Miranda Lambe had been on the receiving end of pestering phone calls for several weeks now. They had started in late September and continued, on an almost nightly basis, until now: early November. As the time went on the calls had grown increasingly sinister in their nature. The days were short and the weather was as cold as Miranda’s feelings towards the caller—a fellow by the name of Gary Grunt. Strangely, Miranda hadn’t yet reported Grunt even though it was an open-and-shut case that he was pestering her—she was certain that, if the need arose, she could prove it in any court. Gary Grunt would not have seen it like that, however. As far as he was concerned he had scored (albeit illegally) with this bird, Miranda Lambe, and was now in with an excellent chance of having his way with her again. She was out of ...