Twisted by Laura Griffin Page A

hand to her ear.
    “She made tacos again.” His voice was gravelly. “I hate spicy food.” He frowned at the Sonic they’d just come from.
    “I don’t blame you.” Allison took his elbow and guided him toward the car. “I bet she’ll fix you a sandwich, though, if you ask her nice.”
    Mark opened the back door for him. “Watch your head.”
    He got inside without a fuss, and Allison mouthed the word “sorry” at Mark as he shut the door.
    Mark went around and slid behind the wheel. “Where to?”
    Allison gave directions as she passed her food sack into the backseat.
    “You take your medicine today, Mr. Pitkin?”
    He said something around a mouthful of food. Mark glanced in the rearview mirror and watched him devouring the tater tots.
    A few minutes later he pulled up to a one-story brick house where a woman stood in the front yard, talking on a cell phone. She paused for a moment, then rushed to the car and yanked open the door.
    “Dad! You can’t do that! I’ve been calling everywhere.” She cast an anxious look at Allison. “I’m so sorry. Where was he?”
    “Main Street.”
    Mark went around and helped the man out while Allison spoke to his daughter.
    “Oh! Sorry about your suit. Should I . . . ?” The woman cast a glance over her shoulder. Several neighbors were watching from their front porch.
    “I’ll get it later,” Allison said. “Make sure he takes his meds now, all right?”
    The woman shuffled her father inside as Mark and Allison looked on.
    “He do that a lot?” Mark asked.
    “Oh, you know. Maybe once a year. Usually he’s in his tighty-whities.” She shuddered. “The joys of small-town policing, huh?”
    Mark glanced at her as he got behind the wheel and thought she looked embarrassed. He pulled away from the house and drove down the tree-lined street.
    “It’s nice to see people taking care of each other,” he said. “You don’t get that much in big cities.”
    She sighed. “I don’t envy Marcy what she’s going through. Anyway, sorry about your coat. I’ll get it back.”
    “No hurry. I’ve got another one just like it.”
    “You buy them in bulk?”
    “Makes for easy packing,” he said, turning onto Main Street. He glanced at her and she was smiling.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Hey, you mind doing a quick drive-by? It’s probably a waste of time, but I wouldn’t mind having another look.”
    Mark didn’t need more explanation. He’d been thinking about that crime scene, too. He wended his way through town and headed back toward the park entrance. When they neared the sign, he cut the headlights and rolled down the window. Cool air filled the sedan as they eased past, silently scouring the area for any more visitors. Mark peered into the woods. Wind whipped through the dark leaves and he heard the owl again. But there were no car noises or any other signs of trespassers.
    They drove back to the police station in silence. The parking lot was nearly empty, and Mark pulled into a space beside her pickup.
    She pushed open the door. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty sharp tomorrow. The appointment’s at eight.”
    He’d intended to drive, but he decided to choose his battles. “Seven-thirty, then.”
    She reached into the backseat and grabbed the muddy boots he’d borrowed.
    “And about the interview—I’ll take the lead,” he told her.
    She looked instantly suspicious.
    “I’ve got a lot more experience, Allison, and that’s not a knock against you—it’s just a fact. You want in on this case, you need to stay in the background.”
    Her eyes simmered, and he could tell she didn’t like it, but whatever her objections, she didn’t voice them. Maybe she knew how to choose her battles, too.
    “You got it, Special Agent.” She slid out of the car and started to shut the door.
    “Wait.” He studied her face again. It had two dings now: one from the meth addict and one from earlier tonight. “Want me to follow you home?”
    She looked amused,