Page 8 of 2 Sisters Murder Investigations

“I played my lawyer card. They have no legal right to know what Troy or I discussed or what’s in the box.”

“You cited penal codes?”

“It works, Baby.”

“So are we going to take this case?”

“Are you crazy? Of course we are,” Rhonda said.

Baby felt a flame of exhilaration ignite in her chest. It was quickly snuffed out when Rhonda continued. “But, Baby, I’m lead on this. If last night showed us anything, it’s that even the most benign cases can turn malignant in an instant. This could be a murder we’re dealing with. Or, if it turns out that the contents of the box and Daisy’s disappearance are linked, a series of murders. So if I tell you to — ”

“C’mon, Rhonda.” Baby slumped to the carpet, leaned her head on the windowsill. “Can you press pause on the lecturing for, like, half a minute?”

“Do you know why I lecture you all the time, Baby?” Rhonda said, getting heated. “It’s because I actually care about you.”

“Ugh, don’t go all lovey-dovey on me.”

“Listen, if we slip up or if we get too confident or if we — ”

“You mean ifIslip up,” Baby said. “IfIget too confident. IfIblow our cover andIget us made into a serial killer’s skin-suits. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

After a moment, Rhonda said, “I don’t think that.”

“You sure?”

“Baby ... ” Rhonda sighed. “Fine. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“What was that? I think my phone cut out.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Listen, have you left the parking lot yet? Because maybe two crab rolls would make up for this.Maybe. It’s worth a shot.”

“Don’t get too smart with me,” Rhonda said. But Baby heard the engine cut off. “I just need to know thatyouknow that I’m lead on the Troy Hansen case. That’s all.”

“Say less, boss.” Baby yawned.

Once her sister hung up, Baby scrolled through her notifications. She had a message waiting for her on Craigslist. She opened it, read through it, and smiled. Rhonda might be lead on the cases at the agency, but she wasn’t lead in Baby’s life.

Never had been. Never would be.

CHAPTER11

I STOPPED BY THEhouse with the crab rolls for Baby. I was hungry too, so I’d gone ahead and bought us six.

After we ate, I hustled her into the Impala for the hour-plus drive from our house in Manhattan Beach to Glendale, where Troy Hansen lived. I figured we should visit our new client at the scene of the crime. So to speak.

Baby was applying lip gloss and admiring herself in the passenger-seat sun visor’s mirror as we approached the Hansen residence on Bonita Drive. I slowed when I spotted a dozen or so media vans crowding the intersection ahead. Bonita Drive itself was blocked and guarded by police. Troy had mentioned that they would allow only residents and known guests through.

“This is insane.” Baby flipped the mirror back up and looked at the huddles of press standing in the sunshine, comparing notes. “Tough luck if you live on Troy Hansen’s street. You’ve gotta go through a police checkpoint every time you go anywhere.”

“True, but still, I’d be grateful for the protection from gawkers and the press,” I said. “Without the blockade, both the media and amateur web sleuths would be free to knock on anyone’s door looking for sound bites.”

I pointed to where a woman was filming herself on her iPhone across the road from the TV reporters. As we drove past, Baby and I heard her voice through our open car windows.

“... with theories about what time Troyactuallyarrived home the night Daisy disappeared. Like and follow for part two, guys.”

We identified ourselves to the police and were let through. Two drones appeared and hovered maybe thirty feet above us as we walked up to the Hansens’ uncovered front porch. We rang the bell and Troy opened the door wearing flip-flops, sweats, and a muscle shirt. There was a scrubbing brush in his hand. I heard the buzz of the drones behind us as they tried to get closer and I all but threw myself at Troy in a likely futile attempt to block their view of him holding cleaning supplies.

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