Page 17 of Devil’s Snare

I placed my hand on his arm. “Hey. Look at me.”

My brother’s intense gaze shifted my way. “Gwen.”

“Remember that old saying Mom used to quote us? You catch more flies with honey, Ethan.”

“I remember,” he grumbled.

“Gentle persuasion is always better than harsh, rude attacks.”

That earned me an eye roll.

“At least let me try the sweet approach first.”

“Fine.” He opened the door as we reached it. “After you, fly catcher.”

Ethan stood by my side, looking menacing as we approached a reception area with chairs and a big desk. Two officers stood behind it. One of them, an older woman who I’d put close to my mother’s age, greeted us.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Hi,” I replied with a bright smile. “We’re looking for the officer or detective in charge of our case.”

“I see. What’s the nature of the case?” I spotted her name, Officer Hannigan, listed on her name tag.

“Murder,” Ethan growled.

I sent him a look. “Our sister, Sergeant Becka Carmichael.”

Officer Hannigan nodded. We waited while she typed in the information. “Looks like Detective Mike Castor is handling the case. Would you like me to see if he’s available?”

“Please. We’d appreciate it.”

She picked up the phone in front of her and dialed a number. It wasn’t on speaker. We could only hear her half of the conversation. When she spoke to the detective, I watched her nod. She hung up the phone and faced us. “Det. Castor says he’ll be with you shortly. Please have a seat while you wait.” She gestured to the hard plastic chairs behind us.

“Thank you.” I spun around, tugging Ethan’s sleeve.

My brother reluctantly followed me. “I’m still gonna raise hell if he takes too long to come out here.”

“Try not to announce that with all the officers around.”

Ethan plopped into the nearest chair and folded his arms across his chest. His scowl said more than words ever could. We weren’t happy to be here or to wait. But we also weren’t the only people with issues or loved ones in trouble.

After fifteen minutes, Ethan rose to his feet, glaring at Officer Hannigan. She picked up the phone before he could approach her. I wasn’t sure who she spoke to, but I guessed it was Det. Castor. Not three minutes later, an unfamiliar male voice called out our names.

“Ethan and Gwen Carmichael?”

I lifted my head, turning toward the detective as my brother stood. “Right here.”

“Come this way, please. I’ve got a place where we can speak in private.”

He must have guessed our emotions would run high with this case, and he wouldn’t be wrong. We’re grieving our murdered sister. There were so many unanswered questions.

Ethan reached down and guided my elbow to have me stand, keeping hold like he thought I was going to burst into tears at any moment. Maybe I would.

I didn’t look at the detective as he led us to a room with a couple of tables, plenty of chairs, and a small kitchenette. Toys were scattered on the floor in front of a big couch. The blinds on the windows were closed, locking out the activity beyond this family-designated area.

“Can I offer you anything before we get started?”

“No.” Ethan didn’t want to waste time.