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“Stick close to me. I don’t want you dying, either.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They got out of the rental car, Molly keeping an eye on their surroundings as they approached Nancy Royce’s front door. She’d lifted her fist to knock when the door opened, sending a wave of deliciously cool air wafting across her face, courtesy of the woman’s air conditioner.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Molly said. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Yet here you stand,” Nancy said tartly.
“Yes, ma’am. My name is Molly Sutton. I’m a private investigator. This is my partner, Gabe.”
Nancy’s eyes narrowed as she looked up at them. She was about five foot two, her tanned skin leathery with deep wrinkles. She was only sixty-four, but her worry lines spoke of hardship.
“Gabe who?” the woman asked.
“Gabe Hebert, ma’am,” Gabe answered, and Molly wanted to sigh, irritated with herself.
Should have told him that I didn’t want him to give his name.But she’d forgotten, the murder of Cornell Eckert having shaken her more than she’d wanted to admit aloud.
Nancy scrutinized Gabe for a long moment before cocking her head. “Come in,” she ordered, turning to walk deeper into her house.
Molly gave Gabe a nod and they followed her in.
