It was close to midnight and the diner was empty of customers when headlights swung into the parking lot. They whipped in fast, off the county highway and Dana heard the squeal of brakes on the gravel out front. She looked up from behind the counter and peered through the window. A man and a woman climbed out of a dark sedan. They looked to be in their mid to late forties and were bundled up in winter coats and mufflers, the woman carrying a big fancy leather purse.
Continue reading “To The Bone by John Whitehouse”
