“No sound of movement, other than the wind whistling through the cracks between the old boards. The sensible thing to do, Meg told herself, would be to pull her phone from her pocket and call Art and let him check this out. And risk looking like an idiot if it turned out to be nothing more than a stray cat? Surely Art or his men had examined this building last night. It was adjacent to the Historical Society. They would have seen the blood trail. Wouldn’t they? The trail led in a straight li...ne toward the far end of the building, where a motley array of boxes and barrels were stacked. Meg wondered briefly what collections items could withstand the extremes of hot and cold in this drafty building, but that was not her problem. She took a tentative step forward: still no sound. And another, and another. And after a few more, she could see around the stacked boxes. And she could see the bloody man on the floor, his back propped up against one of the boxes. She froze again.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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