Victoria crossed the porch to the wall control panel by the front door.

She flipped the main power switch down, shutting off the outdoor floodlights and plunging the veranda into total darkness.

Cold water lapped against the pilings behind the boathouse as night settled over the estate.

By eight o’clock the next morning, the autumn sun was cutting through the heavy formal curtains of the lake house dining room and glinting off four crystal bowls of sliced melon.

Victoria had invited Eleanor Gable, who lived three doors down in the stone colonial on the lake, to an emergency breakfast.