G is for Gotcha
Gloria dropped the letter in the box with a half-smile on her face. The handwriting was spot-on, not to mention the perfume: Vanilla Grass, just like the collar of her husband’s shirt every Thursday night when he stumbled home from another “late night at the office”.
What’s in the letter, you might ask? Trust me, it’s not important, at least not as important as the fact that there’s a letter at all, especially since a certain young girl is about to go missing. A certain young girl who needs to learn to keep her hands to herself.