“I know what you did!”

I didn't have time enough to shift to hold the phone with the arm that wasn't still asleep. The floor I was sleeping on was made of maple.  It was Jenny or Lucy's voice.  They were both pitchy and shattering.  I tossed my cell onto the couch behind my head like salt for good luck.

A few white pills were scattered by a bourbon glass of water atop pictures mayor's latest scandal that don't exist, yet. I had a meeting with The Washington Post senior editor at 9am, 2 hours.

If it was Jenny she knew I forgot to pick up our kids from Lois' cookie-jar, cat-ravenged house yesterday.  Now would be the time they should be getting to school.  The pinch-faced attendance lady, Ms Griselda, would have called her.  That was probably it.

My numb arm fell somewhere on my face and I groaned.  I let my hand course down my craggily beard and fall heavily on my chest, resting on the mound of my stomach.  I stretched out my leg onto some pencil-scrawled statements from mistress, spouse, and culprit, which I took yesterday.

If it was Lucy, she knew I stole her found her article idea and followed her six-week trail of research all yesterday and was about to make a couple thousand dollars of her money.

But it was probably Jenny.