HE GAVE HIS MISTRESS MY PADDLE. HE FORGOT THE AUCTION HOUSE BELONGED TO ME

hated the house.

He called it damp, impractical and haunted by dead Mercers.

He was not entirely wrong.

The library still smelled of tobacco, leather and the cedar oil my grandfather used on the old cabinets.

The Mercer Sunrise rested inside the wall safe behind his portrait.

When Sloane arrived, the ocean was violent.

She stepped from a black car wearing continue reading …