Charlotte kicked a can lazily down the main street of Maple Creek. She wasn’t sure why she was even in town, other than her feet had carried her there that hazy summer afternoon and who was she to disobey them? Her favorite black and white summer dress blew gently in a breeze too slow to cool her off. A couple of trucks rumbled down the gravel road, kicking-up dust so thick you could cut it and headed out of town towards what was fondly referred to as “the very end of the road” before turning off and heading into the few acres of woodland somebody had fenced off at the very edge of town.
Most people would never have given this another thought, but Charlotte knew who owned that property, and had suspicions of what went on there. She had been itching to break into it for weeks, but when Joe gave you a direct order, you followed it to the letter: Joanna Murray was terrifying when you crossed her.

Charlotte, however, was having a harder and harder time ignoring the muffled yells from inside those trucks.