We Told Six Lies(38)

I’m out of the car in a flash, walking, and then jogging, in the opposite direction. I glance back a few times and see my dad sitting in the car, his head hanging. Then he starts the engine and drives away, giving me space to breathe.

There at the end, he said something that twisted my gut into knots.

Your mother and I would do just about anything to keep you happy.

What exactly does that mean?

I can’t shake this terrible sensation that everyone, including my own dad, is looking at me and wondering— Did he hurt her?

Did he take her?

Does he know where she is?

I change course and start jogging toward Molly’s house. I want to ask her mom about that letter. I want to see her face when I say her daughter’s name. One way or another, I have to uncover the truth about Molly’s disappearance. I have to find out what happened to her, even if it breaks the last piece of my blackened, shattered heart.





NOW


I march up the sidewalk to Molly’s house, wondering if her mom is even home.

I’m still uneasy about the letter Molly mailed. And I can’t get past that line she included—

My compass is broken.

I can’t shake the feeling that her mom knows more than she told the police. What if Molly told her our plan? What if her mom did something terrible to Molly when faced with the possibility of losing the only thing left in her life?

Would she allow herself to be abandoned twice?

I raise my hand to knock, turning once to see who might be watching. Realize how shady this makes me look.

First, he took the daughter, they’ll think.

Then he went back for the mother.

We always knew he was trouble.

A car catches my eye, parked a little way down the street. There’s a man sitting inside.

He’s watching me.

And I recognize him.

It’s Molly’s dad.

Why is he here?

I can’t let him get away without finding out.

I turn back to the door. Take two substantial breaths. Close my eyes. Open them.

And start running.

I run toward the car, my muscles firing, my body a machine as I cover ground. The guy sees me hurtling toward him. Fumbles with the keys.

He glances up, his eyes huge.

“Stop,” I say, running even faster.

The engine purrs to life, but it’s too late. I’m too close. And I’m not letting him get away.

He starts to pull away from the curb.

I land on the hood of his car, my forehead pressed against the glass. The man flattens back against the seat, breathing hard. He’s terrified. If he has any idea where Molly is, then he should be.

I tap my finger against the glass, point directly at his face.

“Get out of the car.” My growl sounds terrifying, even to my own ears.

He shakes his head, goes to grab the steering wheel.

I leap off the hood of the car and reach through the open window. I grab the wheel and yank it toward the curb. “Just a little gas,” I snarl. “Now.”

He raises his hands. “Okay, okay.”

I stand in the street, blocking his exit, ready to throw myself in front of his vehicle should he try to flee. But he doesn’t. He pulls toward the curb.

I’m there to reach inside and yank the keys out of the ignition.

I remember my size then. Remember it’s a source of power. Why don’t I use it more?

“Get out,” I demand.

He opens the door and stands up. Slams it closed. He’s wearing a sports coat and slacks. Brown shoes that shine. He’s got circles beneath his eyes that I suspect never go away, no matter how much sleep he has. The man looks like a well-dressed cocaine slinger, not at all like the reverend from Molly’s story.

I step closer to him, and he raises his hands. “What are you doing here? I know you know Molly’s gone.”

He shakes his head. “I’m just trying to do my job, man. I was going to talk to Molly’s mom for a piece I’m writing, but she kicked me out. So I thought—”

“Your job?” I say. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He lowers his hands. “I’m a journalist from Florida. I’m running a story on the family.”

“So…” I swim a hand through my hair. “So you’re not her dad? When you were taking pictures of us at the restaurant…Molly said…”

“Her dad?” He releases a nervous laugh. “God, no. Her dad is…” He narrows his eyes at me. “How much do you know about her dad?”

He seems like he’s digging for information from me now. “She told me about him.”

“Oh, good, good. Hey, uh, think I could take you out for a meal? Or a cup of coffee? Or maybe get you…” He shrugs. Shakes his head. “A beer?”

“Why do you care so much about Molly’s dad?” Anger fires through me. “Do you know what happened to Molly? Where she went?”

“As far away as she could get, I’d imagine,” he says. “Especially once she saw me. I mean, someone was going to figure out where they went. I just happened to get a lead from a teacher at her new school. We went to college together, and he knew I was—”

“Wait.” I hold up my hand to stop him. “What are you talking about? Molly’s dad was an asshole that walked out on his family. Why would anyone be interested in that?”