The moon glistened on the glassy surface of the lake. The air was cool and sweet. There was barely a whisper of a breeze now
that the sun had long since slipped beyond the horizon. Crickets and
bullfrogs filled the air with their serenade; from across the lake, the
mournful call of a loon. Away from any artificial lights of the city it looked like an explosion of stars in this desolate area of northern Minnesota. This place,
this quiet, beautifully wild place held many secrets. Tonight she would give up one.
Lying, almost peacefully among the dense brush, was a young woman, petite and well-toned with flowing dark hair. The owl sat motionless on a branch directly above her, her spirit not quite ready to leave. At
first glance you would never suspect the violence that took her life nor the
lives her death would affect.
