I nearly dropped my phone, so instead of that, my mouth dropped.
“Michael Stowell?” I pressed.
“Yes, that’s him. Are you his girlfriend?”
I nearly dropped the phone again.
“Uh no.” Unfortunately.
“Oh.”
An awkward silence elapsed.
“So that’s that. I’ll hang up and enjoy your evening.” I rudely didn’t wait for a reply and promptly hung up. Of every possible scenario, a glove shop telephone number, a g*n store telephone number, anything but Michael Stowell’s mother. It was like one of those anti-climatic twists in those terrible crime dramas that my mum was sometimes bored enough to watch when I was young. That mystery was solved at least and yet something still bugged me. Maybe I was just restless and making a mountain out of a molehill, it wouldn’t be the first time in my life rea
