Buch lesen: «Two Sisters»

CHAPTER ONE

“I DANCE AND men pay money to watch.” April Benoit glared at her sister, her expression tight in the growing darkness, her voice tense. “What right do you have to hassle me over this? You, of all people?”

Standing in the living room of her Houston town house, Elizabeth Benoit met April’s angry stare. Their eyes were so similar it was like looking into a mirror. But beyond the physical resemblances, nothing else about them was the same—from the way they thought to the way they dressed. It’d been different in the past; they’d been so connected, they could finish each other’s sentences. Now they were opposites, and Elizabeth often wondered how they could even be sisters, much less identical twins. She spoke quietly, her demeanor calmer than she felt.

“I have that right because I love you and I only want what’s best for you.”

“Well, what’s best for me is eating! And if I don’t work, I don’t eat.” April’s beautiful eyes narrowed. “As I recall, there was a time when you depended on me for that, as well, or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t for—”

“Good! Then leave me alone and let me make a living the way I want to.”

Elizabeth said patiently, “There are a lot of ways to make money, April. Dancing isn’t—”

April cut her off. “Gosh, you mean I could be a brain surgeon? All these years, I could have been operating on people and making a bundle, instead of taking my clothes off?” She made a sound of disgust. “Get real, Elizabeth! I wasn’t lucky enough to finish school like you.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. It was hard work, okay? You could have done it, too.” Elizabeth shook her head, exasperation finally edging its way inside her at the turn the conversation was taking. “You could go back to school right now, for God’s sake. There’s plenty of time. You’re still young.”

“Young! Yeah, right.” April rolled her eyes. “Twenty-eight isn’t old?”

“Only dancers think that’s old, but it’s not. And even if it was, it’s never too late for a new start.”

April rose abruptly from the sofa where she’d been sitting and crossed to the window. Her back to Elizabeth, she stared out at the street. It was another hot Texas evening. The summer sun had just fallen below the horizon, but streaks of red and orange still colored the sky.

“You don’t understand,” she said plaintively. “You just don’t understand.”

At her sister’s tone, Elizabeth’s irritation turned to sympathy. She’d been about to turn on a lamp, but instead moved quickly to April’s side and put a hand on her arm. “I do understand, and you know it, but you could get out,” she said. “If you wanted to…”

“I like dancing.” Without meeting Elizabeth’s eyes, April spoke into the night. “I like the money. I like the people…”

“You like the peop—” Elizabeth broke off, shaking her head and dropping her hand. “How can you say that, April? Look at Tracy! You’re her friend—you help her out and do things for her—but she isn’t yours. She’d stab you in the back and never give it a second thought. And Greg! Is he really the kind of man you want to spend your life with?”

“Tracy’s okay, and Greg gave me a job when I needed one. Don’t knock him.”

“Any idiot with eyes in his head would have given you a job. You’re gorgeous! You’re smart! Sweetheart, c’mon! You could be doing anything you want to if you’d just—”

April whirled around, eyes flashing, hands balled into fists. “Goddamn it, Elizabeth, get off my case!” she yelled. “For once just leave me alone, would you?”

Elizabeth stepped back, the room humming with April’s startling fury. “Sweetheart, I’m concerned. I was only—”

“—poking your nose into my business like you have ever since Dad died. I’m not a kid, Elizabeth, and I don’t need somebody taking care of me all the time. I’m not Mom, okay?”

Elizabeth immediately blanked her expression to hide her hurt, but the words cut deeply, painfully. When they were twelve, they’d lost their father—a euphemism Elizabeth hated but used out of habit—and she’d taken care of herself and April and had pulled them through the disaster with their mother that had followed. Not because Elizabeth wanted to but because she’d had to. Their mother, a fragile woman, had depended on her husband so completely that when he died…well, what had happened to him had been less painful by far.

She pointed out none of this.

“I’m sorry,” she said, instead, her voice stiff. “I thought I was helping.”

April paused, then took a deep breath, the line of her jaw tightening. “Well, you aren’t. I’m not perfect like you. And I never will be, so stop trying to make me that way, okay?”

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Perfect? That’s ridiculous. I’m not perfect! And I never meant to make you like me. Is…is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think, but I do know you’ve been trying to run my life for years, and I’m sick and tired of it. I just want to be myself, do things my own way.”

