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Chapter 43Book Six, : Photo Op
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... , and she was crumpled down with her face in her hands, weeping openly.
Andrew, ever the pragmatist, was examining the bodies.
You didn't need to be a coroner to know there was something suspicious about these deaths. There were no wounds, no blood, no struggle. That limited down the possibilities to a few different methods of suffocation or asphyxiation, or more likely, some type of poison.
Given the champagne glasses on the small kitchenette bar top, I assumed it was po ...
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