“What?” I stare at her, while the tendrils of fate and destiny reach over my shoulder to try and ensnare me. “Okay. Not my thing becomes really not my thing becomes hell no.” I shake my head with vigor. “Reallyappreciate you thinking of me and getting the details, but I’m not touching this with a ten-foot pole.”
“But it’s weeks of a gig! She’ll pay three hundred an hour!”
“Then she’ll have already found someone.”
Carol gives me a knowing smile. “No one will touch this because the woman’s not missing, or reporting abuse. There’s nothing to investigate.”
“And that’s supposed to persuade me how?”
“I spoke to her, Vicky. She hasn’t found anyone to take the case. When I mentioned you had an in to Northbridge—”
“You didwhat?”
Carol plows on like I haven’t spoken. “She wants to meet. She’s desperate.”
“And for good reason,” I say. “She soundscrazy. It’s probably voluntary estrangement, and the sister’s got her head screwed on right.”
“Just… hear what she has to say?” Carol glances at her watch. “She’ll be here in forty minutes.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to work out how to explain to the woman I’m dependent on that she’s totally crossed the line. So far past it the line isn’t even on the horizon. For good intent, yes, but… and with my interests at heart, but…
Damn it.
“Fine,” I say wearily. “I’ll put some shoes on. I’ll even listen, but I’m not making any promises.”
The woman who walks in half an hour later is a year or two younger than me, dressed smartly in a skirt suit suggesting she came straight from work. In the middle of the afternoon.
Carol makes us all drinks and we sit on the sofa and chairs in the living room. My laptop is on the coffee table, in easy reach.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she says, like she half expects us to tell her to leave before she’s even started.
Carol says nothing, leaving it to me.
“You’re welcome,” I reply, keeping it brisk and business-like. Our visitor brings enough emotion for all of us. “I’m Victoria; this is Carol.”
“Lucy Anderson,” she says. She doesn’t take hereyes off me, and they seem older than the rest of her. “I understand you may have a connection to Northbridge Capital.”
So she’s choosing to start there.
“Let’s get to that in time. Why don’t you tell us what the problem is.”
She holds her coffee between both hands, knees pressed together, back straight, and talks to the floor, her voice flat like she’s told the story more times than she cares to admit. “I have a sister, Amelia. She’s a year older than me. We’ve always been close. Three months ago, she married a man. Lukas Van Wyk. Before then, we used to talk every day. Now… weeks go by.”
Her head comes up, gaze finding mine, eyes harder. “I’m not a fool. I know she’s married, I know she has a new life. It’s not that, okay?”
I raise a hand slowly in placation. “No judgements, I just want to hear.”
She looks down at her cup that she hasn’t even sipped from. “I’m sorry. It’s just… people don’t… listen.”
“I understand.” I try hard not to glance at Carol. I’msonot cut out for dealing with someone like this. She needs a therapist, not a private investigator. “Keep going, please.”
Lucy takes a breath before she continues. “When we do talk, she’s fine. You know how people say, ‘I’m fine’ when they mean anything but? She’s permanently… ‘fine.’” Her lips twist in bitterness. “I know my sister, okay? I know what she’slike, and she’s not like this.”
“Like what?” I ask gently.
Lucy stares at her coffee for several long seconds before she answers. “I think she’s afraid.”
“All right,” I say, careful to keep it neutral, accepting at face value. “Continue, please.”
