The Notebook with No Last Page
The rain started at midnight, which was fitting. It always rains at midnight in this city, or at least it feels that way when you are sitting in an office above a laundromat with a dead case file on your desk and a photograph of a woman who vanished fourteen years ago. My name is Rose O'Connor. I am a private investigator. That sounds better than what I actually am, which is a woman who finds...
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