The Wistful Witness
The rain had not stopped for three days, and the house was leaking secrets. Margaret stood in the center of the hallway, her hand pressed against the damp plaster of the wall, feeling the cold seep through the skin of her palm. She was sixty-four years old, a detective in a life that no longer existed, yet here she was, standing in the corridor of her own home, investigating the source of the...
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