Lee’s low-country accent made girl and gull indistinguishable. It was an accent I knew he had refined the way another man might perfect some convoluted Masonic handshake. And in a way that was what his accent was: a sign of belonging. It spoke of old money and old houses, of Porter-Gaud Academy and Charleston cotillions.

“A year of working for you,” I said.

“So are you interested or not?”

“I’m interested. But why not Phil or Julian?”

“The assignment’s in Oconee County. Since you know the natives, you can translate mountain speech into standard English for Hemphill.”

So there is a catch, I thought.

“Contrary to what you may have heard, Lee, Oconee County’s not the heart of darkness. It’s four hours away, not four centuries.”

I tried to smile but I’d heard such comments too many times since I’d moved to Columbia.

“Sounds about right to me,” Lee said. “That part of the state used to be called Dark Corner. I suspect there’s a reason.”

“I can tell you the reason. Your ancestors down in Charleston were ticked off because mountain people wouldn’t help fight to keep slaves.”

Lee nodded. “Mountain people. Is that the correct term now? I guess the PC ayatollahs would give me twenty lashes if I said hillbilly.”

“They should,” I said, my tone no longer playful. “It’s an offensive term.”

Lee’s act got old quickly, but he had given me good assignments in the twelve months I’d worked with him. He’d also talked Thomas Hudson into giving me a raise at Christmas. Lee wasn’t a bad man, just the kind who mistook insensitivity for masculinity. He had been in Kappa Alpha at the University of Georgia, and behind his desk he’d hung a picture of his fraternity brothers on the porch of their antebellum two-story house. They were dressed as Confederate soldiers. Not mere foot soldiers, of course, but officers with swords and plumed hats. He’d always be a frat boy.

“Hey, I’m just joking,” Lee said.

I smiled at him, the same way I’d smile at an eight-year-old boy.

“What will Hemphill and I be doing in Oconee County?”

“Something on the girl who drowned up there three weeks ago.”

“They finally got her out?”

“No,” Lee said, “and that’s the story. Her father is starting to raise hell, saying the locals aren’t doing enough. He’s trying to get some portable dam company involved, but the tree huggers want to stop that. They’re swearing on their humpback whale CDs it’s against some federal law.”

“The Wild and Scenic Rivers Act. It prohibits anyone from disturbing the river’s natural state.”

“So you already know about all this?”

“If you mean the girl, just what I’ve read in the paper. But I know about the Tamassee, and I probably know most of the people involved.”