“Being yourself is what you should be, April. I only—”

April held up her hand, her bloodred nails gleaming in the dying light. “Drop it, Elizabeth! Let me make my own mistakes. Leave me alone.”

To Elizabeth it seemed as if a chasm had opened between them even though she hadn’t moved an inch from her stance at the window. She felt it deep down inside and it sent a cold chill skittering down her back. The closeness they’d once shared was gone forever.

IT WAS EARLY DAWN, and the sky was a pearly white tinged with blue and pink. The late-summer moon still hung above the horizon, a cool white disk, barely visible, while at the same time, the sun had begun to peek over the neighbor’s roof. The scent of gardenias lay thick in the humid air, and the manicured emerald lawns, stretching out before him, shimmered with dew.

John Mallory stood in the open door of his town house and looked around, a mug of hot coffee steaming in his hand. He always began the day this way, staring out at the street, soaking in the serenity—wondering just what kind of disaster the hours ahead would bring. As a Houston cop he’d seen just about everything, but some days could still surprise him.

He was about to take another sip of coffee when he caught a sudden movement in his peripheral vision. His gut tightened automatically when he realized who he was seeing. It was his neighbor, Elizabeth Benoit, walking to her car. He knew her name only because he’d seen it on her mailbox. She didn’t speak to him or to anyone else as far as he could tell. She was leaving earlier than usual this morning, her stride hurried yet graceful, her black hair gleaming, her dark eyes already hidden behind sunglasses. She was one of those incredibly beautiful women, like his ex-wife Marsha, who noticed people only when she needed them.

And that was damned seldom.

His phone sounded, and John stepped back into the house, slamming the door behind him. Just as well, he thought, crossing the living room and heading down the hall to the kitchen. He was an idiot for even noticing Elizabeth Benoit. Dazzling women were always trouble, and trouble like that he definitely did not need. A few years before, he had disentangled himself from one such woman—and he still had the scars to prove it.

As if he needed further incentive to remember that, the voice on the other end of the line provided a sharp reminder.

“John. This is Marsha. Look, I only have a minute, but I wanted to catch you before I left for work. I’ve got a problem with this week.”

John deliberately placed his coffee cup into the sink before he answered. His ex-wife didn’t believe in such niceties as saying hello. She was always in a hurry and looking for ways to streamline her life. He couldn’t understand why; what did she do with all that extra time?

“What’s the problem, Marsha?” he asked as pleasantly as he could.

“Lisa has to get her hair trimmed and the only time Luis can do it is Thursday evening, and you know I have to be there. I’m sorry, but you can have her next week as usual.”

John counted to three before he spoke. “Our arrangement is for me to have our daughter every Thursday. You’ll have to take her to the beauty shop some other day.”

“But Luis only had that time open.”

“She’s five years old, Marsha.” Again he waited a beat, looked out the kitchen window at a crow pecking at something on the sidewalk. “She doesn’t need to go to the most expensive hairdresser in town to have her bangs trimmed.”

Her voice turned hostile. “John, if you want to hassle me about something this minor, we can go back to court. I’d be more than happy to accommodate you, and we can work out a few other details, too….”

She droned on and John tuned her out. Marsha hadn’t always been difficult, and once upon a time, they’d really been in love. Somewhere down the line, though, he’d disappointed her and she’d turned bitter. When at last she paused to draw a breath, he broke in, his words clipped and precise so they wouldn’t reveal his desire to reach through the phone and throttle her.

“Marsha, I will be there Thursday at five to pick up our daughter. I will keep her overnight, then I will bring her back Friday morning when I go to work, just as I do every week. Find another time to get her hair cut. Goodbye.”

Marsha was still talking when he hung up the phone.

He headed for his bedroom shaking his head and thought of Elizabeth Benoit once more. She was a gorgeous woman, but if being married to one for six long years hadn’t taught him how dangerous such women were, he was a fool. And the realization that he was generalizing didn’t bother him a bit. Beautiful women were his weakness, and he’d dated enough of them to know what he was talking about.

