and someone named Stephanie Murphy who, judging from her email address, worked for the city of Boston. Abby paused at that name. It was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She Googled “Stephanie Murphy, city of Boston” and a photo appeared, a woman in uniform, a cop. Abby magnified the image. It was her. The woman who’d visited her in the studio a few months back with her wife and baby boy. She’d seen them again in Ken’s driveway—they were purportedly headed to Jenny’s garden tour—as she was whisking her nieces away to the dune shack. At the time, Abby assumed it had been a coincidence. An
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