2 Sisters Detective Agency(41)

One of the dudes loaded his bench press up with 220 pounds, glancing over at me as he made some comment to his bros. I went over to Dad’s bench press and loaded it up with the same. As I sat on the bench, the guy lay back and pumped out five fast reps. I did the same. The bros laughed. One of them pushed his friend out of the way and loaded up another 80 pounds. I watched him work five slow, perfect reps. I loaded my weights up to 300 pounds and did the same.

Confusion hit on the opposite rooftop. The bros huddled. I sat listening to the distant waves, feeling quietly smug. While I waited for them to formulate their next move, I picked up a dumbbell and did some biceps curls.

The biggest of the bros began loading up the bench press bar. I stood and mimicked him, loading as he loaded, selecting weights as he selected them. The numbers climbed: 360, 380, 400, then 440 pounds. The big guy struggled through three reps, his whole body trembling and mouth pulled taut, baring his teeth. I cracked my knuckles, but before I could lie down, one of the dudes came to the edge of the roof.

“Don’t be stupid, lady!” he yelled. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

“We’ll see!” I yelled back. I went to my bench. I loaded on another 20 pounds. The guys gathered at the edge of the roof and folded their arms—concern for my safety, or their own reputations, written on their stern faces.

I pumped out five slow, careful reps. My arms trembled. My chest felt hot, tight, the muscles working and straining. I felt my cheeks grow warm. I pumped out a sixth rep and heard the guys erupt in moans of awe as I fit the bar back into the rack.

I don’t know what else I expected. A round of applause, maybe. A smile. A wave of admiration. But I got none of that. The guys took in my display, then turned and left the rooftop without another word or gesture, like they’d heard some kind of alarm and were evacuating.

I was alone only a moment before Baby stepped out through the big glass door leading onto the roof.

“We need to talk,” she said.





Chapter 51



“I invaded your space.” I put my hands up. “I totally get it.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Baby said. “Because as far as I know, you’ve never had someone walk into your life and turn absolutely everything you freakin’ know upside down, including your own goddamn bedroom!”

“It needed to be done,” I said. “You and Dad were living like pigs. But I should have consulted you. Or given you a chance to—”

“Don’t try to side with me.” Baby seethed. “I’m pissed at you. So pissed. So pissed I can hardly breathe, and you don’t get to-to-to…to spray water all over my fire!”

I tried to stay silent, tapped my foot. But the words bubbled up.

“You know what, Baby,” I said. “I have had someone walk into my life and turn absolutely everything upside down. That person was you. I’ve never been a mother before—do you understand that? I have no idea what I’m doing here!”

“How many times do I have to tell you? Get it through your thick skull. You are not my mother!”

“Well, I’m something.” I shrugged helplessly. “You can’t have nobody in your life taking care of you, Baby. You’re a child.”

“See, Rhonda, this is what you do,” Baby sneered. “You fall back on that ‘You’re too young’ bullshit whenever you’re losing an argument.”

“Well, it’s true!” I said. “And I’m not losing this argument. It’s not even an argument! You’re just yelling at me!”

“You’re yelling back!” she howled.

“I know!” I covered my eyes, took a breath. “Urgh. I know.”

“I’m going to get you, Rhonda,” Baby said.

“You’re going to get me?”

“Yeah. I’m going to show you exactly how childish I can be.”

She stormed off again. I reached out and caught the glass door before she could slam it, or lock me on the roof. I saw her walking down the stairs with her phone in her hands, texting furiously.

“Storming off during an argument is childish enough!” I called. “Even though it’s not…It wasn’t…Urgh! Baby, we can fix this. Come back and we’ll fix this!”

No answer came back up through the layers of the huge house. My phone buzzed behind me on the workout bench. I picked it up. It was warm from the sun. In my email, a message with no subject header was sitting in the in-box from a name I recognized. I opened the zipped file attachment in it, and a trail of photographs began downloading. In the first, I saw the twisted dead body of Derek Benstein lying beside a darkened glass door.





Chapter 52



Santa Monica Pier was crowded with people slowly shuffling shoulder to shoulder, a loose parade bound for the end of the structure jutting out into the vast blue sea. Past the roller coaster and Ferris wheel, a huge, pink Styrofoam cup had been erected midway between the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. halfway down the pier and the Marisol Mexican place at its end. The cup towered over the crowd, and an enormous straw, maybe twenty feet high, wavered in the gentle breeze off the sea.

I positioned myself on a bench by the pier rail between two sets of fishermen and watched the crowds looping slowly around the giant cup, receiving their free Miffy’s Tornado Tower of Doom chocolate shakes. I analyzed every face, straightening once or twice at the sight of extremely lean men with dark glasses. It was three hours before the right man came along. I’d already gotten myself two Tornado Tower shakes, both of which sat drained on the bench beside me.