"Fingers clutching the steering wheel, the mother sat in her car, staring at the house. A narrow, rickety little shotgun shack that had somehow stood there for more than a hundred years. A sagging roof to match the sagging, postage-stamp front porch. Narrow clapboard siding that hadn't seen a fresh coat of paint in a generation. The front windows were not quite square in the wall. No light shone through the dirty glass.
How had it come to this?"
....Bad Liar by Tami Hoag
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