Hey Chris, bet you don't know the Latin name of the red-headed woodpecker.That was a hard one. Chris had to say very slowly.
Friday was back to normal, if the actions of suspicious would-be heirs competing for a two-hundred-million-dollar prize could be considered normal.
Frenssh-fry
Hi Sandy, I won!
Hello, Jake, I'm glad you could come, Sunny (as Madame Hoo was now called) said, shaking the hand of the chairman of the State Gambling Commission.Boom! Jake Wexler replied.
Angela could not be the bomber, not that sweet, pretty thing. Thing? Is that how she regarded that young woman, as a thing? And what had she ever said to her except I hear you're getting married, Ange...
Daughter of the servants. Gee, you must have been lonely, Judge, having nobody to play with. I played with Sam Westing—chess. Hour after hour I sat staring down at that chessboard. He lectured me, he...
You, too, may strike it rich who dares to play the Westing game.
TURTLE SPENT THE night at the bedside of eighty-five-year-old Julian R. Eastman. T. R. Wexler had a master’s degree in business administration, an advanced degree in corporate law, and had served two...
You can't read my shorthand because I wrote in Polish.
Smiling without good reason is demeaning.