The Faded Alibi
I Lester Gault sat in the boarding-house dining room, his hands resting on the long scarred table, and watched the dust motes drift in the shaft of light that cut through the window. He was thirty-two years old, a long-haul dispatcher by trade, and he had just lost the good field on the western edge of the property to the road expansion project. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by...
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