Dancing with Detective Danger (3 page)

“Thank you. I will,” Sara mumbled.

Sterling opened the front door for Sara and let out a startled cry. Ben’s tall frame and broad shoulders succinctly blocked the doorway.

“Aegar Investigations,” he read from the door. “I always wondered what your office would look like, Sterling.” He flashed the easy smile that used to melt her heart. “For the longest time it’s been impossible for me to picture you in a private office.”

Annoyed, she ignored him. “Goodbye, Sara.”

Sterling abruptly turned back toward her office and Ben followed close behind.

“An unhappy client?”

Sterling didn’t know which she hated more, Ben’s sarcasm or his disdain.

He went on. “Tell me, do you deal mostly with rejected wives or conniving mistresses? Or do you stick mainly to dull insurance fraud?”

Sterling stopped short in the outer reception area and turned to glare at him. “Are you here sightseeing? Visiting a friend in the neighborhood? Scoping out my office because you’re considering a career change?”

Ben scoffed. “I’m definitely not considering going out to pasture in some pristine office with no greater reward than collecting money from disgruntled wives.”

“Don’t presume to know my work. You clearly don’t know anything about it.” Sterling was shaking inside. “Life is good. I don’t need to live on the edge like you do.”

“You apparently still don’t know anything about my work. I don’t care what you say, we both know you’d be better off being a great detective on the force than sidelined, working second-rate, meaningless wannabe crimes.” Hardness flamed in his eyes.

His eyes, she thought to herself as she stared up into them. The deep blue eyes that could emanate such warmth. Warmth she used to bask in. The eyes that could speak as much uncensored merriment as his hearty laughter.

“What? No clever comeback?” he said.

Feeling a warm glow begin to creep into her cheeks, Sterling walked to the files and began sorting through some papers. Those eyes served his profession well, she knew. Keen like a hawk’s eyes, they never missed anything, so she didn’t dare face him. Not right now, with her thoughts so incredibly out of control.

“That’s right, just ignore me. It worked for you before.”

His remark hit the center of her heart, leaving her weak. “Please,” she said, still facing away, “simply state your business or get out.” Sterling willed time to fly by, but instead it came to an abrupt halt. She could hear Ben shift his weight from one foot to another. Tension in the room screamed for release.

At last, Ben spoke. “Fine. I’m here to discuss the Witt murder with you and Lacey. You two found the body and you might know something helpful. I know you talked to the guys on the scene, but I have more questions. Is Lacey around here?”

“I’m sure if you open that door there,” said Sterling, motioning to their private office, “you’ll find her pressing her ear against it.”

Ben chuckled. “Some things never change.”

The sound of his laughter broke the tension, sending it skirting through the air like leaves caught up in a brisk breeze. Sterling let her shoulders relax as Ben opened the office door and stuck his head in.

“Hi, Lacey.”

“Ben, come on in.” Lacey’s voice brimmed with warmth.

Sterling followed in behind Ben. She caught a pointed look from Lacey, but looked away and slid into her chair behind her desk. She watched Ben relax into the couch in the private office. He didn’t waste any time getting to the point.

“I understand you two were working a surveillance on Pamela Witt. I expect it was a standard infidelity situation, right?”

With Ben’s sultry eyes aimed at her, Sterling could hardly think. Thankfully, Lacey spoke up.

“Yes, that’s right. Finding the dead woman surprised us.”

“Hmm.” Ben looked away and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He pulled out contents from an envelope. “We found this at the crime scene. It was inside Jerry Rutherford’s coat. He must have left it there. Your agency’s phone number is penned on the back of Pamela’s business card. And then there’s this printout of an old newspaper article.” Ben spread contents of the envelope on Sterling’s desk. “Do you have an explanation for why the guy and the deceased would have your agency’s phone number and this clipping of your father’s death in their possession?”

Lacey looked at Sterling and Sterling looked back, nerves firing throughout her body. “That is curious,” she said, trying to maintain her composure. Her thoughts spun in a million different directions but her heart went cold. “I would like to know what’s behind it as well. Right off, I don’t know.”

