I stood near the hall doorway, my thumbs resting in my sweater pockets.

Mark walked to the double-door refrigerator, looped a heavy bike cable lock through both handles, and set the three-digit code with a sharp click of his thumb.

“If you want to hire lawyers and accountants to check up on my household, you can buy your own food outside,” he said.

“My Buick is parked in the driveway,” I said quietly.

“I’ll drive to the grocery store.”