A sharp whistling inside Eve’s head alerted her that she forgot to change her ringtone from the annoying “Mosquito” tone that people her age were not supposed to be able to hear. Pushing away from her desk (and squinting from the pain the tone was inflicting), she quickly silenced the cellphone before answering.

“Isaac? Why the hell are you calling me so early,” she growled into the phone. A chuckle echoed into her ear, “Don’t you mean late. Your lights are still on. Sucks to be neighbors, remember?” Eve sighed and rolled her eyes, “Anyway,” she prodded.

“Anyway,” Isaac continued, “Remember that cat you ran a while back, with the dead rockers. Cobain, Staley, Hoon,” before he could go on Eve interrupted. “Well, wait. I never made Hoon fit. He just didn’t match up. Plus the little Bee girl freaked me out.”

Isaac sighed, “Fine, but I think you should pull the file. Let me take it if you’re too busy chasing uffa’s. I think it goes further. They aren’t pulling DNA for paternity test, I’ll guarantee that.”