Chapter Eleven
Phil
PHIL’S RINGTONE awakened him a little after one o’clock in the morning. For one split second he considered ignoring it. A phone call at this hour could never be a good thing, but of course he had to answer. It most likely was the store. He frequently received middle-of-the-night calls, and almost always they were not exactly dire. If someone bumped into the exit bar on the back door, an alarm was triggered and Phil was notified. If a morning-shift employee called in sick, he’d sometimes receive a call alerting him. Or if the midnight cashier simply had a procedural question, they’d call him for the answer. One time a drunken customer drove their car into the front window at three a.m.
“Hello?” He struggled to hide the annoyance in his voice.
“Philip Mitchell?”
“Yea
