Dancing with Detective Danger

by Lynn Crandall

  “Work. That’s all you want to talk about.” Lacey rolled her eyes. “It’s in the hands of the police now.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Sterling sighed. “But it doesn’t hurt to wish, does it?”

  “I know you miss police work. You can’t help but resonate with the thrill of the edge. It’s in your blood.” Lacey eyed Sterling with sisterly understanding.

  “I don’t miss police work.” Sterling was quick to stomp on the suggestion. “I just wish for a little more action at our agency. A little more righting of wrongs. With what we do, it’s not always a clear line between the good guys and the bad guys. I wish — ”

  “Listen, if you’re going to wish for something, make it something good and definitely doable, like a vente white chocolate café mocha. Mmm … I can taste it now.”

  Sterling shook her head. “You really know how to dream big.”

  • • •

  Ben stood behind the richly embroidered drapes at the condo’s living room window and discreetly watched Sterling walk to the car as he shuffled paperwork through his fingers. Her petite frame, dressed in a slim gray suit, pulled his attention as though he had no control.

  That’s the way it was with her. He hadn’t seen her for two years, but all during that time he’d been unable to will her out of his thoughts for very long. Seeing her up close and feeling her presence today had stirred up old feelings inside him. After they’d gotten together, the terrible aloneness he’d grown to live with had vanished. It hadn’t mattered that before she’d come along he’d had no one, no family, because she’d completely filled the emptiness in his gut. Then when she left, he’d felt all the more alone for having known but lost her.

  Sterling’s straight, chestnut-colored hair had grown longer, brushing gently against her slim shoulders. He liked it. And the two years apart had worn beautifully on her fine-boned face. She looked even lovelier than he remembered. In the brief moments he’d stood next to her, he’d taken in everything: her shapely curves, her intense, blue-green eyes, her sensuously curved lips the color of a rich Merlot wine.

  Ben’s stomach tightened. It had to happen sooner or later, he thought to himself. Even though Sterling had left his life, it seemed inevitable that they’d run into each other sometime while working a case. He’d like to think it meant their destinies were intimately intertwined. That even though their paths might occasionally diverge and meander, they were actually headed in the same direction. She’d been emphatic at their breakup that there was no future for the two of them — that they wanted different things in life — but he just didn’t believe it. He believed in possibilities, and though in the interim he’d given Sterling her space, the hope remained strong in him that eventually, along the way, they would come together again, perhaps even stronger than before.

  Ben watched Sterling drive away and couldn’t help himself. Was it too much to hope maybe this time it could be different?

  “Ben, you’ve got to look at this,” called one of the officers. “It looks like the PIs who just left have a connection to the deceased.”

  Chapter Two

  A hesitant knock sounded on the interior private office door.

  “Come in,” Lacey called through the door.

  “Where’s Michelle?” Sterling glanced quizzically at her sister. “Don’t tell me you gave our secretary the day off again.”

  “Her cat started labor this morning,” Lacey said, getting up to greet the woman who pushed the door open a crack. “Hi, Sara.”

  Sterling continued, amazed. “Again?”

  “I thought it was a familiar excuse, but what could I say?”

  “How about no?”

  “You know Michelle.” Lacey winced guiltily. “She had a feeling about the labor.”

  “Premonition? You mean the cat wasn’t even in labor?”

  “It’s hard to argue with Michelle’s psychic feelings.”

  “Lacey?” The small, very polished woman in a gray suit stood uncomfortably in the doorway.

  “Sorry, Sara. Our secretary is off today. We didn’t hear you come in,” Lacey said. “Have a seat.”

  Sterling nodded her acknowledgment, but Sara didn’t seem to notice.

  Sara continued to stand. “You left a message on my machine saying you needed to see me right away.”

  “Yes. We have some news about your case.”

  A look of distress clouded Sara’s eyes. “Is there a problem?”

  Sterling motioned to a chair. “Please, won’t you sit down?”

  Sara stiffly lowered herself to the chair, perching rigidly on the edge as Lacey opened a drawer and pulled out photos. Sterling heard Sara draw in a sharp breath and saw panic flame in her eyes.

  “Let’s start at the beginning,” Lacey said. “You hired us to find out if your husband, Jerry, was involved with another woman.”

