Chapter Eighteen

Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery #1)

I dropped the paper as if it were contaminated and scurried rabbit-like back to the chair. The door opened. Skip was saying something about a delivery.

“That should be here soon,” Rhonda said. “They usually come early.” She dropped back into her chair and crossed her legs at the knee.

“How about the glassware?” Skip asked.

“Later tonight, probably after we…