The Golden Suspect
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the gravel drive into a slurry of mud and grey stone. Elias Thorne pulled his sedan to a halt before the iron gates of Blackwood Manor, the engine ticking in the sudden silence. He did not like this house. It sat on a hill like a bruise that refused to heal, its windows dark and unblinking against the twilight. He was not a detective by trade,...
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