There was little traffic tonight. Or ever in Wildstone, which had an infamous wild, wild west past, played up for the tourists in all the glossy California tourist guides. The buildings on the downtown strip—two streets, one stoplight that almost always worked—were all historical monuments, and added to the infamy, including a haunted inn.

By the time she turned off onto the narrow two-lane road out of Wildstone, away from the ocean and into the lush, green, oak-dotted rolling hills, the storm had settled in. The wind continued to push at the Jeep, along with the rain slashing down now as well, making visibility tricky. The already-drenched land couldn’t absorb the deluge, which had the roads slick.

Rainbow Lake was eighteen miles of bays and hidden fingers and outlets, a treasure cove of fishing, boating, hiking, and camping. Only the south and west shores were largely populated, and there was a nicer road to those areas, one that didn’t go all the way around the lake to where she lived. Five miles in, she turned off where the road went from paved to gravel. There weren’t many houses out here. It was relatively remote. Her closest neighbor on her left was ten acres away and she couldn’t see the house from her own. On the right was another large ten-acre parcel that held a small marina and a residence for the man who ran it, leaving her sandwiched in between with her single acre.

She didn’t care. She loved it here, always would. It symbolized safety and security, even if she was not-so-secretly terrified of the actual lake itself.

The power was out here too; she could see that right away. The two massive oak trees in the yard were nothing but dark swaying giants, sheltering her as she ran toward her front door. Letting herself in, she tripped over the boots she’d left on the floor—cleaning up the messy foyer was on one of her lists somewhere—and made her way blindly to the kitchen, where she pulled out her storm lanterns.

Dead batteries.

Well, shit. That was also on a list. She was searching through her junk drawer for spare batteries when she heard an odd thunk. Had that been against the side of the house? Freezing in place, cursing herself for marathoning all those horror movies the other night, she listened. Nothing. Drawing a deep breath, she decided the hell with it, if it was a mass murderer, well, at least she’d made it to the ripe old age of thirty. She’d had a good run, and hey, she’d gotten to have a Shirley Temple earlier. What more could she possibly want out of life?