The Faded Alibi
Chapter One Could a man really forget the weight of a ring? Refugio Villaseñor stood in the doorway of the distillery watchman’s shack, looking out at the mangrove shore where the mud was high and the crabs were scuttling in the February false spring, the air heavy with rotting vegetation and old gasoline. He was forty-two, a man whose life had been built on the single, fragile client of the...
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