“Well, I can understand that. But you can understand my concern about the implications.”

“Ben, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but surely you’re not implying we’re somehow complicit in the murder.” Sterling, still too stunned by the clipping, could hardly think.

“I’m just following the investigation.”

“You don’t think it’s a little strange that this guy left his jacket and other belongings at the scene?”

“Yeah. I’m no cop but isn’t that what you’d call a little off, circumstantial, set up?” asked Lacey.

Sterling frowned at her sister’s choice of words. “If it’s an answer you want, you’ll have to wait. We need time to figure this out.”

Silence ticked by as Ben pursed his lips and scanned the room. “I like what you’ve done with your office. It’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Sterling felt surreal.
Are we really going to talk about décor?

He unfolded his long legs and headed for the outer office. “You’ve got my number. Just give me a call when you’ve got some information.”

Sterling watched Lacey walk him out to the door and tuned out the small talk. She had to avoid future confrontations with him. She would simply insist — no,
beg
Lacey to handle this case. Even after two years apart, too much pain flowed between her and Ben.

“Wow, that was fun,” Lacey said wryly and grabbed a watering can. “I need to de-stress. Can you believe that? Where did that clipping come from? And why did Pamela or Jerry have our number? I don’t see the connection.”

“Maybe that’s because there isn’t one.”

“It’s crazy-making.”

Sterling absentmindedly watched Lacey water the English ivy and African violets sitting in the morning sun-splashed window of their fourth floor office in downtown Laurelwood. She knew, judging by their appearances, no one would guess she and her sister shared the same genes. Unlike her own brown, straight hair, Lacey’s hair was the color of burnished copper and curled naturally around her face and shoulders. While Sterling herself stood only slightly over five feet, Lacey was a lanky five feet, seven inches. Growing up the youngest, Sterling remembered a longing to reach the same height, but at twenty-six years of age, she felt resigned to always being what Lacey fondly called her “little” sister.

“Nice hairdo,” Sterling commented. Some of Lacey’s curls were pulled into a careless ponytail and secured with a wide band at the back of her head, while the rest of her hair hung loosely above her shoulders.

“I know you don’t mean that.” Lacey chuckled, continuing to give her plants a drink.

“Yes I do.”

“I think it may look a little young, but my therapist says demonstrating my latent adolescent expression through my choice of style is perfectly normal.” The smile she shot Sterling belied her insecurities.

“Well, it looks nice. So no explanation needed.” Lacey’s youthful style complemented her pretty face and matched the cream shirt and brown pants she was wearing — casual but chic.

“I’m going out for coffee. Want some?” Lacey asked.

“Sure. Tall and black.”

The door shut behind Lacey, leaving Sterling alone.

She didn’t know if she could bring herself to do an Internet search on her father to see if it revealed any connection to Jerry or Pamela — nonetheless, she turned her attention to her computer. But troubled feelings immediately distracted her and she let the silence soothe her as thoughts cascaded.

The therapist, the little quirks, and the compulsive tendencies all pointed out that Lacey had made her way through a lot of pain. Sterling admired her sister for not giving up as their mother had.

It would soon be two years since Lacey’s husband, Nicholas, had been killed while on duty as a policeman. An apparently simple traffic stop had turned ugly when the driver pulled out a gun and shot Nicholas. And just like their father’s murderer, the shooter had disappeared. A fatal flaw in the randomness of life and a cruel fact that had reverberated throughout Sterling’s life.

It still scared her to think of how closely Lacey’s life paralleled their mother’s. Marrying a cop, becoming a mother, then becoming a widow.

Sterling felt the familiar heaviness in her chest thinking of how their mother had never been the same after their dad died while on duty. Their mother had begun her retreat into depression the night the county coroner came to the door and told them her father had been shot in the head during a drug bust and the shooter had gotten away. With a single bullet from some unknown assailant’s gun, Sterling and Lacey had essentially lost both their parents. Although their mother still cared for them, the spark was gone.

