From the Inside Flap
Less than twenty feet ahead of me, a cluster of weirdly flickering lights wavered across the road like giant fireflies in the woods, except we don't have fireflies here. Not flashlights, the light was too yellow. And were those people? Vague shadows, and I couldn't tell if they were moving or not. My gut made me slam on the brakes even though I knew better. Not that it did any good. The Crown Vic squirted across the mud as if I'd hit the gas instead. I heard someone scream, even through the rolled-up windows. I steered into the skid trying to regain control, but I might as well have yanked the steering wheel loose for all the good it did me.
The very last thing I remember was seeing one of those damned orange larches careening through the windshield straight at me.
About the Author
She holds degrees in British and American literature andhistory and library science, and a certificate in museum studies. In her otherlife, she's held jobs as far flung as hog farm bookkeeper, music schoolsecretary, professional dilettante (aka reference librarian), and museumcurator, all of which are fair fodder for her fiction.
Her other interests include quilting, gardening,meteorology, and the travel bug she inherited from her father. She lives on therainy side of the Cascade mountains in Washington state, within easy reach ofall of its mysterious places.