Wreck the Halls
Chapter One
Blood was everywhere, so much of it that at first Ellie and I didn’t realize what it was or understand what we’d walked into.
Before us lay Faye Anne Carmody’s familiar Eastport kitchen, the woodstove at one end faced by a bentwood rocker and a small cushioned footstool, the table at the center with four painted wooden chairs pulled squarely up to it, and at the other end the sink with a few clean glasses upended on the drainboard. Tucked into one corner was a white, ornately framed metal daybed with a heap of quilts on it, a common item of furniture in an old Maine island home.
A door led to the butcher shop that Faye Anne’s husband, Merle Carmody, owned and operated in the ell of the house. The door was secured with a slide bolt near the doorknob and with two big hook and eyes screwed into the door frame.
“Jake,” Ellie said, nearly whispering it.
“I know.” So much blood ... “Go next door, Ellie, will you? And call Bob Arnold and tell him — ”
Bob was the police chief in Eastport, Maine, and the man to call when you happened unexpectedly on a th ...
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