Prologue

Although the elevation was high, November was too early in the year for the heavy snow that was falling outside. Mother Nature seemed to be in a rush to begin accumulating the twenty-to-thirty inches of snow that was possible over a winter in the extreme northeast corner of Tennessee. The sky wasn't dark yet, but night was approaching fast. A blanket of thick clouds concealed the setting sun. Lamps were on in the house that was perched high on the side of the mountain.

The man stood at the window idly watching the snowfall. He wasn't worried. The storm could last for days. It made no difference to him. He had provisions and firewood enough to last through the worst weather; a generator in case the electric lines farther down the mountain iced over and broke. He was thankful that he had trekked a mile down the mountainside to the post office earlier before the snow began, to gather his mail.

The man glanced at the banded bundle that he had tossed on the kitchen cabinet when he came in from the cold. He asked himself why he should be glad that he had retrieved the assortment of bills that usually served as his mail.

Maybe this packet will be different, he hoped.

Drawing the insulated drape across the window to shut out the sight of the blowing snow, he withdrew to the warm cocoon of his living room. Dropping into the oversize brown leather recliner, the mountain man opened his mail, wishing to be surprised with something other than duns for money.

Oh, good. The newspaper from home.

He had not been home for nearly thirty years but he had grown up in that town, attended college there, even lived there as a married man for a short time. Since he left the region, he had subscribed to the local newspaper regularly. He was not sure why. He had designed and built his mountain-top home, naming it Eagles Rest and was content in the house. He had no plans to return to his past.

Leaving the paper in the seat of the chair, the man went to the kitchen to pour a cup of strong, black coffee, carrying the mug back to his chair to enjoy as he read. Settling into the familiar depression that his body had made over the years of ownership in the chair, reading glasses on, he opened the paper.

His normal routine was to quickly skim through the newspaper first to note possible items of interest, then return to read each article in depth. The editorial was easily the most serious column in the paper; the rest of the paper consisted of gossip, classifieds, and reports of neighborly doings.

He finished the first page and found nothing of note. He skimmed over the inside page. Suddenly, startled, he sat up straighter in his chair and steadied the paper for a closer look.

Well, I'll be damned. Check this out.

A fuzzy newsprint picture had caught his eye. The caption under the picture of a wedding party read:

Popular Manager of Crystal Lake resort, Sandra Johnson, marries local police officer, Steve Baker at the historic Davies estate in a lovely garden wedding. Cathy Roberts, long time close friend of the bride caught the bouquet, destining her by tradition to become the next bride.

"Cathy Roberts. My lovely ex-wife. Still living in Crystal Lake, I see." He gave a short, cynical chuckle as he realized he had spoken out loud. "Hey, long time-no-see, honey."

Dave Roberts gazed at the picture of the wedding party for several minutes, trying to analyze the reaction he had to seeing Cathy after all these years. The article didn't tell him anything about Cathy’s present life. All he learned was she and her high school friends were still close and that her long-time friend, Sandra had moved to Crystal Lake and married a local police officer.

He wondered what happened to Sandra’s first husband, Clint Johnson. Dave had never met him but had heard enough bad reports of Sandra’s husband from Cathy. She had often told Dave that Sandra should never have married Clint -- she didn't think the man was good enough for one of her precious girlfriends.

Dave laughed wryly to himself. Cathy Roberts. His ex-wife. She had decided rather quickly that he wasn't the man fit to be her mate, either. She had divorced him on a quick whim one day and had never looked back.

Sure, he realized that he had upset her when he had written some checks off her account without remembering to tell her about them but what the hell, Cathy had been good for it. The dame had had plenty of money and everyone knew she'd make lots more. Cathy had just opened her own accounting firm. Everyone knew that she was going places. What had been the point of being so stingy with her beloved husband? Why wouldn't she share the wealth?

Cathy Roberts, huh. Guess she never remarried, since she’s still using my last name.

"Interesting," he said out loud. He couldn’t help wondering cynically how his ex would react if he showed up in Crystal Lake, unexpectedly, to see her after all these years. This might be an excellent time to take a trip home and visit his past.