The Faded Alibi
Ralph Tillman stood in the kitchen at forty-two of the Ferry Slip, the rain hammering the tin roof until the walls shook. I had been the housekeeper at Blackwood for thirty years, and the ledger entries changed themselves overnight, the ink bleeding into new accusations of theft. I wanted to prove I was not the ghost they whispered about, the thief who never left, but the household’s collective...
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