Free Dark Places by Linda Ladd Page A

the end of my teensy-weensy dock. He just loved to speed across the lake in the Cobalt when he came to call because it cut off about twenty minutes’ driving time around the jagged, hilly shoreline. I downed some coffee myself and watched him wave one arm at Bud before he climbed into the cabin cruiser, fired it up, and eased it expertly away from the dock. He was going to have one helluva cold trip back to his heliport at Cedar Bend Lodge.
    About a minute later, Bud was outside leaning on the horn, and I slipped on my department-issue brown parka, checked to make sure my gloves were still in the pockets, poured out a couple more aluminum travel mugs of hot black coffee, and headed outside. It was daylight now but overcast with an angry, gunmetal sky threatening even more snow. The wintry air hit me as I stepped out onto the front porch, bracing and invigorating, but not as cold as I’d expected. My breath smoked out in front of me and snow, unblemished but for Black’s boot tracks, squeaked underfoot as I negotiated the front steps. I suddenly realized that I felt great, on top of the world, but maybe that’s because I had on warm clothes, my Glock was loaded and back under my left arm where it belonged, and I was on the job full-time. Smiling, I slid into the passenger seat and presented Bud with his java.
    He took it gratefully, looked askance at me, and said, “Don’t tell me. Those crazy TV people from While You Were Out came calling on you last night and left you a big room with lots of fancy windows on the front of your cabin?”
    I sipped my coffee. Nonchalant. “Nope. Black’s Christmas present. Gave it to me early.”
    â€œI hope to hell he’s got me down on his list somewhere.”
    â€œHe’ll probably just give you a big boat or a Jaguar or something. He doesn’t know you that well yet.”
    â€œMaybe I’ll invite him out for beer and wings.” Bud had the Bronco in four-wheel drive and backed up over my icy driveway and maneuvered a U-turn without a single skid. He was better at winter driving now than he’d been when he’d first moved up north from Atlanta. He pulled the gearshift down into drive. “Yep, wish the doc had a rich sister I could date. I’ve been wantin’ a new house, too.”
    â€œHave they positively identified Classon yet?”
    â€œNope. Said the body’s hanging from a tree limb.”
    That got my attention. “Suicide?”
    â€œDunno. Uniforms’re waiting for us to show before they cut him down. Said we need to get the victim out of the tree before kids start comin’ out of the dorms across the road and buildin’ snowmen. Apparently, the body was left in sight of the school.”
    â€œGreat, that’s all we need. A bunch of hysterical teenagers converging on the crime scene and staring up at their favorite dead teacher. The media would love a few pics like that. C’mon, let’s get going. We shouldn’t hit any major traffic this early and with these road conditions.”
    â€œSnowplows are out clearin’ the roads. Man, I bet there’s thirteen, fourteen inches on the ground.”
    â€œYeah, Buckeye and his crime scene guys aren’t going to like getting out in this stuff.”
    â€œMaybe the perp left footprints that we can follow straight to his house, we nail him, then we go to IHOP for breakfast.”
    â€œSure, and maybe aliens will take us to Venus, too.”
    Bud concentrated on driving, certainly a tricky affair for a homegrown Georgian, and when we rolled past Harve’s place, gray smoke already drifted lazily from his chimney. I had a fireplace now, too. Jeez. I never thought I’d have a fireplace of my very own. Or a plasma TV. Or a hot tub. Or a man like Black wanting me to go to Paris with him. Miracles do happen, I guess, and they were hitting me like manna from heaven.

The Angel Gabriel
    In the deep woods where the