“Five, big one. Let me guess, reservations at Houston’s?” Gilpin asked. It was the only upscale restaurant in town. You all really need to try Houston’s, my mom had said when we moved back, thinking it was Carthage’s unique little secret, hoping it might please my wife.
“Of course, Houston’s.”
It was my fifth lie to the police. I was just starting.
— Apr 17, 2014 01:27AM
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