Page 33 of Such a Quiet Place
“No,” I said, holding up the files that had been wedged between my purse and my body. “Just bringing some work home. It’s empty in there otherwise.”
He nodded, then tipped his head to the white SUV in the lot. “You know whose car this is?”
“No, haven’t seen it before. I assumed it was someone giving themselves a tour.”
“It was here yesterday, too. There aren’t any plates.”
I looked again—the tinted windows, a contrast to the mud-caked tires. “Was it in the same spot?”
He chewed the side of his cheek. “Don’t remember.”
It reminded me then of what had happened after Brandon’s death. How the media had come to his home, our neighborhood, and then to his place of work, reporting from our lot, while we watched from behind the windows, our doors locked. How Anna had to call security to get them to leave. Murder wasn’t good press for the college, either.
“You could get it towed,” I said. “If there’s no permit.”
“You don’t want to tow the wrong person’s car, here, by accident.” He walked closer, peering in the windows, completing a slow circle.
I unlocked my car and dropped my purse and the files on the passenger seat, preparing to leave before he could question me about something else.
“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yeah, see you at the party,” I said, easing myself inside.
When I drove out of the lot, I checked the rearview mirror. Preston was standing beside the white SUV, hands in his pockets, watching me go.
