter

The next week is nice. Getting off regularly will improve anyone's mood. Lyam is somehow busier than usual preparing for the fourth of July which is apparently a really, really big deal around here but for me, not much changes. I'm not sure what day of the week it is, only that the Farmer's market is open today which narrows it down a bit. Otherwise, who knows? Lyam's schedule doesn't really give him a 'weekend' either so I can't even use that as a benchmark.

I checked in with my sister yesterday, sending her proof of life and apparently I 'sound good'. Sure. I get my nephews present wrapped up and stop by the post office on my way to my afternoon cafe shift. The lady behind the counter is 90 if she's a day and spends approximately two hours telling me all the options I have for shipping, when it will arrive and how much it will cost. I can't be mad about it though, I have nothing else to do.

I see McCorkle around town constantly but he's eerily absent today; he's hard to miss seeing as he drives the only golf cart on the island and waves and calls out 'Sergeant Carter' every time he sees me like we're buddies or something. I suddenly wonder if there's a golf course and if so, do they have carts there or make people bike? Do the caddies bike around with little wagons full of clubs? I'll ask Sunshine. I've never been anything but miniature golfing but if they have a driving range that could maybe be fun. I have nothing better to do.

As if I've summoned him by thinking his name, as soon as I've sat down with my coffee I hear the sirens blaring. They don't actually sound like police sirens but other than a singular ambulance on the island, there's nothing else it could be. Sure enough, the golf cart careens halfway onto the sidewalk before McCorkle jumps out and runs into the cafe and towards me. "Sergeant! Sergeant I need back-up."

Regardless of the absolutely insane circumstances around his arrival, every nerve in my body fires when I hear that. I am instantly on high alert. No, the kid in front of me isn't Washington, my ex-partner. Unfortunately McCorkle isn't half as well trained or street smart. Shit. Still, I need more info but I don't get to ask.

"By the power invested... uh, you're a deputy now! I'm doing that thing, Carter. Need back-up on a drug bust."

Okay, that's um... "Don't I have to agree to that?"

"Don't think so, come on! Wait, do you think I should call the state boys in?"

How the living fuck would I know? Lyam, wide-eyed, asks "Where?"

"Hollyhock house, Mrs. Willingham."

Lyam snorts, then almost chokes, then looks like he's about to cry but I'm pretty sure he's trying not to laugh in McCorkle's face. "Don't think the SWAT team will be necessary, Deputy McCorkle."

I relax about a thousand percent and really wish I could talk to Sunshine about it privately but McCorkle has taken my hand and is attempting to pull me towards the official vehicle of the Skye Island Po-po. Now the handcuffs hanging off the back make sense. They're for me so I can't escape. I say 'attempting' because I have at least 40 lbs of muscle on McCorkle; he's a fairly tiny thing. Still, I go along, mostly so that he doesn't get himself into trouble. "If we're serious, my firearm is at the cottage."

"Oh I'm serious!" He swerves so hard that I have to hold on and soon we're flying at a whopping eight miles an hour down the cobblestone road and I can't speak for fear of biting off my tongue. He stops in front of Wisteria, luckily not going up the drive and possibly destroying the fancy carriage house, and I dash up and attach my holster and load my firearm, then dart back to the cart.

Thankfully the island isn't that big and we arrive before I have major brain damage. He's attempted to hide the cart and even turned the lights and sirens off. Maybe there's hope for him? "What's going on? How many? Distribution or manufacturing? What are we looking at?" I'm not walking in there blind.