Page 11 of 2 Sisters Murder Investigations

“Troy,” Rhonda said. “You shouldn’t be saying things like that. Not to me, not to anybody. I sure hope you haven’t been talking so casually about your wife’s possible death with the police.”

“I can barely remember what I’ve said,” Troy said. “The first interrogation was eight hours straight. No food, no water.”

Baby left the kitchen and checked out the bathroom. The mirror was spotless, and a bucket of hot soapy water stood steaming in the middle of the floor in front of the toilet. There was soap in the grout in the shower. She spotted more signs of police activity: The drain covers in the sink, shower, and floor were all missing. She opened the mirrored cabinet and found empty spaces where she assumed there had once been bottles of pills that had been taken into evidence.

“When did you first try to make contact with Daisy after you came home and found the blood?” Rhonda was asking as Baby returned to the living room.

“The next morning.” Troy watched Baby, only his eyes moving. “I texted her that I was going to work and to have a nice day. I expected her to call me at lunch.”

“Troy.” Rhonda was sitting on the edge of her seat, her hands tightly clasped. Baby could sense the frustration coming off her in waves. “You must understand how strange this all is. Your behavior.”

“I’m a strange guy, I guess.” Troy fiddled with his fingernails. “I’ve been told that before. The police keep telling me a normal person would have assumed Daisy was in some kind of danger when he saw the blood and she didn’t come home.”

“Exactly!” Rhonda opened her hands.

“I justdidn’tassume that.” Troy shrugged.

“Why not?”

“Daisy is a smart, capable, independent woman. I didn’t immediately assume she needed rescuing from some kind of perilous situation. And the odds that somebody came in here, into our house, hurt her, kidnapped her, and brought her to ... to some unknown location?” He threw his hands up. “They’re infinitesimal. Daisy and I, we’re not drug dealers. We’re not international spies. What possible reason could anybody have for doing that?”

Rhonda didn’t answer.

“I assumed that something much more likely had happened,” Troy said. “I figured she’d gone to a friend’s house after the gym or maybe went to a doctor to get stitches for the glass injury or whatever.”

“And you weren’t curious as to which one of those had happened?” Rhonda asked.

“No.”

Baby caught Rhonda’s eye again and beckoned her over. Rhonda left Troy sitting on the couch staring at his hands, and the two sisters walked down the hall toward the guest bedroom.

“We’ve hit the big time,” Baby said in a low voice.

“What makes you say that?” Rhonda asked.

“Because this guy murdered his damn wife,” Baby said. “It’s as plain as the nose on my face.”

CHAPTER13

RHONDA WAITED, HER ARMSfolded over her Opeth T-shirt. The sunlight from the windows overlooking the manicured yard made her round cheeks glow.

“We’re going to take down Troy Hansen,” Baby said, trying to put her thoughts in order. Excitement was fluttering in her chest. “We’re going to be the ones to get him. Not just for killing Daisy, who is clearly lying around here somewhere decomposing, but for killing all those other victims too. The movie rights are going to sell for millions.” Baby grinned at Rhonda.

Her older sister looked unimpressed, verging on disgusted. “Where’s your smoking gun?”

“We’re standing in it. Look around you,” Baby said. “This place screamsSleeping with the Enemy. The labeled Tupperware. The soulless knickknacks. The hotel art. The whole house looks like a Zoom background.”

“Baby,” Rhonda said. “You need to play your own devil’s advocate here, okay? Yes, the house looks like an IKEA showroom. So what? Maybe Daisy likes it that way. You wanna analyze the decor and use it to accuse Troy of murder, you can go right outside with all the other wannabe TikTok sleuths. The hedges look pretty tidy. Maybe Daisy’s buried under them. You wanna go check?”

“Rhonda — ”

“Look, Baby, I want apartneron this case. What I want from you is criminal investigation, Baby. Not thirty-year-old movie references. Not clichés and prejudices.”

“He didn’t even try to call or text her, Rhonda!”

“I know this may be hard for you to believe,” Rhonda said slowly, “but once upon a time, people didn’t call and text each other every six seconds. You could be dating someone and go a whole week without speaking to them. Husbands and wives didn’t know each other’s exact geographical location down to the square foot all the time.”

“Okay.” Baby backed away. “Now you’re talking to me like I’m an idiot.”

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