2 Sisters Detective Agency(15)

“I don’t have time for this,” I heard Baby say to them. “I’m trying to make a run for it.”





Chapter 17



I put my hand on the knob but paused when I saw Baby’s reflection in the mirrored surface of another door in the hall. She was standing with a teenage boy who looked so tired and terrified, I forgot all about Baby’s escape attempt and froze where I stood, observing them.

“I need help.” The boy swiped back his long, ragged hair. “Is your dad here?”

“He’s dead.”

“What?”

“What the hell do you need him for?” Baby cocked her hip and folded her arms. “Jeez, man, what’s it been? Two years? I haven’t seen you since…”

“The thing.”

“Yeah.” Baby stared at her feet. “The thing.”

Both kids stood in the awkwardness, fidgeting with their clothes. It was Baby who came out of it first.

“You got tall,” she said.

“You too.” The boy wrung his hands. “Look, I’m in trouble and I can’t go to the cops. I need your dad. What happened to him?”

“What happened to you?”

“I…I was abducted last night.”

“What? What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means someone abducted me.” The boy smoothed down his shirt. It was dirty and wrinkled. “Like, for real. Like, the guy knocked me out and tied me up and put me in a white van. He had a gun.”

Even as the boy spoke, I could see him mentally backtracking. He swiped at his face, and I could see his hands were shaking.

“Are you high right now?” Baby asked.

“No, I’m not high.” The boy’s voice dropped so low I could barely hear it. He took a step closer to Baby. “Look, your dad was always a cool dude, and he came through for us that time. I just thought maybe…maybe, like…Okay, look. It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have come here. This was a stupid idea.”

The boy turned.

I pulled open the door of the office and pointed at him. “Not one more step,” I said.





Chapter 18



Baby’s eyes were full of terror. Not the physical kind. The social kind. Just opening the door and showing myself in all my aesthetic horror to someone she knew was clearly terrifying enough, but as I spoke, her eyes somehow got bigger. She was horrified that I might reveal who I was and make some kind of scene, which is exactly what I did.

“You two, get your butts in here.” I pointed to the office.

Baby and the boy walked into my father’s office. Baby’s expression slowly turned into a furious, threatening glare as she moved to the couch.

“What’s your name, kid?” I asked the boy.

“Ashton Willisee.”

“Ashton, is it true what you were saying?” I asked. “Were you abducted?”

“Whoa!” Baby put her hands up. “Rhonda, what…we…You-you don’t get to listen in on people’s private conversations!” she blurted.

“Yeah, I do.” I shrugged. “When they involve crimes and the possible endangerment of the people around me, I do.”

“I’m out of here.” Ashton tried to get up.

“Sit down and tell me what happened to you,” I said.

“Nothing happened.” Ashton slithered down in his seat. Ultra casual. He actually yawned, let his eyes drift half closed. I knew from my years of watching tapes of kids in police interrogations that adopting an overly casual or relaxed stance was often a coping mechanism for kids in danger. I’d spent much of my professional life advocating for kids who appeared callous or indifferent during false confessions when really they were terrified.

“Nothing happened?” I pressed.

“Look, I just—” He gave a humorless laugh and gestured at Baby. “I know Baby from school. I was just in the area, and I thought I’d see if she was here and…uh…pull a prank. Make up a story. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Look at me,” I said.

Ashton stared at the floor.

“Ashton, look at my eyes.”

The boy glanced at me for a fragment of a second before straightening back up in the chair.

“I can help you,” I said. “We can go to the police together. If there’s some reason that you—”

“I’ve gotta go.” The boy leaped to his feet. “I don’t need any help, lady. It was just a prank, okay? That’s all.”

He was out the door before I could get across the room to him.

“That was so uncool. I just…” Baby was shaking her head disgustedly at me. “I’ve got nothing. I’m, like, speechless.”

I ignored her and went to the window, where I watched Ashton fast-walk to a Mercedes parked at the end of the lot. There was a bumper sticker on the back of the car, which was unusual given the expense of the vehicle. I had to squint to read it. PROUD PARENT OF A STANFORD-WEST ACADEMY STUDENT.

“Hey, Baby,” I said, keeping my eyes on the Mercedes. “What’s the name of your high school?”

She snorted. “I’m too busy to go to school. I’ve been homeschooling myself since I was thirteen.”