WHEN ELIZABETH woke up and stumbled outside for the paper, all she knew was that April was gone. After their horrible fight, they’d gone to bed, Elizabeth to her room, April to the guest room Elizabeth always kept ready for her. Elizabeth had tossed and turned for hours, her worry about April keeping her awake. Now April was gone—and so was Elizabeth’s car.

As she stared at the empty spot by the curb where the car had been the night before, she asked herself why she was even surprised. This was typical. April acted as if she were a teenager, totally self-absorbed and interested in nothing beyond her own tiny world. Didn’t she know how much she worried Elizabeth? Elizabeth tried to stem the flow of resentment, but it bubbled over, hot and bitter. Was she doomed to always be the caretaker and April the one who lived life only for herself?

A car drove by and honked. Snatching up the newspaper, Elizabeth stepped back inside and closed the door. A vague feeling of guilt swept over her. Had she been so busy working to get away from the life she and April had shared that she’d neglected April somehow? Remembering April’s angry retorts last night, Elizabeth answered herself immediately. She’d done all she could and more—and look at the thanks she’d got!

Elizabeth dropped the Chronicle on the table in the entry and headed for her bedroom to dress for work, flipping on the stereo as she passed it.

Still seething, she dressed quickly, pinned back her hair and slapped on a minimum of makeup. She needed this extra hassle as much as she needed another headache, and she had plenty of those even without April’s help. She didn’t trust April’s clunker, still parked outside, to get her downtown, so she called the limo company. As she waited, she gulped a cup of instant coffee and punched in the phone number at April’s apartment. After the tenth ring she hung up. Her sister didn’t even have an answering machine.

Elizabeth tried to check her anger, but the emotion only grew. Deep down, she knew why. She was acting out the part she’d always played, just as April was. April would do something foolish, then Elizabeth would get angry and worried. They’d make up, then the dance would begin all over again. They knew their respective roles well, Elizabeth thought, shaking her head in disgust. Too well.

Twenty minutes later she walked into her office, determined to focus on her job. It was what people paid her for. Betty Starnes, her secretary, greeted her as she opened the door.

“Oh, good morning, Elizabeth. Did you have a nice birthday celebration?”

Elizabeth groaned. “Not really.” With as little detail as possible, she explained the situation while Betty nodded in sympathy. She’d been with Elizabeth for years, so she understood completely.

“And you still haven’t heard from her?”

Elizabeth tamped down a knot of anxiety. “Not a word. So, if she calls…”

“I’ll put her through immediately, don’t worry.”

Elizabeth entered her office. As a consulting tax attorney, her practice ran the gamut from financial planning to settling estates. Lately most of her cases had been coming from the federal government. She was fast earning a reputation for being able to uncover the most clever of frauds, and with the government attorneys overworked and underpaid, more and more work was being sent to attorneys like her. Just the previous week she’d received a file involving a woman named Linda Tremont and her brother, Tony Masterson. They owned a family investment firm, and several of the investors had complained to the S.E.C. Mainly elderly people, most felt something was wrong with their accounts, because the only one making any money seemed to be Master-son. When Elizabeth had made the initial call to Masterson’s office, Linda Tremont had answered, explaining that she was in charge of the firm and her brother primarily gathered new accounts. Tremont was cooperating fully and appeared horrified there could be a problem. She was a leader in Houston’s high society, Elizabeth knew. She chaired all the galas and raised incredible amounts of money for the local art scene. How awful to have a brother and business partner who might ruin their family name. From what Elizabeth had seen so far, Anthony Masterson seemed as irresponsible as April.

With a heavy sigh Elizabeth opened the file and began to work.

Hours later, when she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, Elizabeth was shocked to see the time. Almost six! The day had disappeared, and she still hadn’t heard from April. Elizabeth quickly dialed her sister’s number, but just as before, the line rang emptily. Her worry rising once more, she pulled out her address book, looked up the number of the place on Richmond Avenue where April danced, then punched in the number.

“Esquire Club.” The husky female voice that answered on the third ring was one Elizabeth recognized. She’d talked to Tracy on the phone several times, and they’d met once in person. Elizabeth had recognized Tracy’s type immediately, and she’d tried to warn her sister, but as usual April had blown off the advice. Red-haired and curvaceous, Tracy Kensington had been the most popular dancer at the club—until April’s arrival. In that business, the younger the girl, the better the tips, and Tracy was a few years older than April. To make up for that she vied with April for the top spot, the best time, the hottest music. Despite that, April had always been friendly toward her and still was, but Tracy didn’t return the favor. Every time she had a chance, she tried to sabotage April.

