![]() ![]() ![]() “And he knew about her life here, with me. “The ‘guy who sent that letter’ killed her,” I seethed. Hell, for all you know, the guy who sent that letter is some old flame she left back in Romania who couldn’t get her out of his head.” “Fact of the matter is, your wife came here when she was twenty and no one, including you, by your own admission, has a fucking clue as to who she was before then. “We did look, Jack,” he said, rubbing his eyes like they were getting sore from seeing me so often. You don’t think you should be looking for him?” “Francesca was having an affair with some prick from Romania. ![]() “You saw that letter I found,” I gritted out. Now, unless your drinking buddies from down in the shaft have a change of heart and tell me you weren’t with them at Tab’s that Sunday night, I suggest you come to terms.” “You’re the only one with a glaring motive here, and your alibi’s airtight. Being a murder scene was fun for a while, but sooner or later, everyone wanted to get back to the rosy picture of small-town life Clarksville was so good at projecting-as long as you didn’t peel back the edges. “It’s time to face facts, Jack,” the Sheriff began once the novelty of humoring a bereaved husband’s conspiracy theories wore off. ![]()
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