The Faded Alibi
The ledger weighed four pounds, two ounces. Maren held it up against the scale on the desk, checking the weight against the inventory log, her fingers trembling slightly from the cold. The basement was a sealed box of concrete and damp, the air thick with the smell of rotting cellulose and the low, electric hum of the dehumidifier. She was thirty-four years old, and she had been in this room...
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