Page 113 of Bad Intentions

I look at Josie staring at the casket, and my heart clenches. She’s trying to be so strong, but I see tears in her eyes. She’s sad she never got to know her father. I’m glad she didn’t. We are looking at this from different experiences. That’s life.

There is only one bouquet of flowers by the grave. Only one line on the accompanying card: From your children.

And that’s another story.

Two weeks ago, when the chief and Donna stopped at my place, the chief broke the news that the DNA found in Derek’s place was a paternal match with Josie’s. It also got a match in the system from a criminal record in Florida. Rika’s. I couldn’t believe it. Sure, things happen. Sure, Victoria moved out right when I went to jail. She had a boyfriend right away in college, married him within a few months, and gave birth to Rika. Who would’ve thought that Rika wasn’t his?

It turned out, Rika knew all about it. She’d done a DNA test for her father as a present a couple of years ago, and it didn’t match hers. Smart girl. She told Donna, of course.

As if sensing my thoughts, Donna steps closer. “How are you, K?”

“Fantastic,” I say, and both she and the chief snort, silently chuckling.

The man soon to be six feet under is the father of our beautiful granddaughters. I’m willing to show some respect. At least enough not to spit on his grave.

Officer Miles walks up to us. “Good time to talk about the case?”

“There won’t be a better time,” Donna says and cheers him with the tumbler of spiced rum in her hand.

This investigation is far from over.

“So, they did the autopsy, right?” the officer says. “Derek’s body was frozen for some time. There’s no way to tell when he died. He had severe blunt-force trauma. He was hit with something that broke his bones. Possibly a car. He didn’t die from the impact, though. He was stabbed to death while he was still alive.”

“She is a psycho,” I say, meaning Mallory Blain.

“Definitely,” Donna confirms.

“His body was found in the creek, at Mallory’s property. That’s what bothers me.”

“You’d think the psycho would’ve hidden it better, huh?” Donna asks.

“Right?” The officer glances at the chief, who only squeezes my shoulder. “In plain sight. I don’t get it.” He shifts his eyes from me to Donna, then back to me. “But his DNA is all over Mallory Blain’s car and the freezer.”

“Right.” I shake my head.

“Unbelievable,” Donna agrees and takes a loud slurp from her tumbler, then lights a cigarette. Ain’t no party like a funeral.

I stare at the grave that’s already filled up with dirt. I’m acutely aware of Steve’s hand on my shoulder. It feels protective. Always has.

“Anyway, that’s all for now,” the officer says.

“Any update on the bullets that killed Mallory?”

He shakes his head in disappointment.

That’s the question we are all left with. I didn’t ask Donna about Derek’s body or if Steve was involved. For the first time, I didn’t control how things played out.

The two shots that killed Mallory Blain before she had a chance to shoot Josie though? It wasn’t any of the officers at the farm. Not Donna, who was among them. No one was near Birdie and Josie when the shots were fired. No gun was found. No gun residue on Josie’s hands—of course, they checked.

A mystery, really.

Someone saved Josie’s life and ended the psycho. I’m not going to dwell on it.

Josie walks up, limping, her left foot in a cast. “Any updates?” she asks the officer, and he shakes his head.

All of us are silent for a moment, the only sound is the soil being shoveled to close the grave. Somehow, the sound is comforting. It’s closure, no pun intended.

“How are you feeling, Grams?” Josie asks. If people don’t stop asking me this, I will start carrying a banner that says I AM FINE!