The Golden Suspect
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine, persistent mist that settled into the wool of coats and the creases of paper, erasing the sharp edges of the world until everything looked as though it had been left out in the damp too long. Margaret Holloway stood in the center of the town square, her hands clasped behind her back, watching the water drip from the eaves of the...
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