“Do not let her leave.”

One was labeled Holstead.

“Six years,” Cormac whispered, staring at the creation dates. “She started building this the month we got married.”

My clinical detachment vanished, replaced by a surging, protective fury. I pulled my phone out and dialed my cousin Everly Larkin in Boise. She answered on the second ring.

“Hi, honey, how’s the party?” she asked continue reading …