Sterling’s heart tightened, thinking of coming home from school and finding her mother still lying in bed or sitting on the couch, staring into space. Too overwhelmed in sorrow, her mother hadn’t noticed the piles of laundry. When the food ran out, it was Lacey who had restocked the refrigerator and the cupboards. Although their father’s insurance had provided for a moderate lifestyle, Sterling and her sister had lived in vigilance of a late utility bill or overdrawn checking account — details that escaped their mother’s attention.

Propping up her feet on her desk, Sterling leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes. The sounds of the streets below — traffic flowing through the downtown streets, construction workers putting finishing touches on a new facade for an art theater, and distant sirens announcing that someone was on the way to the emergency room — played in the background like a well-known song on the radio.

Without much effort, Sterling could summon up the empty feeling that had pervaded after her father’s death. Although her mother would make an effort to go through the motions of as many of the day-to-day needs as she could muster energy for, little things were missing. There were no more impromptu trips to a sunny park to giggle under a shady tree while savoring deli sandwiches and mangos. No more afternoons at the art museum in tow of their mother, who had loved Impressionist paintings. Only a memory remained of huddling close to her as she spoke in hushed tones about Renoir and Monet.

When everything had eventually come crashing down, their mother suffered a nervous breakdown and Lacey, being the oldest, had stepped in to take over as caretaker, surrendering her youthful years. Although Sterling had never sensed Lacey begrudged her obligation, it was clear her sister had lost precious years of kicking up her heels as most teenagers and young adults do.

In time, their mother’s declining health forced Sterling and her sister to face the decision of placing her in an assisted living home. Sterling had closed the door to her mother, but Lacey remained by her side, insisting on top-notch care and making regular visits.

Then Nicholas had stepped into her sister’s life. After all the loneliness and gloom of their young years, he had been like a breath of fresh of air for Lacey. Finally, she’d been able to enjoy a full and satisfying life filled with love.

But again, the security and love had been taken away.

When Lacey lost Nicholas to a bullet too, it had seemed like a cruel joke with their family as the brunt. But losing him hadn’t permanently crushed Lacey. She had rallied her resources and put all of herself into nurturing her little son. Tyler had been a scant four years old when his father was killed.

Sterling smiled to herself, feeling proud of Lacey for taking classes in criminal justice and getting PI experience under Sterling’s license. Launching their partnership had really been a lifesaver for both of them during some rough times. Maybe it wasn’t as action packed as working on the force, but it occupied time and it paid the bills. And although Lacey remained Mrs. Nicholas Owen in her heart, she was all Aegar, going by the family name in her profession.

Sterling tried to focus her attention back to the Rutherford case. The clipping, the business card with the agency number written on it — it didn’t make sense. It made her feel vulnerable and that was never a good space to be in. Agitation stood her to her feet and she paced the small office in controlled steps.

Sterling felt comforted by how their office reflected their divergent personalities. Lacey liked colorful country curtains and Sterling preferred somber blinds. Lacey enjoyed pictures of barns and frolicking children adorning the walls, while Sterling could do without anything but modern art. Still, they’d managed to compromise. The walls of their two-room office were papered in a tiny blue and white check. Country blue and white sashes picked up the same check and complemented the slate blinds on the windows. Splashes of colors and geometric shapes in a modern art painting framed in rustic wood hung on the wall. The muted colors of a wildflower arrangement softened the angles of an exotic vase. Sterling got her clean lines with a white leather sofa and Lacey got her cozy look with accent pillows covered in mauve and heather blue hydrangeas.

Lacey bustled in, the promise of delicious coffee from the coffee shop down the block leading her. Sterling marveled at how lost she’d become in her wayward thoughts — a little bit of Ben and she was easily thrown back through the past.

“Tall. Black,” Lacey announced, setting the cup on Sterling’s desk. “Sorry to take so long. I got behind the cinnamon dolce latte and white chocolate mocha crowd.”

“What did you get?” Sterling eyed her sister mischievously. She knew her sister enjoyed the drinks with some bells and whistles, too.

Lacey sat back in her desk chair and sipped slowly from her cup before slanting a look at Sterling. “Espresso macchiato, double shot.”