A Dead Red Heart, Excerpt

"Dad?" I called, pounding the dust off my boots on a rug. Since a fire last year nearly wiped out me, my dad, my goddaughter, Maya, and the house, I now wipe my feet on a rug before walking over his newly refinished floor. A dark burn still stains the oak‐planked floor where beams crashed [...]
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Published on November 16, 2011 08:47
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Infrequent ramblings

R.P. Dahlke
Most of the time, I chose to leave my ideas for my myseteries. But, since you asked...
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