After My Grandmother’s Death, A Renovation Uncovered Something That Brought Police To The House

mother’s mouth opened and closed. My father’s knuckles went white on the table’s edge.

Easton turned to me. “Elise Harrow?”

“Yes,” I managed.

Something like recognition flickered across his face. “We need to talk. Privately.”

We went to a coffee shop two blocks from the courthouse. The barista nodded at Easton like she knew him. He ordered two coffees continue reading …