2 Sisters Detective Agency(18)

Vera smiled despite herself. She liked Sean’s little amusements.

“You can’t do this job. It’s not for you,” he continued.

“Leave her alone.” Ashton rolled his eyes.

“The deal is this,” Sean said, taking the waitress’s wrist. “Get under the table right now and blow me. Right now. In front of everyone. Do that, and I’ll give you a million dollars.”

“Sir, I can’t do that.” The waitress laughed uncomfortably.

“He’s serious,” Penny said. “You know who my brother is, right? We’re Michael Jay Hanley’s kids. Our dad is the most powerful guy in this city. Sean’s good for it.”

“He’s doesn’t mean it,” Ashton told Janice. “He’s just messing with you. Sean’s gay.”

“I gave the same deal to a bartender at Freeze last week. She quit her job right that minute.” Sean pulled out his phone, tapped through to his bank account. “Here. See? That’s my transaction right there to her account. Give me your details, and I’ll transfer it the moment you’re done.”

He unzipped his fly under the table. Janice looked around at the dozens of patrons all around them, her manager at the end of the room, checking in new guests. Vera watched the waitress’s mind ticking over. Calculating. The job. Her dignity. The money. The life-changing, destiny-altering money. A few seconds of humiliation for all that cash.

The waitress sunk down uncertainly. Everyone at the table except Ashton erupted into laughter when her knees hit the carpet. The waitress got back up and rushed away. The manager of the restaurant looked over at them but didn’t respond to the incident. In a few moments, they had all forgotten about it.

“What about that kid last time?” Penny yawned. “She got pretty sick.”

“She shouldn’t have been there,” Vera said. “She was supposed to be at a sleepover.”

“Is she okay?” Ashton asked. “Did you che—”

“She’s fine,” Vera said. “I checked.”

“But maybe—”

“It’s not the sniveling old guy,” Vera insisted. “No one could have found us that fast. It’s not anyone we’ve ever hit. We’re fine.”

She took a notebook out of her bag and set it on the table.

“Now pay attention,” she said. “Because we’re hitting our next target tonight.”





Chapter 21



The house in Manhattan Beach sat on the esplanade, a towering four-story white mass that blazed proudly in the sun. The single strip of concrete separating it from the scorching beach, called the Strand, was toured by Rollerbladers and dog walkers and looky-loos peering into the luxurious homes, while narrow streets between the lines of grand houses funneled families with towels down toward the glittering water.

“This is not Earl’s house,” I said as we idled on the street.

“It isn’t?” Baby raised her eyebrows at me.

“No,” I said. “This is not the house of a former accountant, former taxidermy salesman, now-deceased gumshoe with an office above a crab shack.”

“Well, I think I’d know where I live.” Baby snorted. “Turn here. Park in the garage.”

Baby had a small device in hand that was opening the double garage door, and I parked beside a black Maserati.

I wanted to scream at Baby that everything I’d seen that day was telling me Earl Bird had been a bad, bad man. Not only bad but also likely a dangerous, corrupt criminal. But I reminded myself that she was a kid who’d only just lost her father and who was now trying desperately to stop me from changing anything else about her existence. Trying to radically adjust her perception of our father probably wasn’t a good idea at the moment.

We passed through a door in the back of the garage and walked into the first floor of the house. It looked like there’d been a massive party held here last night: beer bottles and red plastic cups on every surface, overflowing ashtrays on the arm of every sofa. Greasy pizza boxes were stacked on the landing of the stairs, and discarded clothes were piled in the corners of the rooms or hung off pieces of furniture. But the layer of dust over everything told me this hadn’t happened overnight—this kind of filth was the result of months of neglect.

A teenage girl in a bikini lay sleeping on a couch in the first room we entered, the coffee table in front of her dominated by a huge glass bong.

“Who is that?” I asked, pointing.

“Some girl,” Baby said.

“You don’t know her?”

“I told you, I invited a bunch of kids from the beach over when Dad died,” Baby said. “Some of them are still here.”

“I thought you meant friends, not random kids from the beach,” I said. I went and roused the girl. “Hey. Hey. Excuse me? Honey, you’ve got to go.”

“You can’t kick her out,” Baby snapped at me. “This is my house. My guests can stay as long as they like.”

“You don’t know these people.”

“So?” Baby said. A boy with black dreadlocks wandered into the room from what looked like the kitchen. He let his bloodshot eyes drift over us and kept walking without a word.

“I’m going to go pack for Milan,” Baby said, turning to go.