“I hope you don’t mind,” Tristan said, leading me into the parking lot, “but I’ve been working on your old car. It was in Grandma’s garage, and she wanted to be able to drive it. You should have seen her trying to teach me how to drive a stick shift! Even the police were…ah…um…amused.”
I breathed in slowly; held it for a count of five; breathed out. “Where are we going?” I asked, as he shifted gears and we left the airport in my car. My former car; my first car. I tried not to act as horrified as I felt.
“To the police station. Grandma should be done with her probation officer appointment by now. His name is Damon Minke.”
“Oh,” I uttered. Well, they should have forgotten all about the time I’d gotten caught toilet papering the principal’s house with a couple of my friends, or the time I
