Out of the Shadows

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Lynet Grainger had no real reason to feel afraid. Gladstone was a safe town, had always been a safe town. The rest of the world might be going nuts, with students shooting up their schools and disgruntled employees shooting up their workplaces, with cars being jacked and children being stolen, but in Gladstone none of that stuff ever happened.

Ever.

Of course, nothing much else happened either, at least not until recently.

Even before they'd built the new highway bypass last year — which had quite effectively bypassed Gladstone — the little town had been no more than a place where people stopped for gas and an occasional weary night at the Bluebird Lodge out on Main Street, pausing as briefly as possible in their journey through to Nashville. Otherwise, it was just a wide place in the road, not high enough in the mountains to offer skiing as a tourist attraction — though the Bluebird Lodge defiantly had as its logo a pair of crossed skis — and not far enough out of the mountains to boast much decent farming or pastureland.

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