The Faded Alibi
The deed is in my name, but the bank’s letter says otherwise. It lay on the kitchen table, a white rectangle that seemed to weigh more than the slate beneath it. Elara Vance turned it over in her hands, the paper crisp and cold, smelling of the damp wool coat she had hung by the door. Outside, the fog pressed against the windowpanes of Oakhaven, a thick, grey curtain that erased the horizon....
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews