Molly staggered toward me. That was real, too.
“What?” she whispered.
“It looks like he’d been beaten,” the cop said, pausing as he looked over Molly’s face. “But we think he died from a gunshot wound.”
“Oh, my God,” Molly murmured, lifting a hand to cover her face. Real.
“Ma’am, are you sure that—” The younger cop’s words cut off as Rebel walked between him and Molly, coming to a stop with her hand wrapped around Molly’s thigh.
I think they were both surprised by Reb. She didn’t say a word as she stared at them, just watched somberly behind her black framed glasses as they shifted on their feet. Molly looked like hell, but there was no arguing that Reb looked like an angel. She was in clean clothes, her hair was pulled back from her face in a little ponytail and her specs were clearly not a discount brand. Her face was still covered in donut leftovers, but that seemed to make her look even sweeter.
“Did—did you need something from me?” Molly asked, letting her hand fall to rest on the top of Rebel’s head.
“Do you know of anyone that would want to harm your father?” the younger cop asked, his chest still puffed up with importance.
“He was a lawyer,” Molly said flatly. “I’m sure there were a lot of people, but no one that I know.”
“Have you ever seen this man?” the young cop asked, setting a photograph down on the table.
Molly inhaled sharply and jerked away, shaking her head as she got a good look at the dead Russian’s face and the steak knife stuck in the side of his neck.
“Jesus Christ,” I snapped, looking back at the cops. “You serious right now?”
“Sorry,” the young cop mumbled, picking the photo back up.
“Okay,” the older cop said, shooting an irritated look at the younger one. “We’ll keep in touch.”
He turned to walk away, but before I could relax, Molly spoke.
“Wait!” she called, making the cop spin back around. “Should I—do I need to call a funeral parlor or something? I don’t . . .” Her words drifted into nothing, and my stomach clenched at how young she sounded. Real.
“Since it’s an ongoing investigation, it’ll be bit before we can release the—your father’s body,” the older cop said kindly. “But we’ll let you know as soon as we’ve got a timeline.”
“Thank you,” Molly said softly.
With a nod, the officer turned and walked away, the younger cop following in his wake like an overeager puppy.
Molly dropped down into the seat next to me and wrapped her arm around Reb’s shoulder.
“Man,” Rebel said, wrinkling her nose as she wiped her finger over her top lip.
“Yeah, that was a pretty epic mustache, huh?” Molly replied, laughing a little.
Rebel woofed and Molly laughed harder.
“Did she just say that cop looked like a dog?” I asked, unable to keep the laughter from my voice.
“Dog,” Rebel copied, dropping to the floor. She started crawling around and I cringed at the thought of everything that had been spilled on that floor. I’d need to clean her hands as soon as she got up.
“One of the therapists she goes to has this little dog, and the hair on his muzzle looks exactly like a mustache,” Molly explained, watching Reb crawling around like a puppy and shaking her little butt.
“Cops are pigs, baby girl,” I told her in amusement, making Molly elbow me in the side. “Oink.”
Rebel started snorting and I couldn’t help the loud laugh that spilled from my mouth.
“Don’t teach her that,” Molly snapped, but I could see her swollen lips inching into a smile.
My dad crossed the room to us and stopped on the other side of the table, meeting Molly’s eyes. “Did good,” he told her.
“You hear her tell them that her co-workers thought I beat her?” I asked incredulously.
My dad’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Good to see you sweat a little.”
“Fuck off,” I replied with a grin.
Molly sighed and leaned toward the table, bracing herself on her good arm. “None of this is funny,” she whispered, reaching up to touch her eyes before dropping her hand to the table.
“Gotta find the humor when you can,” my dad told her seriously. “’Specially in times like this.” He rapped his knuckles twice on the table then strode off, stepping around Rebel, who’d plopped down on her bottom and was scratching at the side of her head.
“Do you think they’ll come back?” Molly asked, leaning back to look at me. “The cops?”
“Nah, Dad’s right. You did good.”
“They believed me?”
“Yeah. Probably helped that we’ve got a busted up four wheeler sitting on a trailer out front.”
“How the hell did you manage that?” she asked, looking at me in surprise.
“Tommy wrecked it two months ago.” I leaned forward and brushed my lips across hers before she could move away. She was doing so good. Most other women would be losing their shit—but not Molly. She was the easiest woman I’d ever met. No drama. She was hurting, you could tell by every expression on her face and every movement of her body, but she wasn’t complaining and she wasn’t hysterical. I got to my feet and inched around her, sliding my hand across her shoulders as I went. “Come on, Reb,” I called, picking the little girl up off the floor. “Let’s go wash your hands before you get salmonella or some shit.”