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sprawling rambler a substantial distance from
where the two-story craftsman had stood.
    And, its bloodied contents hauled away, the pool had been
filled with topsoil and planted with roses.
    Three families had lived in the rambler on Meadow View Drive. Three families, and not a single tragedy. Or even a minor mishap. Still,
the families had chosen to leave . . . as if the ground itself was a graveyard
to haunted spirits.
    There was no money to be made from the land where Jared
Kilcannon died. Each owner bought it for a song and sold it for less.
    Luke hadn’t wanted Mira to buy the place. He had simply said,
without elaboration, that it was a bad idea. Vivian had been equally adamant in
her opinion of the purchase, and she had been forthright in her reasons.
Leaving Hilltop Veterinary Hospital to go into solo practice was one thing, a symptom
of Mira’s lifelong and apparently ungovernable independent streak. But moving
from Hilltop to Pinewood—and to that house—was both foolish and
inappropriate.
    Not surprisingly, Vivian’s response to the obscene phone
calls was I told you so.
    “I’m not sure how Mira’s decision to move to Pinewood would
logically result in her getting obscene phone calls.”
    Thank you, Blaine, Mira thought as Vivian replied, “It’s an undesirable
neighborhood. It always has been.”
    “That’s not true, Vivian. Pinewood’s a wonderful
neighborhood.”
    Vivian gave a dismissive shake of her stylishly coiffed head.
“Even though you’re getting vulgar phone calls from a Pinewood hoodlum?”
    “Prank calls,” Mira murmured. From a teenager. She hadn’t
considered the possibility. The restraint in the disgustingly pornographic
suggestions, the control despite the explicit language, made her conclude he
was a grown man—who was deadly serious. “I wish they were. But I don’t think
so.”
    “Let’s hear a little more about the calls,” Blaine said. “Any
thoughts about the caller?”
    “Lots of thoughts, Blaine, none of them very charitable.”
    Blaine smiled. “I meant thoughts about his demographics. Age, education, accent, that
sort of thing.”
    “Not really. His voice is electronically disguised. I thought
his access to voice-altering technology might be a clue, until I discovered how
available such technology is. He could be any age, I suppose, but based on what
he’s saying and how he’s saying it, I think he’s an adult. In terms of
education, his grammar is good, and his vocabulary is X-rated. If there’s an
accent, it’s hidden by the technology.”
    “You keep saying he.”
    “Well, yes. Yes . A woman wouldn’t be making the sort
of anatomical allusions he makes.”
    “Unless she’s calling for nonsexual reasons.”
    “Such as?”
    “To harass you for dating an ex-boyfriend of hers. Or an
ex-husband.”
    “I’m not dating anyone, and I really believe he’s an adult
male.”
    “That’s certainly the most likely, and if it’s what your
instincts are telling you, it’s probably right.”
    “May I say something?” Vivian asked.
    Mira saw the adoration in Blaine’s profile as he turned
toward his wife.
    “Of course,” he said.
    During what became a reciprocally adoring moment, Mira toyed
with the possibility that her attorney sister might have a legal contribution
to make. Vivian hadn’t taken the prosecutor path following her graduation,
magna cum laude, from law school. Criminal law—notably, the criminals—held no
appeal. But there had undoubtedly been required courses during law school on
how to approach what Mira was experiencing.
    “It sounds like you’re listening to what he’s saying.”
    So much for an opinion from Vivian’s brilliant legal mind. “Yes.”
    “For heaven’s sake, why ? If it were me, I’d immediately
hang up and call the police.”
    “He makes threats about what would happen if I did either of
those things.”
    “What kind of threats?”
    “He says he’ll make similar calls to people I know.”
    “Does he