Read Set Me Free for Free Online

encircled a statue of an angel. I slipped between the trees towards her, curious. She had been expertly carved out of white marble, from her cherubic face to the intricate spirals of her curls, and stood on a pedestal almost as high as my waist. Between her prayerful hands, she held a paintbrush with each fine bristle delineated in stone.
    Standing beneath her, my tense muscles softened, my blood calmed. Despite the bite to the air, the snow on my boots, the dull weight of the phone in my handbag, I felt at peace. I didn’t belong anywhere anymore—not Florida, not Connecticut, not even this town. But for this moment, in this place, I belonged.
    My gaze dropped to the inscription on the pedestal.
    Here lies Suzanna Lee White
    Beloved by All
    July 29, 19— to September 5, 20—
    I blinked and read it again. This was Suzanna White’s gravesite? Or was this statue supposed to be her?
    After the Artist’s Lodge, I had imagined her as a spry old woman with paint-stained fingers and a floppy sun hat, with years of work and passion underpinning each painting. Instead, she’d been a beautiful young woman, two years younger than I was now.
    Her name and art touched every inch of this town—from the paintings on a rack by the grocery store counter to the banner in her honor at the post office—but I hadn’t seen anything about her death, or how she’d died, seven years ago. She had seemed more alive than I was.
    Even now, so many years later, pristine white calla lilies lay on the thin snow in front of her pedestal. I crouched down to examine them, searching for a card. A deep red ribbon, stark against the snow and white petals, held the lilies together, but nothing revealed who they were from.
    As I left the graveyard, I wondered if the love for Suzanna was still so great, and so commonplace, no one needed to say it aloud.

Chapter 6
    T ap-tap-tap-tap .
    Someone was at the door. But what door? I didn’t even have a door anymore, did I?
    A harsh beam of light illuminated the book tented on my chest, my hand strewn across it, the blue bracelet pressing into my wrist.
    The car. I’d been reading in the back seat and must have fallen asleep. Not too surprising— Richard III was not one of my favorites.
    Tap-tap-tap-tap.
    Blearily, I sat up, sending Richard III tumbling to the floor. The beam of light shone into my face, making my eyes water. The beam lowered, and once my eyes adjusted , I saw the man standing outside my window.
    Rhys?
    My throat constricted. If he had found me—
    But the man scowling into my driver’s side window was older than Rhys. He had a stockier build. And, most noticeably, he was wearing a cop uniform. The fear clutching my throat loosened its grip.
    Officer Not-Rhys beckoned for me to get out of the car.
    My fingers trembling, I unlocked the door and slipped outside. We were alone in the parking lot, apart from the crickets chirping in the brush. The only light came from his flashlight and the dimmed headlights of his cruiser. My gaze flicked to the gun on his hip. “Is something wrong, Officer?”
    He gave me a hard, assessing look, from my unkempt hair to my stocking feet, then glanced past me into my car. His eyes narrowed at the empty pack of cigarettes in the center console and the handbag slumped across the passenger’s seat, as if he were looking for something.
    “Can I ask what you’re doing here, miss?”
    My mind whirled with possible explanations. “I was at the beach.”
    “Alone?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you decided to take a nap?”
    I couldn’t tell him I lived here. I couldn’t . “I was reading, and I must have dozed off.”
    “Reading.” He scrutinized my face, my eyes. I could have sworn he was trying to smell me.
    Drugs—that was what he was worried about, what he was looking for. He thought I’d been getting high in my car.
    “I didn’t want to go home right away, that’s all,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “but I’ll go home now, if that’s