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troubling events of the past several days: phone calls with no one there, the CD in the mail, the flowers, and now this disturbing message. There was no doubt about it. The situation was escalating.

CHAPTER FIVE
    “ Never eat more than you can lift.” —Miss Piggy of “The Muppet Show”
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    After a night of restless sleep and hazy, disjointed nightmares, I woke up groggy, and peeked with swollen eyes at my alarm clock. It was eight-thirty, Monday morning—time to get up and face the world. I stumbled into the kitchen and started the coffee. Holding my favorite mug, a souvenir from Newport, Rhode Island, I leaned against the counter and gazed vacantly into space, waiting for my organic, shade grown, breakfast blend coffee to finish brewing. Unexpectedly, the phone rang, shattering the morning silence, and startled, I dropped the mug. Fortunately, the mug survived the sudden plunge, having its fall broken by the soft cushioning of my inflamed toe. I counted that as a victory. I’m trying to be a positive, glass half-full kind of person.
    As with all the previous calls, the ID was unknown. The caller hung up without leaving a message. Limping en route to the sink to rinse off my mug, the phone rang again, and once again the caller hung up. When it happened a third time, I pulled the cord out of the wall, slammed my fist onto the counter and shouted, “Leave me alone!”
    Heaving a sigh, I lowered my head, and pondered my wretched existence. It was time to regroup. I needed to pull myself together, think rationally. If I walk around in fear, the crazy stalker guy wins, and I will not allow him to steal my power. There will be no white flag hanging on my door. I will persevere.
    I pulled my cell phone from my purse and hit the speed-dial for Colonel Julie, but no luck. After four rings her answering machine picked up. She was probably out running, like she does every morning, rain or shine, which accounts for her perfect weight. Guess a career in the military teaches you self-discipline. Learning self-discipline is part of my Action Plan, and I fully intend to do that one of these days, when I can get around to it.
    The beep sounded and I left my message, “Hey, Jules, it’s Vic. Can you do lunch today? We need to make plans for our undercover operation tomorrow. How about twelve-thirty at the Beach Café at Carillon Point? Let me know. I have a stalker. See you later.”
    Next, I called Amanda and got her voicemail as well. I left her a brief message about lunch today with Julie, and invited her to join us.
    The coffee finished brewing and I poured myself a steaming cup. The flavor was rich and dark—just the way I like it—the phone was quiet, and the sun was making a rare appearance. As the soft rays of sunlight sifted through my window, I began to feel much better. I searched through my cupboards for some comfort food, fixed breakfast, and focused on my primary objective of the day: calorie control. If you leave one bite of food on your plate at each meal, by the end of the year you will have lost ten pounds. I left one bite of my second donut on the plate. I’m really getting into this weight loss thing.
    After plugging my phone back into the wall, I took an invigorating shower, fixed my hair, and applied my makeup. I felt renewed, refreshed, ready to take on the world. A quick check of my answering machine revealed two new messages awaited me. I pushed the play button and recognized Julie’s voice:
    Vic, what the hell? What do you mean you have a stalker? I ’ll see you at twelve-thirty at the Beach Café. Be careful.
    The second message was unmistakably from Amanda:
    Hey , Vic, sorry I missed your call. I can’t do lunch today—Carl has a bark mitzvah—but thanks for asking. You kids go have your little stakeout tomorrow. I have a salon appointment and then my karate class. Call me the minute you know anything.
    Sometimes the boundaries of sane dog ownership are a little fuzzy with Amanda.
    There was