Chapter 2
Dana Sanderson had always hated being called in on police cases. But at least this one wasn’t a bloody mess. She leaned against her car on the civilian side of the row of yellow police tape, iced coffee in hand, watching the uniforms crawl all over the scene.
Abrams Bay never had been her kind of hangout.
Pretty enough, with the palm trees around a modern version of an old-fashioned town square. The sharp-edged bricks on the ground and brand-new wooden fencing took away any impression of age.
None of the weird shops were open at nine in the morning, though, and no one had bothered to clean up the remains of what looked like an early Christmas party the night before. All the same kinds of New Age-ish or just plain weird shops lingered around Little Five Points back in Atlanta,
