My Sister Broke Into My Mansion

too many beach-town stories that started with “we were just.”

Behind him came Deputy Karen Dodd. Late fifties. Hair in a hard bun. No nonsense. She clocked the room in under three seconds.

Broken latch.

Laptop.

Wine glass.

Derek.

“Aw, come on,” Fischer said.

Derek’s face went red. “Hey, Bill.”

That was turn number one.

Of course they knew Derek.

“Don’t ‘hey continue reading …