Free The Darkness of Shadows by Chris Little Page A

I’m not sure how …”
    “I’ve got a few ideas.”
    “We are not slicing and dicing anything. I have enough trouble sleeping as it is.”
    “Gross! Anyway, I think your dad’s vacation should end in Camden.”
    Camden, New Jersey, has the distinction of being named one of the most dangerous cities in the nation.
    “Maybe a drug deal gone bad?”
    “Dump and run, then we’re done.” Val gave me a close-lipped smile. “About before … I’m sorry I made fun of you, but … you’ve never really believed—”
    “In anything.” I took a long pull on the straw. Extra thick and creamy. Mmm!
    “Not true,” Val said. “But you have to admit this is way out there, for both of us.”
    “I know you think I’m crazy, but I really saw it. And entering his world is the only way I can get into his head.” I swished the straw around the glass. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
    Her shake was gone and she was eyeing mine. “I’m going to help you figure this out.”
    “Really?” I handed her my glass.
    “Yes, but I can’t help tossing in a wiseass comment when it’s warranted.”
    “It’s all about the comedy,” I said.
    She nodded as she finished the shake.
    “And the timing,” I said, breaking a small smile.

T he Guerreros went to church every Sunday, but I chose to worship at Our Lady of Sealy Posturepedic. It was to be a quiet day of plotting.
    My cell phone rang and I didn’t recognize the number.
    “Hello?”
    “Good day. This is Walter Young.”
    How’d he get my number?
    “Something I can help you with, sir?”
    “I’d like to continue our conversation about the drawing you and Valerie showed me yesterday.”
    “Uh huh.”
    “Are you available to meet with me today at my home? I have so many things to tell you. Things that might help.”
    I had nowhere else to go for answers. The other shops we went to turned up nada. If he could give me some insight into my father, what some of his weaknesses were, maybe even help me figure out exactly what he was planning, I could use that to level the playing field a bit. Fight crazy with crazy.
    We agreed to meet at his house.
    I left Val a voice mail telling her where I was going. I figured that if anything went wrong, she could come charging in to rescue my dumb ass.

    I was expecting a creepy old Victorian house, but Walter Young’s house was a sprawling monstrosity of modern architecture. Even the landscaping was modern. Ugh. Give me a good Gothic cliché any day.
    I pulled into the semicircular drive. My spidey senses were tingling. I got out of the truck, adjusted my pistol, and squinted into the sun that was coming over the roof. I tried to find a comfortable grip on the new cane, but it wasn’t happening.
    The door opened before I had a chance to ring the bell.
    “All shall be well. Come in!” Walter reached for my elbow to guide me in, but I moved out of his grip and into the foyer. “This way please.”
    Walter’s house didn’t disappoint my preconceived notions: white walls led to an ascetic open floor plan with weirdo modern art illuminated by uncomfortably bright gallery lighting.
    He was dressed in white too. Isn’t there a joke about a polar bear in a blizzard? I stifled a laugh.
    “Did you say something?”
    “No, sir. Allergies.”
    We headed deeper into the house, arriving at another—surprise, surprise—white room. It was dizzying in its starkness.
    “Sit.” He indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk.
    “Thank you.”
    “Did you bring the drawing?”
    I opened the pack, withdrew the folder, and handed it to him. He took off his silver glasses, raised them to the light, and tsked. Then he went about cleaning the lenses with a cloth—white, of course. He put the glasses back on, adjusted them, and opened the folder.
    “Sir, I came up with a few thoughts about what the pictures might mean,” I said. If he reacted anything like Val did …
    “A fresh perspective is always welcome.”
    “If we combine