The Beach Trees by Karen White
Gary fell into me as I sat down with a thud, his head cradled in my lap. His father stood, swaying slightly, and wiped his face with the tie to his robe as red blobs of blood dripped on the Oriental carpet runner.
The Sherlockian by Graham Moore
His obsessive machinations were hidden from these drowsy snorers on the second floor. Not his wife, Touie, nor his love, Jean, was so alive in his mind as were the dead and their killer.
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