52 CAMERON CAITIFF
November 8
I woke up to the sound of my cell phone vibrating instead of my alarm clock. Groggy, and squinty-eyed, I reached for it on my nightstand, but when I touched nothing but air, my eyes shot wide open. The sun flooded the room with bright light. Where the hell am I? My head was pounding, and though it was a feeling I was familiar with (you don’t drink as much whiskey as I do without getting a hangover once in a while), I winced at the thought of getting up. I fumbled around the regal-looking room and finally found my phone under the bed.
“Officer Caitiff,” I answered with a dry crackle in my voice.
“Oh, thank God. Cammy, are you OK?” Marge let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “When you didn’t show up for work this morning, I got worried. I called your phone
