The lake house has been empty for ten years – the scene of a brutal murder. Undeterred by the story, Mark and Tory buy their dream house, but when they move in strange things happen. While exploring the house n the first afternoon, they find a hunting knife wedged in a closet under the stairs. Could this be the murder weapon?

Tory, a romance novelist, becomes fascinated by the unsolved murder. The owner's beautiful, young wife was found stabbed to death. The police say it was a burglary gone wrong, but she doesn't believe it. Alone at the house during the week, while Mark works in New York, Tory feels the presence of the murdered woman. When she asks questions, the townspeople become antagonistic Only Andy, the newspaper editor, tries to be helpful. After someone shoots at her, Mark tells her to stop the investigation. But she has to know: is she crazy, sensing the presence of a ghost, or is the town covering up a brutal murder? As her investigation continues, more accidents happen. Is someone trying to frighten her away, or is she the killer's next target?

EXCERPT:

Prologue

The Lake House, Montbleu

A door slammed. Footsteps echoed on the polished boards. The man halted at the entrance to the darkening room and grasped the door jamb to steady himself. “My, God, what have you done?”

A ray of light from the setting sun crossed the lake and entered the long windows of the log house. The radiant trail burnished the ruby pool seeping across the pine floor and glinted off the knife blade. The figure holding the knife stared at the woman lying motionless on the floor, as if mesmerized by the blood pouring from the wounds in her chest.

The man crossed the floor and extended his hand. “Give me that knife.”

Time hung between them. Finally, the bloody hand offered the knife. “What are you going to do?”

The man grasped the knife, then knelt beside the woman. With trembling fingers he fumbled for a pulse at her throat, then her wrist. “She's dead. How could you do this?”

The figure said nothing.

The man rose. “I should turn you in, God help me. I should, but you know I won't; I can't” He took a step toward the figure and raised the knife. “You deserve to die.”

“But you won't kill me.”

Cords stood out in the man's arm as he held the knife poised ready to strike. He let his arm fall. “No, I won't. Get out. I don't want to see you again.”

“It's not that easy.”

“I know. Now get out before I change my mind.”

The figure took a step toward the door then turned to face the man. “What will you do? Take responsibility yourself?”

“I am responsible, God help me; I am.” A sob welled up from deep in his chest. He wiped a hand across his eyes. “I don't know what I'll do. Just get out. Let me think.”

“Yes – you always take care of things.” The figure followed the trail of the setting sun across the polished floor and disappeared out the door.

The man dropped to his knees cradling his head in hands. “Forgive me, Virginia,” he said.