Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

business,” I said.

Donald clicked his tongue. “Martha, please.”

“We need to find out where those order slips went,” I said.

Robert took a slow sip of his water, his eyes tracking Donald’s reaction. “We will look into it, of course. Perhaps a digital glitch.”

“A glitch does not move physical folders,” I said.

The grandfather clock in the continue reading …