The Woman in the Neon Corner
The Woman in the Neon Corner ACT I The phone rang at 2:17 AM. Eleanor Cross was sitting in her apartment, smoking a cigarette and staring at the neon sign across the street that spelled out MOTEL in flickering red letters. She let it ring twice before picking up. "Cross here." The voice on the other end was a woman's voice—calm, precise, with an accent she couldn't place. Maybe European. Maybe...
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