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Ron Goulart [Insert Pic AHMM05story06.jpg Here] * * * * He was alone in their beach cottage when the forger knocked on the front door. It was midday on a rainy Saturday in May. Saturdays his wife drove over to Girlz Fitness in Santa Monica for her weekly tai chi class. Feeling a bit restless but not up to going out in the downpour, Wes Goodhill had decided to vacuum the house. The machine had just sucked up some gritty sand that had been tracked in from the beach just outside and was producing a protesting rattle, when someone tapped on the door. Clicking off the vacuum cleaner, Wes crossed the living room and put one eye to the peephole. A complete and total stranger was standing out there. Thin, pale, and in his early thirties, wearing a soggy, unzipped windbreaker. Wes unfastened the chain and opened the door a few inches. “Yeah?” “Is ... Casey McLeod in?” inquired the pale man, wheezing as he spoke. Out on the curb Wes noticed a parked Saab, old and dented. “Casey’s my wife,” said Wes. “Her name is Casey Goodhill now.” “Oh, that’s ... right. She ... she told me.” “And who, exactly, are you?” The visitor was swaying, shifting from foot to fo
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