2 Sisters Detective Agency by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2021-10-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 55

Baby was waiting for me on the steps of our father’s house when I arrived home in an Uber. She smiled sweetly as I approached. I should have listened to the niggling uneasy feeling in my belly as she tossed me a heavy set of keys.

“Let’s roll,” she said. “We’ll take the Maz.”

“Let’s roll?” I asked. “Just like that?”

“Yeah.” She turned and headed through the open garage door. “I’ve got a lead on some people who are connected with both Ashton and Benzo. You still want to go messing around that whole, like, case thing. Right?”

“Right,” I said. “But you seem to be forgetting you just about ripped my head off this morning about your room.”

“I know.” She flicked her big sunglasses down over her eyes. “I was being stupid. That’s over now. I checked out my room properly, and they didn’t get to any of my private stuff. You were trying to do the right thing, so, you know.” Baby took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I forgive you.”

“Oh.” I laughed. “How nice.”

“Don’t push your luck with me, Rhonda,” she said. “You do not want to get on my bad side permanently.”

“Whatever you say,” I said. We climbed into Dad’s Maserati. I was enveloped in his smell again, smoke and sweat, fried food, bad cologne. The driver’s seat was set at the perfect height and distance from the wheel for me. I felt like I was slipping on his clothes. Despite Baby’s cool exterior, I was feeling upbeat about repairing our relationship, avoiding what I had assumed would be days of silent treatment punctuated by the occasional violent outburst.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to see some very important people,” Baby said, plugging her phone into the car’s system. A map appeared on the console. I could see texts pinging silently into a bubble at the bottom of the screen, the number of unopened messages climbing steadily. Again the feeling pulsed through me that I was missing something. No teenager could possibly be so inundated by communication on any regular sort of day, nor would they so happily ignore the onslaught of messages Baby was now receiving. I brushed off my uncertainty, thinking that some news in her social circle must have just broken. Or maybe she was being barraged by texts in a group conversation. I headed for the address on the screen in Downtown Los Angeles as the garage door slid closed behind me.

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