The House on the Dunes — Ruth McCarthy Sears

The tiny redwood house on the beach seemed like a sanctuary to dark-haired advertising copywriter Jennifer Holman. Here in the fresh sea breeze she could make a new home for her recently orphaned teenage brother and precocious little sister. So her thoughts ran, glad to be at peace, until her elfin-faced sister, Katie, found the body in the sand.

The dead man had lived on the Point, a scenic are inhabited by recluses whose homes stared balefully down at Jennifer's. From the day Jennifer moved in, their antagonism toward her was immediate, unprovoked, and soon threatening. They urgently wanted her to move, but why? What secret did her dune-tossed property conceal?

Another person was also searching for the key to the deepening mystery. David Rupert was a tall man with a craggy bronzed face and hair the color of burnished gold. At first sight Jennifer's interest had been kindled by his aura of masculine strength. David's uncle had vanished like a grain of sand before the wind, and David was searching for him in the dark, muddy coves along the coast.

Then, on a murky, moonless night, a small boat pushed into shore, and two men deposited a strange parcel wrapped in a black oilskin. The odd occurrence was to plunge Jennifer into a maelstrom of horrifying events that threatened to suck her entire family into its depths.