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The Lawn Worker Heard Crying in My Basement and I Knew Something Was Wrong

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with the meticulous care I associated with Cassandra’s whole approach to life. Display cases lined the walls, silver pendants and gold chains catching the overhead light. Custom pieces that had earned her a loyal collector base.

But something was wrong in a way I couldn’t immediately name.

I stepped closer to the worktable and noticed a drinking glass continue reading …

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