My rental car had yet to be impounded according to Detective Fairbanks, so it was supposed to still be sitting on the parking lot of the Southern Hospitality Motor Lodge where I had left it. I had been allowed to use a phone to call a cab while I was waiting for my personal effects, and since it took several minutes to get me officially signed out, by the time I was at the curb, my wait was relatively short.

I set about the task of getting my credit cards and other odd items situated back into my wallet after I had told the driver where I was going and then settled back in the seat. I quickly checked my cell phone and noticed it was off, so I thumbed it on and laid it in my lap as I continued to arrange my life in the worn fold of leather. The phone started vibrating and warbling the instant it latched on to a signal.

I knew the familiar tone was alerting me to voicemail, but that could wait. When it finally stopped, it was only briefly before starting into the upwardly stair-stepped trill of an incoming call. I shoved my still disorganized wallet into my pocket then picked up the chirping device and glanced at the screen. The display showed that the caller was Ben. Apparently, Detective Fairbanks hadn’t wasted any time letting him know I’d been released.

My thumb hovered over the talk button as I debated whether or not I really wanted to listen to my friend read me the riot act at this particular moment in time. According to the digital clock in the corner of the LCD, it was already pushing 10 A.M. I knew I would have to deal with him eventually, but right now I wasn’t sure I was in the right frame of mind to take the flak. Fortunately, the internal deliberation was rendered moot by my hesitation, and the call defaulted to voicemail.