CHAPTER TEN
Danni Beranski lived in an old Victorian in Berlin (pronounced BER-lin, emphasis on the first syllable, unlike the German namesake), a small town only a few minutes drive from Ocean City. Its gingerbread brown with yellow trim had faded a bit with time and weather, but a realtor could still call it “quaint,” as opposed to a “fabulous fixer-upper.”
Climbing the creaky porch steps, I rang the doorbell and practiced smiling.
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