Twisted Date

Greta Hauser knew there was something wrong with that boy. She sat in her opulent dining room, wringing her hands. It was 1;00am and she felt a lump in her throat. What did the young people say "He's twisted!" Twisted-that was a perfect description of Greta's assessment of Mark "Tuff" Wilson.

Greta's granddaughter Mindy had brought Mark home. He had a scowl on his face, greasy brown hair reaching his shoulders and earrings in both of his ears. Plus, he wore all black, Mindy was in heaven. "Isn't he cool, Grandma!"

Mindy always got her way. Even her mother and father couldn't keep her down, God rest their souls.

Knock, knock! Greta's mind returned to the present.

Bang, bang!

Frantic, Greta looked thought the peep hole and saw two uniformed police officers. She reluctantly opened the door. A pit formed in her stomach.

"What has happened to her?" Greta shrieked in a German accent.

"Officer Shore, ma'am." The tall, portly man flashed his badge. "A young woman living here was found brutally strangled. This address was on her driver's licence. You are..."

"Her Grand-mo....." She fought sobs.

The other officer, African-American, with a medium height and build, attempted to soothe the woman. "I am so sorry for your loss, ma'am. You will need to come to the morgue to ID the body. We will need your help in apprehending the suspect, who is on the run."

Greta got her purse and locked the door behind her. This was not the date she had in mind for her granddaughter.