Page 76 of 2 Sisters Murder Investigations

“That little endorsement is the last thing we need,” I told Baby. “It’s just going to double the size of the mess that’s already waiting for us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Listen to that,” I said. I cupped an ear. Baby listened. Over the thrum of the engine and the rumble of the traffic was the sound of a phone vibrating, a constant rhythmic buzz coming from the glove compartment. She opened the compartment, took out my phone, and looked at the number flashing on the screen.

“That’s the agency line,” I told her. “I haven’t answered in days because it just keeps ringing. We’ve got about two hundred voicemails from people who want us to take their cases and triple that in email inquiries. We’ve got to figure out how the hell we categorize all this new business. There’s everything from murder to mail fraud in there, and I don’t want someone who really needs our help to get lost in the chaos.”

As Baby held the phone, it stopped ringing, then promptly started again. She smiled at me, and I sent a brave smile back. My kid sister slumped in the seat, flipped her sunglasses up, and started scrolling through the messages.

“I guess we’ll just have to hire some staff.” She shrugged. “That’s what happens when you get a whole lotta cred all dumped on you at once.”

I thought about that. More staff. Bigger offices. Our pick of cases. It was too early to know if that’s what I really wanted, if that’s what was good for me and Baby.

We stopped at a traffic light, and a couple of Hollywood-agent types crossed in front of us, both talking on their little earpieces and carrying cups of coffee. A city bus roared by, and I followed Baby’s gaze to a telephone pole just outside of her open window. On it was a sign with the wordMISSINGabove a photo of a fluffy beige poodle curled up on a tasseled silk pillow. Baby looked at me, and I had to laugh, because her big, brown, dog-loving eyes were wide with desire.

“We shouldn’t forget our roots, I suppose,” I said, and nodded at the poster. “No matter what happens. No case is too big, no case is too small, right?”

Baby grinned, leaned out, and ripped down the poster. Behind it was an older one, dimpled and yellowed by rain. It was another poster with the wordMISSINGand a photo, this one of a man and a woman at the rail of what looked like a yacht. They were arm in arm, and something about their happy smiles suddenly drained all the warmth out of the car. I looked at my sister and knew that she felt exactly what I was feeling. The sense that the people in the picture, whoever they were, needed the Birds.

“Grab that poster too,” I told her.