The House of Long Shadows
The body looked wrong. That was the first thing I noticed at the funeral — my grandfather's face, smooth and unaged for a man who should have been dead at one hundred and twenty. The embalmer had done good work, I told myself. Good work and a lifetime of privilege. But privilege doesn't keep skin looking sixty when you should be a skeleton. I am Beauregard Thibodeaux — Buddy to everyone who...
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