  Sterling sat motionless, as though doing so could somehow soften the blow. This part of the job never got easier. Lacey would be gentle, but hearing the truth had to hurt, and this middle-aged woman looked quite vulnerable, sitting there fingering the strap of her purse.

  “Your suspicions proved correct.” Lacey’s words brought no reaction. She went on. “This picture was taken of him entering her condo. And this one is of the two of them in his car. We followed them to this restaurant.”

  Sterling watched Sara’s expressionless reaction and thought she’d seen it all. Upon officially learning of a spouse’s infidelity, clients had been known to rage, cry, or even burst out laughing. But this blankness, this complete lack of emotion, seemed incredibly weird.

  Lacey pressed on. “We traced phone records and there is every indication that Jerry and this woman, Pamela Witt, had been engaged in an affair for months. He has a bank account you probably don’t know about. Jerry has been paying the mortgage for the condo. Apparently Pamela worked as an investment counselor at the bank where your husband is vice president.” Lacey eyed the woman, then reached over to take her hand. “I’m sorry, Sara.”

  Lacey’s move to console her client might not be SOP for most professional PIs, but it was very true to her big heart, and something that Sterling admired.

  Sara took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, this is not surprising,” she said. “There have been clues. You know, the usual. Coming home late with the scent of perfume on his clothes, awkward phone calls, stuff like that. Still, I wanted it to be just my imagination.” Her voice trailed off like a toy whose battery had run low, and she stared at the floor.

  “We understand, Sara,” Sterling said. “Can I get you a glass of water?”

  “No. I’ll just be going. I have to think.” Sara started to rise.

  Lacey glanced at Sterling and back at Sara. “I’m afraid there’s more.”

  Sara stopped in her chair. “More?”

  “Pamela is dead.” Lacey’s words came out gently.

  Sterling noted Sara’s expression barely changed.

  “Dead?”

  “Murdered,” Sterling added.

  “When? How do you know?”

  “We know because we found her body this morning.” Lacey walked around to perch on the top of her desk and face Sara directly. “The police think she was murdered this morning about nine o’clock, two hours before we found her.”

  “You found her?”

  “We planned to sit surveillance at her condo but noticed her front door was open, so we went inside. We found her body in the bathtub. We won’t know the actual cause of death until after we see the coroner’s report.”

  “Have you seen Jerry today?” Sterling had to ask the obvious question.

  Finally, tears began rolling down Sara’s perfectly made-up face. “No. He had already left for work this morning when I got up. His secretary called me to tell me he had to tak
e a trip to Chicago for a meeting at the bank’s corporate headquarters, but she overheard talk that he’s not at a meeting. That’s what she said.”

  “You know this doesn’t look good for Jerry.” Lacey offered the woman a tissue.

  “What do you mean?” Sara wiped her nose and dabbed carefully at her eyes.

  “It’s too soon to say, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the police look to him as a prime suspect once they make the connection. If he’s missing, that only strengthens the possibility that he’s involved in her death,” Lacey said.

  “Why would he kill her?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” Lacey stood and motioned toward the door. “Why don’t you go home? The police will handle it from here.”

  “I don’t know what to do.” Sara stood but remained planted in the spot, the look of a lost doe on her face. “Will you find him, please, before the police do?”

  “Do you mean you want us to stay on the case?” Sterling asked.

  “You have to. What if something terrible has happened to him? Something’s wrong, I’m sure. Will you find him?” Sara pleaded.

  Sterling could hardly believe her ears. This woman seemed genuinely concerned for her husband — her cheating husband.

  “Of course we will.” Lacey exchanged a look with Sterling.

  “Oh, thank you. I don’t know what to do.” Sara looked more and more lost by the second.

  Sterling felt sickened by the thought that apparently even a worthless husband could provide a woman with an element of definition. Or was it a template? At any rate, Sara seemed like a ship that had just lost its mooring. The feeling echoed menacingly inside Sterling, calling up barely conscious defenses from the swamps of her soul. She moved into action.

  “Just go home and do what you normally do,” Sterling said, walking her out to the door and wishing she could do more to help the woman. It seemed like Sara’s life was rapidly disintegrating. “Call us if you need something, okay?”

  “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 hi
m 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.