A Visible Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page A

American, right?”
    When I got back to Billy’s office, he was still out. I left word with Allie that I’d call him as soon as I could and update him on my lunch with McCane. She raised her eyebrows at the mention of the insurance investigator’s name.
    “Will you be taking over for Mr. McCane?” she asked, an optimism in her voice.
    The question caught me off guard. Billy knew how deep my vow had been to leave police work behind. He wouldn’t have spoken openly about bringing me back in, even if that were his intention.
    “I mean, it’s just, you can see that he doesn’t have much respect for Mr. Manchester,” she said.
    “He’s Old South, Allie,” I said. “Some people never leave it behind.”
    “I’m sorry. It’s not my business,” she said.
    “No apology necessary.”
    As I turned to leave she said, “Have a nice day, Mr. Freeman.”
    I got my truck out of the garage, gave a short wave to the alert attendant, and headed back west. The heat of the day was rising off asphalt and concrete, parking lots and the tarred flat roofs of the myriad strip malls leading out through suburbia. The palms and sand pines did not lose their color in fall. The traffic would slowly increase with the number of winter migrants from the north. And like every place in America, the Christmas decorations would be up by Thanksgiving. My first winter holiday here I watched as a man pulled up next to me at a light with a Christmas tree from some tented lot stuffed in the open back seat of his convertible. I knew he was smiling because it was 30 degrees and snowing back in New York. But it still didn’t seem right.
    I kicked the A.C. up and the outside temperature on my dash readout said 79. Farther west I pulled into a plaza grocery and loaded up with supplies: coffee and canned fruit, a few vegetables and thick loaves of dark bread. Sometimes I stayed out at the shack for a month at a time without coming in. But I had the feeling I’d be back to the city soon enough. When Billy got onto something, he was relentless. If he wanted me in on this, whether to prove or disprove his suspicion, he’d have a plan.
    By the time I reached the boat ramp the sun was on its downward slide. A ragged ceiling of high cloud was drifting over the Glades, its edges already glowing with streaks of pink and purple. I flipped my canoe and started loading. I was lacing a small waterproof tarp over the groceries in the bow when I heard the crunch of footsteps on the shell growing louder behind me.
    “Mr. Freeman?”
    I turned to face the new ranger, a man in his thirties with thick blonde hair and creases at the corners of his eyes from hours of squinting into hard sunlight. He was about six feet tall, lean and tanned and dressed in uniform. His hand came up with an envelope as he stepped up and stopped.
    “The Park Service wants a copy of this to go to you, sir.”
    “And what might this be?” I asked, taking the white business- sized letter, but not looking down from the ranger’s eyes.
    “You’ll have to read it, sir. A copy has also gone to your attorney. My understanding is that the state is attempting to break your lease on the research station, sir.”
    “And why would the state be interested in doing that, Mr., uh, Griggs?” I said, reading from the nameplate mounted above the ranger’s pocket.
    “I don’t know, sir,” he replied. “I was only asked to deliver the mail, sir.”
    Still I did not move my eyes off his. Everyone knew of the incident surrounding the death of the former ranger and his apprentice. They were killed with my gun. The shooter, who had been dubbed “the midnight murderer” by the press, had been after me and had later been stabbed to death on the river. The violence put a stain on this pristine place that I could not deny.
    I held the new ranger’s gaze for a moment longer before folding the letter and stuffing it into my back pocket.
    “Thanks,” I said.
    Griggs turned without a response and walked