he was saying as he forked a Tater-Tot into his maw. “We lifted fingerprints from the car… and that bartender--” He stopped mid-chew and glared at Mother. “Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers. “You listening?” Mother finished sipping from a glass of milk and turned with a glazed look. “Jesus Christ, why do I even bother?” the deputy grumbled. “It’s like talking to a goddamn fence post.” Darkness swept the woman’s face. Her husband must have noticed, too, because he leveled his fork at her. “You got something to say to me?” Instead of answering, Mother began clearing her plate. “Well, there she goes again. Give my regards to Jesus,” he smirked as she shuffled from the kitchen. “And what about you?” he said, turning to Angeline. “You plan on leavin’ us, too?” Avoiding eye contact, Angeline kept her gaze focused on her plate. “Hey, here’s a better idea,”
