The Night Gardener
The rain had been falling on Long Island for three days straight when Martha Kovalski first saw the figure in the orchard. She was parked half a mile down Route 25 in a borrowed Ford, notebook on the passenger seat, a half-empty cup of coffee growing cold beside it. The headlights were off. She had learned that much in six years of investigative journalism—when you want to see something, you...
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