they didn’t just let it happen… they planned it…

the whistle.”

“My mother told me a drunk driver killed him when I was in the fourth grade,” I sobbed, the betrayal slicing through me like a razor.

“She fabricated the entire thing,” Richards confirmed, his voice hard with disgust.

I looked toward the street. Adela sat handcuffed in the back of one patrol unit, her head bowed. Bertha was locked in another.continue reading …