Free Witching Moon by REBECCA YORK Page A

He’d had thinning hair and a pot belly. She had thought of him like a slightly gruff old uncle. She’d been sad when he’d gotten killed; she hadn’t wanted it to happen.
    Actually, she’d been more than sad. She’d been frightened by the implications.
    After Ken’s death, for a while, there hadn’t really been anyone in charge at the park. Mr. Barnette had stopped by a time or two, getting driven over in that big black Cadillac of his. But he hadn’t known anything about the day-to-day operation of the park. So he’d asked them to carry on with their jobs until he could get a replacement. It had worked fairly well, at least in the short run.
    Then their new boss had arrived, and Amy had flipped over him. Not just her. All the female staff had a thing for him.
    He knew it, too. But he kept things on a professional level. Unfortunately, because if he made a move toward her, she would be more than willing to do the dirty with him.
    He was good-looking, with tanned skin, thick black hair, remarkable dark eyes, and a great body. But it wasn’t just his looks that turned her on. There was something about him, something she couldn’t define. You could maybe call it charisma.
    The guy was a chick magnet.
    â€œHow’s it going?” he asked, the question casual.
    â€œFine.”
    He glanced over at the boats moored in the narrow channel that led to the park’s main waterway. “How many tours are out?”
    â€œDwayne just took a family of four on the hour excursion. Rosie left a half hour ago with another party. And we have a married couple interested.”
    She consulted her notes. “Mr. and Mrs. Carlton. I explained that we don’t want too many boats out there at once. So they’re coming back at three for the deluxe tour.”
    â€œI’ll take them out,” he said.
    She looked up in surprise. Ken had been very conscious of his position as head ranger. And he’d made it clear that routine stuff was beneath his notice. He’d always given jobs like boat tours to the lesser members of the staff.
    â€œSomeone else can do it,” Amy offered.
    â€œNo. I like to keep in touch with every aspect of the operation.” He laughed. “Even feeding Big Jim.”
    â€œYuck.” That was definitely one chore Amy tried to avoid. Feeding their “pet” alligator meant handling big chunks of raw meat from the refrigerator.
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    â€œPART of the job,” Adam said, before moving down the dock and pulling up the engine of a nearby boat to check the propeller for weeds, which were a perennial problem in these nutrient-rich waters.
    In addition to feeding Big Jim, he’d already taken care of putting out grain for the waterfowl that the park fed regularly so the birds would be on hand for visitors to look at.
    Feeding wildlife went counter to what he’d learned in the U.S. Park Service, of course. The philosophy was that if you gave handouts to animals, you turned them into beggars. He’d abided by the policy when he’d worked for the U.S. government, even when it had meant watching snowbound moose starve. But he also saw no harm in providing food for birds the tourists liked to see around Nature’s Refuge.
    The simple act of scattering duck feed had given him time to decompress after his conversation with Barnette. And he was hoping that a tour of the waterways would continue the process.
    As soon as he’d left the old man’s mansion, he’d thought about driving into town and demanding that Paul Delacorte put him in the loop. But he was almost sure he wasn’t going to get any more answers from the sheriff than he had from Barnette.
    And that wasn’t the only reason for heading back to the park. He knew himself pretty well. He knew that going off half-cocked was a bad idea. He needed to calm down. And taking a boat out into the still, dark waters of the swamp was an excellent way to do