Carlton came to consciousness with a weight on his already weighed down shoulders. Groggy, he blinked against the casefiles beneath his cheek. They were soggy. Dammit, Carlton thought, drooled in my sleep again.

“Shh,” Spencer’s annoying voice said. “Don’t wake him.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” O’Hara asked, concerned and amused.

“Nah, look. They’re the safety kind, all plastic except for at the edge. Lassy’s fine.”

“Except for his hair,” O’Hara laughed.

What?

The weight on his back shifted, and a dreadful suspicion began to grow in Carlton’s mind. A lock of hair landed next to face – a lock of his hair. Above him, Iris Vick giggled.