There was no way she was getting in the car with this guy, but she felt this inexplicable urge to be polite. Frozen by her inability to think of an excuse, she glanced around the parking lot and spotted the older man from the diner walking out to his car.
“Oh, that’s okay.” She thumbed over her shoulder. “I’ll get a ride with—” She didn’t know his name. “My friend from the diner.”
“Suit yourself.” The man raised the window but stayed where he was. Twitch hurried over to the older gentleman. “Excuse me. Hi. I’m Charlotte. I’ve seen you at Puck’s. My car died. Do you pass by The Gingerbread House by any chance?”
“Twice a day going and coming from that diner.” He spied her over his glasses. “I guess I remember you.”
“Yes.” Twitch gave a relieved smile. “Could you give me a ride?”
Despite looking put out, the man nodded, and Twitch hopped in the passenger seat. In the side mirror, she saw the Blazer pull away.
“Thank you so much.” Twitch set her groceries in the footwell. She was just fastening the seatbelt when she felt the prick in her arm.
She looked up into the driver’s delighted face.
“Gotcha.”
Swatting the hypodermic away, she released the unfastened seat belt and pulled on the passenger door handle. She knew the door was locked but took advantage of her last moments of clarity to use her body as a shield and dropped her phone into the compartment at the base of the door. She tugged on the handle a few times for good measure, then turned back to face her attacker.
Body limp, eyes drowsy, Twitch cast a glance at the driver. His beard had come loose, and the now obvious toupee was askew. She squinted.
Twitch was looking at a dead man.