Page 1 of 2 Sisters Murder Investigations

CHAPTER1

THERE’D BEEN NO DOUBTin my mind that Baby wasn’t going to last the whole stakeout. I just hadn’t thought she’d quit it by crawling out the passenger-side window and onto the roof of my car.

I’d sat calmly in the white 1958 Chevy Impala for two hours, watching the dark apartment windows through my binoculars, listening to the humid Los Angeles night’s sounds enveloping the parking lot. Crickets, distant sirens, Latin music. My sixteen-year-old sister, Baby, had twisted and turned in her seat, variously twirling her hair, napping, scrolling social media, drumming the dashboard, and trying to engage me in rounds of Kiss, Marry, Kill with celebrities I’d never heard of. Two stakeout highlights — one man leaving the apartment building briefly to smoke a cigarette, another driving off and returning with a bag of items from a nearby pet store — did little to disrupt Baby’s bored agony or my quiet focus.

Then, without warning, my sister was clawing her way out the car window with the speed and dexterity of a praying mantis escaping a bug jar.

I exited the car in a considerably less nimble fashion, using my weight to rock and shunt myself out the narrow door. Yes, we shared DNA, but if Baby was like a praying mantis, I was like the star ofKung Fu Panda.

“Hey!” Baby sat on the Chevy’s roof and yelled up at the building, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Listen up, you stupid pricks! We know you’re in there! We know you’ve got L’Shondra! Hold on to your balls because we’re a-comin’ in!”

I grabbed one of Baby’s sparkly black boots, yanked her sideways, and caught her in my arms like a doll before she could hit the ground. If there’s one thing my kid sister hates, it’s when I manhandle her. Unpredictability is one of Baby’s teenage superpowers, but one of mine is being able to throw other human beings around like bed pillows.

“Rhonda, what the hell are you doing?” she wailed at me.

“What amIdoing? What areyoudoing? You just blew our cover!”

“So what? We’ve been sitting here doing nothing!”

“We’re gathering intel!”

“We know the guys in that apartment have our girl! How much moreinteldo you need?”

A couple in the street beyond the edge of the parking lot had overheard Baby and were now pressed together, trying to figure us out. I caught the wordpolice.

Baby wriggled out of my arms. “I’m tired of sitting on my ass watching these guys and doing squat to save L’Shondra. You gave me lead on this case,” she said. “I’ve decided. We’re gonna charge the doors, grab our girl, and go get tacos to celebrate. We’ll be home by midnight and done with thissickeninglydull case.”

She popped open the trunk and went rummaging around behind the seats.

“Giving you lead on this was a big mistake.” I sighed. “This was your first chance to show me you have the patience and maturity to make major decisions at the agency. You failed, Baby.”

“I failed?” She straightened, laughing. “Rhonda, I’ve never failed at anything in my life.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Why do I need to show you anything? I don’t have to prove myself to you. You know, there’re a whole bunch of decisions that seem to automatically fall to you,” she said. “We decided to start this detective agency together. We’ve both been private detectives for the same amount of time. Now suddenly you’re in charge and you’re picking the cases. You’re grading me. You’re ‘giving’ me lead.”

“Baby, Iamin charge,” I said. “Dad’s dead. I’m your legal guardian. I’m more than twice your age. And I’m a lawyer. Okay? I know criminals. I know investigations. I know cops. I know the kind of cases we can and should take so we can establish our street cred. Legally speaking, you’re still a child.”

“Oh, give me a break.”

“Yougivemea break!”

A man stepped up to us. He seemed to materialize from behind our vehicle, where the trunk abutted the wet palms. The hammer of his huge revolver clanked down heavily as he pointed it at Baby’s face.

“Don’t move,” he said. “Either of you.”

CHAPTER2

A BOLT OF ADRENALINEhit my chest, freezing all thought. For a second there was nothing but the gun and my kid sister in the line of fire, the purest manifestation of all my worst nightmares. It didn’t matter who the guy was. What mattered was his finger on the trigger, the ability of that single digit to destroy my entire world.

“Phones,” he said. “Slowly.”

We extracted our phones from our pockets and handed them to him. I glanced around, sweat already beading on my brow. The curious couple was gone. The gunman tossed our phones into the palms.

“Move,” he said, gesturing toward the apartment building with the gun.

We walked. I gave Baby aDon’t do anything stupidglare. She shook her head, disgusted.

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