Mark sat in his patrol car in the parking lot of Tripod, the diner s***h bar s***h café in Acker, Wisconsin. He had thirty minutes’ break ahead of him, but since it was Wednesday, he knew to wait until exactly five minutes past eleven. That was the time his mother would call him.
When his cell began to play the random classical tune he’d chosen for her, he took a deep breath, and swiped the screen.
“Hello, Mom,” he said in what he hoped was an even, neutral tone.
“Did you have your lunch yet?” she asked immediately, like she’d done almost every Wednesday for the last three and a half years.
“No, Mom, I was waiting for you to call. I’ll go eat after.” He sighed, then steeled himself, knowing that she’d heard that and—
“Don’t you sigh at me, boy!”
“It wasn’t at y—”
Mark heard the phon
