“Mom patted Dad’s knee as he drove us home. “Felicity needs her fiancé, just like I need you, dear.” “I’m glad my girls are safe.” Dad glanced in the rearview mirror. “Do they have any idea why that poor woman was killed?” “No.” I leaned forward as far as the seat belt would let me, which was pretty far. Dad had an old Buick with enough space in the back to sleep ten. I kid; it would sleep four. “Detective Murphy said it may have been a robbery gone bad, but at first glance it didn’t see...m like anything was taken. I do know some of those designer dresses are worth a quarter of a million dollars or more.” “Who spends that much on a dress you wear for a few hours one day of your life?” Mom shook her head. “Ridiculous. That’s a nice down payment on a condo or a town house.” “They are designer dresses with hand-sewn beading and crystals,” I said. “You don’t expect to be paid 1980s wages.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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