We flew out of La Guardia with seventy-five gallons of fuel and an unbearably long flight to look forward to. Three hours in a helicopter was always more than enough for me. The weight of the headsets and the noise and vibration gave me a hot spot on the top of my head and seemed to rattle me loose at the joints. To endure this beyond four hours generally resulted in a serious headache. We were lucky with a generous tail wind, and although our airspeed showed one hundred and ten knots, the GPS showed our ground speed was actually one hundred and twenty.

Lucy made me take the controls again, and I was smoother as I learned not to overcontrol and fight. When thermals and winds shook us like an angry mother, I gave myself up to them. Trying to outmaneuver gusts and updrafts only made matters worse, and this was hard for me. I liked to make things better. I learned to watch for birds, and now and then I spotted a plane at the same time Lucy did.

Hours became monotonous and blurred as we snuggled up to the coastline, over the Delaware River and on to the Eastern Shore. We refueled near Salisbury, Maryland, where I used the bathroom and drank a Coke, then continued into North Carolina, where hog farms slaughtered the topography with long aluminum sheds and waste treatment lagoons the color of blood. We entered the airspace of Wilmington at almost two o’clock. My nerves began to scream as I imagined what might await us.

“Let’s go down to six hundred feet,” Lucy said. “And lower the speed.”

“You want me to do it.” I wanted to make sure.

“Your ship.”

It wasn’t pretty, but I managed.

“My guess is, the university’s not going to be on the water, and is probably a bunch of brick buildings.”

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

Everywhere I looked I saw water, condominium complexes, and water treatment and other plants. The ocean was to the east, sparkling and ruffled, oblivious to dark, bruised clouds gathering on the horizon. A storm was on its way and did not seem to be in a hurry but threatened to be bad.

“Lord, I don’t want to get grounded here,” I said over my mike as sure enough, a cluster of Georgian brick buildings came into view.

“I don’t know about this.” Lucy was looking around. “If she’s here. Where, Aunt Kay?”

“Wherever she thinks we are.” I sounded so sure.

Lucy took over.

“I’ve got the controls,” she said. “I don’t know if I hope you’re right or not.”

“You hope it,” I answered her. “In fact, you hope it so much it scares me, Lucy.”

“I’m not the one who brought us here.”

Carrie had tried to ruin Lucy. Carrie had murdered Benton.

“I know who brought us here,” I said. “It was her.”