The Magnolia Collider
The Dupree mansion sat at the end of a road that had not been paved in forty years, its Greek revival columns choked with magnolia vines that bloomed white and heavy every spring, like the house was wearing a crown of dead things. Leland Dupree stood on the porch with a key that had not turned in thirty years, and the wood groaned like a living thing as he forced the door open. Dust. The smell...
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