The online store said that it would take 2 weeks to ship my new phone, but it arrived the next day, wrapped in butcher’s paper and bearing a hastily-scribbled label.
Inside the box, the phone was almost perfect, even if the cables and headset were sloppily wound-up.
There was also a note from my Secret Admirer, telling me I deserved the phone more than the guy she’d killed and taken it from.
Her number was in the address book.
“Call me.”
Instead, I called the police.
What if she admires someone else who wants a phone even more than me?