Page 12 of 2 Sisters Murder Investigations

“I’m trying to get you to think laterally,” Rhonda said. “We’ve got to exhaust all possibilities to determine that Troy didn’t do this.”

“Why?”

“Because no one else is going to,” Rhonda said.

“Oh, don’t give me that ‘Innocent until proven guilty’ bullshit, Rhonda.”

“It’s not bullshit, Baby. It’s the basis for our entire justice system.”

“Well, you go ahead and exhaust yourself. Report back to me when you’ve finished wasting your time,” Baby snapped.

Before Baby could turn away, Rhonda grabbed her arm. “If you’re gonna storm off, can you at least do me a favor?” She slipped a small, cold metal disk into Baby’s hand. A GPS tracker. “Tag Troy’s car, and don’t let the cops see you do it.”

Baby stepped out onto the Hansens’ porch and watched the shadows of the drones cross over her without looking up at them. She kept her head bowed, went to Troy Hansen’s blue truck, and leaned against it, then took out her phone and pretended to read a text. Rhonda’s dismissal of her excitement over the Troy Hansen case had made the muscles of her neck tighten with fury. For months, she and her sister had been chasing insurance fraudsters, cheating boyfriends, and missing pets. Now they were deep inside arealmystery, and all Rhonda wanted to do was plod around searching for alternatives to the plain reality that Troy had killed his wife — and probably several other people.

Baby sighed, then opened and scrolled through TikTok. The third video that came up on her For You Page was of a young man with a buzz cut, and Baby felt a pang of surprise as she realized that he was standing in front of footage of herself and Rhonda arriving at the Hansen house less than an hour ago. She unmuted it.

“All right, guys, this just in. My man at the DMV ran the plates of the car that just pulled into the Hansen driveway, and it seems a Ms. Rhonda Bird is at the house today. She runs a private detective agency in Koreatown. Seems to unofficially employ her younger half sister, Barbara, who we can see on the left there. Barbara is also known as popular fashion and travel influencer Baby Bird, but she’s gone quiet, probably training to become full partner in the agency once she’s old enough to get her license. But, look, this is a crazy,crazydevelopment in the case, everyone. Have these women been hired by Daisy’s parents? Or by Troy himself? What do the cops think? Comment your theories and I’ll be back when I have more.”

The video ended. Baby scrolled through a few more videos, Duets, and blind reactions to the one she’d just watched. Then she went over to Craigslist and checked her messages again. There was a new one waiting.

I’ll be here. Come any time!

Baby squeezed the GPS tag Rhonda had given her, looked at the Hansen house. She could see Rhonda and Troy through the windows. Baby was literally on the outside of the investigation looking in.

“Fuck it,” Baby said. She bent slightly like she was scratching her hip, tucked the tag under the wheel hub of Troy’s car, and listened for the click as the magnet locked on. Then she walked down the driveway and into the street toward the police checkpoint as she called an Uber. She put her home address in as a quick stop on her two-part journey.

Where she was going, she’d need to bring a gun.

CHAPTER14

AFTER BABY LEFT,I stayed and talked to Troy a little longer, but he didn’t reveal much more. Baby’s sudden absence felt like the elephant in the room.

When I passed the police checkpoint, I felt dozens of eyes watching. I wasn’t terribly surprised when I was pulled over barely two streets away from Bonita Drive. Squad car with flashing lights, sirens. I recognized the officer in the vehicle and put my forehead on the steering wheel. He took his time striding over to my car and leaned his huge forearm on the window frame when he got there.

“Dave.” I gave him a smile that was so fake, it actually hurt my cheeks. I hadn’t seen David Summerly since I’d stopped answering his calls after our last date.

“Rhonda.”

“You’re assigned to the Daisy Hansen thing?”

“I’moneof the officers working the case.” The tall, sandy-blond, square-jawed police officer glanced around the inside of my car. RIP to my beloved leopard-print ’72 Buick Skylark, but this new-to-me ’58 Chevy Impala was a classic. It had been three months or so since Summerly was in it. I’d driven us to a movie, then dropped him off at his apartment after midnight. “I’d just love to know what you were doing over there,” he said.

“Troy Hansen may or may not have engaged me in a private matter.” I took my sunglasses from the holder and slipped them on, driven by the instinct to hide. “I really don’t want to get into it right now, okay? It’s ... you know. It’s complicated.”

“It’s complicated?” Summerly raised his eyebrows. “Now, that sounds familiar. Isn’t that one of the tired, vague old lines you fed me after you ghosted me?”

“I didn’t ghost you. I drifted away.”

“That’s what ghosts do. They drift. They’re kind of known for it.”

I swallowed. “I’d really hate for you to make my work with Troy Hansen difficult just because our relationship didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to.”

“So you admit that you are working with him? What has he hired you to do?”

“No comment.”

Summerly smiled and looked away. I remembered the dimples. I glanced out the front window. Sunny Glendale sprawled around us: Gardeners tending manicured lawns. Bored dogs barking in yards. I thought about the cardboard box sitting in the trunk of my car.

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