“I’m getting a lot of crank phone calls,” Grace told Cullen five nights later. She and Cullen were sitting on her back deck with a drink each. Bees buzzed around a bed of marigolds, but the day’s summer heat had dispersed, and a pleasant breeze wafted from the west. “They say nothing, but I can hear them breathing on the other end of the call.”
“Have you tried calling the number back?”
“No, because I don’t know the identity of my caller. I figured it was better not to engage. I’ve blocked two numbers so far, but I keep getting the calls. If it’s a telemarketer, they speak to you. It doesn’t feel like that.”
Cullen straightened in his chair, his gaze intent and a frown forming on his forehead. “Have you noticed anything weird around the house? Strange cars driving past?”
“Work has taken
