Dana Logan learns that her sister Georgi, a wealthy myster novelist, has died. Her husband says it's suicide but Dana knows her sister would never take her own life. With her friend Sarah Cafferty's help, Dana investigates on her own. In Georgi's bedroom they find a black velvet diary that tells of her life since moving from San Francisco to Wyoming. Along the way, the two women find their own lives in danger by a vicious drug ring.

EXCERPT

"Nothing worse than a Rocky Mountain blizzard." Dana Logan complained.

"Not even our San Joaquin Valley fog."

Her friend whimpered like a frightened puppy when the motorhome swerved on the ice. A massive storm had assaulted them without warning, spattering the windshield with flakes the size of sand dollars. They had already decided that March was not the month to travel Colorado.

"We should have listened to the weather report."�

"That wouldn"t have stopped me, Sarah. I have to know why Georgi died."

"But they said it was suicide." Sarah Cafferty"s grip on the safety handle was turning her fingers blue.

"My sister would never kill herself, and I"m going to prove it."

"If we don"t get off this highway soon, we"re going to kill ourselves."

Dana lifted her foot from the accelerator. "If I pull off now, we could wind up in a ditch. Or hit by an eighteen wheeler." Activating emergency lights, she squinted to locate the center line, which had already disappeared under a thickening layer of snow.

Snowfall increased, forcing Dana to adjust the wipers. At their highest speed, they clattered like a band of castanets. The motorhome swayed, causing something to crash to the floor behind them.

"The TV set," Sarah wailed. "We forgot to strap it down."

Snow was swamping the wipers. Their only hope was to prevent the coach from leaving the northbound, two-lane highway. Wind picked up, driving snow in hypnotic swirls. Nauseated, Dana blinked repeatedly, feeling trapped inside a kaleidoscope. Snow was falling so heavily that it seemed they were standing still.

"We"ll never get out of this," Sarah shouted over the wiper"s clattering noise.

"Sure we will," she shouted back, doubting her own words. "Watch for exit signs and delineator posts."

"I can"t see until we"re on them, Dana." Her voice bordered on hysteria.

The lonely stretch of interstate between Denver and the Wyoming border had already drifted in, with visibility reduced to less than twenty feet. If they managed to survive, Dana vowed she would never leave an RV Park again, without a weather report. A brief glance at the temperature gauge told her it was twelve degrees. So why did she feel that she had just stepped out of the shower?

Hours seemed to pass before visibility increased. Then intermittent lights appeared in the midst of a blinding whiteout.

"Snowplow," Sarah said. "Stay a ways behind him."

"Or her."

"Women don"t drive snowplows, Dana. Not while I lived in Nebraska."

"That was before the snowplow was invented, Sarah."

Their laughter helped to relieve the stress, but her fingers would have to be pried from the wheel when they reached their destination. If they reached it.

"Steer into a skid," her friend advised. "At least I remember that much."

"Maybe you"d like to drive."

"No, no, you"re doing fine." Peering through the side window, Sarah said, "An off ramp should be coming up. I can"t wait to wade through all that white stuff in my tennis shoes."

"And I can"t wait to reach Wyoming. My sister loved life too much to have taken her own."