A few months before the bodies of two women had been found in Lincoln County and two more were reported missing in Portland, a dinner was held. 

Seven women sat at a table in the home of Mary Riker.  The toasting always began at the head of the table, with each woman telling a story from their lives.  It didn’t matter what the story was about or who was involved, but two rules stood over the gathering.  The first was that the story couldn’t be about high school, since two of the women weren’t from their hometown and the second was that it had to be kept absolutely confidential- a secret among the seven of them.

The problem was, Mona couldn’t quite remember exactly what stories had been shared.  And the few months had passed without another gathering because two members had come up missing.  Now, she knew exactly what had happened to them and she was now looking for two of the others.

Out loud, she talked to herself, remembering some of the stories that had been told at that last dinner.  The only one who hadn’t shared was Michelle; in fact, she’d been quiet through the entire dinner.  And of the stories told, the one from Janette bore the most interest and left an impression in Mona’s memory now.

“I can’t help but think that I really did have something to do with it, though,” Janette had been saying to Marla,her cousin.  “How can I not have known about it?”  Her voice had been shaky, proving that it was something new and fresh; a raw wound.

Marla said, comforting her a little, “There was no way anyone could have known that that could happen to him?  Even the doctors were surprised by it.”

Janette regaled the entire group then about an incident in which she was involved.  Of course, Mona had had to stick to the rules and did so in good conscience because there’d been no law broken.  But now, there was no getting beyond the fact that that conversation was the key to this horrible business and she had to get to the bottom of the entire occurrence before her entire circle of friends was wiped out by a madman.

Deep in the Oregon woods, Mary Riker awoke to the sounds of panicked breathing.  She looked around, frantically looking for the woman who’d been lying on the floor of the rusty, copper colored Scout in which the two of them had been driven to their present location.  It was dark and she couldn’t get her bearings, but she could tell that the woman was to her right.  She was trying to talk.