Mr. Gideon Grale was not, as you might expect, a prodigy of any sort. His cheap coke-bottle glasses, tousled hair, and calm demeanor might hint otherwise, if you didn’t know him.
And I knew him. Actually, I loved him, but not for his lacking skills of accounting (his official profession), or his amateur skills at detecting (much less official than the former).
Gracie took a long, deep breath and forced herself to totter into the pet store. Why couldn’t she stop her hands from shaking? A fish. A pet fish, Gracie. This shouldn’t be such a huge deal.
But it was.
As she found herself staring at swirls of vibrant tetras and serene angel fish, she couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in her stomach. Whichever one of those beautiful creatures came home with h...
