If Alex could ever get a damn paper,
she’d read the ads. What was happening in the world? Why did their newspaper
disappear every day. Mr. Foley’s son swore he left it every morning. An idea
dawned, and she smacked herself in the forehead, then grabbed the phone book.
“Mr. Foley, what time does your son
deliver the paper to Isobel Devore?” She’d see what happened to it for herself.
“Thanks.”
Published on November 05, 2016 05:45