Thompson frowned. “Were there children in the home at any time today?” “What?” I asked. “Lauren’s kids,” Mr. Mason said. “They visit every Christmas Eve. They open presents and have dinner.” “Who’s Lauren?” Thompson asked. “Becca’s sister. Why?” “There are drawings in the garage. A child’s drawings. In the blood.” I swallowed.
Oh! 🙂 well…. 🏃🏽♀️➡️🏃🏽♀️➡️🏃🏽♀️➡️
