Grandma shrugged. Framed. A man that pretty can’t be a murderer. Mother stared at her. Penelope, I’m seventy-two years old. You let me enjoy my fantasy.
Ilona Andrews
Grandma shrugged. Framed. A man that pretty can’t be a murderer. Mother stared at her. Penelope, I’m seventy-two years old. You let me enjoy my fantasy.