The Golden Suspect
The dispatch arrived at the hour when the smoke from the Ironworks thickest, a grey shroud that smelled of sulfur and wet ash, settling over the town of Oakhaven like a burial cloth that refused to be lifted. Sheriff Elias Thorne sat in his office, the linoleum floor beneath his boots cold and sticky with the residue of the previous day’s rain, and he read the telegram twice, his fingers...
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