The story was never told first-hand, just a family legend retold every few years when she and her mother drove out of town to pick raspberries. This stretch of road always freaks me out, is all her mother would say. The road was paved now, but some twenty years ago it was soft gravel, her grandmother a new driver like many women who only learned after their husbands left or died. It was dark, and she could expect to hit something along these roads at some point, be it deer or man. She never did stop to check.
READER
Caucasian female, mid-30s, with shoulder-length blond hair, wearing blue t-shirt, khaki capris, and leather sandals.
The Final Detail
Harlan Coben
(Island Books, 2000)
p 77