A three AM phone call about a locked room changed everything

the collar of her blouse.

She walked to the small wooden stand near the bench, her boots clicking softly on the floor.

“You lived in the marital home on Maple Street until last week,” Judge Miller said.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Stacey said, her voice echoing slightly in the microphone.

“Tell me about the desk in the home office,” the judge said.

“Alan kept it continue reading …