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It was an early crisp fall morning in New England when Carolyn Watson went downstairs to prepare coffee and a light breakfast. She still had on her knee-length blue cotton knit gown and was putting on her matching robe. Walking through the den, she noticed that her husband, Paul, had a small fire in the fireplace, helping to take the morning chill out of the room. Carolyn passed by the bay window, and as she did, she saw Paul in the backyard, working on the lights in the gazebo. They would need the lights tonight–if it was not too cool–for sitting outside after dinner with the two couples they had invited over for the evening. In the valley below their house, there was a light ground fog, and the leaves were just beginning to turn into fall colors. She and Paul had found the two-story, red-brick house located on ten acres after they were engaged. They both fell in love with the house and bought it shortly after they were married. It was located about ten miles from the small New England town of Mountain Springs, whose streets were lined with antique and small clothing shops. Several white-painted churches with their tall steeples located throughout the New England countryside presented a quaint, peaceful small city. The tree-lined streets gave aromatic setting to the city, especially in the fall. To Carolyn, everything seemed almost perfect.