“Tracy, this is Elizabeth Benoit, April’s sister. I was wondering if you’ve seen April today?”

“Haven’t seen her,” Tracy replied, her west-Texas drawl replacing some of the sexy purr but not all of it. “Your sister gone missin’?”

“She’s not missing. I just can’t get an answer at her place. She works tonight, doesn’t she?”

“I guess so.”

“What time is she supposed to be there?”

“I’m not sure.”

Elizabeth tried to stifle her irritation. The dancers were all very tight-lipped, not just to people who weren’t part of the life, but among themselves; there wasn’t a lot of sharing. Elizabeth suspected that it was simply a result of the competitiveness of the work, each dancer playing her cards close to her chest so as not to give anyone else an edge. It did not, however, make Elizabeth’s situation less frustrating. She was April’s sister, for God’s sake, not some weirdo stranger.

She kept the annoyance from her voice. “Could I talk to Mr. Lansing, then, please?”

Without replying, the woman dropped the phone and walked away—Elizabeth could hear her high heels clacking on the hard floor at the club. Then she heard Tracy call out, “Greg! You there? Phone call!”

Elizabeth tapped her pen against her desk impatiently. After an interminable wait, Greg Lansing, the manager of the club, picked up the phone and said hello. His voice was as gravelly as Tracy’s, but raspier, the result, Elizabeth was sure, of too many years of booze, cigarettes and shouting over hundred-decibel rock music for hours at a time. They’d never met, but she’d seen him one night when she’d worn glasses and a scarf and sneaked into the club to watch April dance.

Elizabeth could see why April found him attractive. Tall and well built, he had long blond hair and radiated the kind of bad-boy attitude some women found really appealing. Not Elizabeth. She’d met too many men just like him, and she could easily recognize the sleaze beneath the thin veneer of handsomeness.

“Mr. Lansing, this is Elizabeth Benoit. I’m looking for April.”

“Haven’t seen her.” His voice started fading even before he finished speaking. She realized he was about to hang up.

“Wait—wait, Mr. Lansing! Please…”

There was a second’s silence and she thought she’d lost him. Then he said, “What?”

“What time is she due in tonight?”

“I don’t keep track of when the different girls come on.” She heard him pull on a cigarette. “Probably around twelve, one. Something like that.” Above the clink of glasses and laughter, music throbbed in the background. An old Aerosmith hit, the bass rumbling out with a downbeat rhythm.

He was lying, of course. He kept track of everything at the club, down to the last penny and the closing minute. She ignored his prevarication and concentrated on finding out more. “I thought April was more than just one of the girls to you.”

He hesitated for a moment, then his voice went into an even lower-pitched growl. “Your sister’s a nutcase. I’m trying to stay away from her, and if you had any sense, you would, too.”

Elizabeth tensed. “What are you talking about?”

“April’s gettin’ into some bad shit. She don’t watch out, she’s gonna be in some serious trouble.” Again he drew on the cigarette, the sound harsh in her ear. “The kind of trouble that hurts. Permanently.”

Elizabeth’s fingers stilled, her pen clattering to the desk. “What are you saying? What’s going on with April?”

“She’s your sister. Ask her if you wanna know.” He paused and drew yet again on the cigarette, this time even more deeply. As though she were standing in the darkened club beside him, Elizabeth could almost feel the music, almost smell the smoke.

When he spoke, his voice was so full of warning Elizabeth shivered. “But don’t wait too long to ask her, or you might lose your chance.”

SHE WORRIED until she could stand it no longer. Late that night, she gave in and called the police. The woman who took the information was polite, but just barely. They covered the basics—name, address, age—then she asked a few more questions.

“How long has your sister been gone?”

“I saw her last night. She slept at my place, but this morning, when I got up, she had left.”

“Less than twenty-four hours….” The woman spoke as if to herself, obviously filling out some kind of report.

“Does that matter?” Elizabeth asked anxiously. “Does she have to be gone a certain length of time before you’ll start looking?”

“No. That’s just on TV. We’ll start looking immediately if it’s a serious report.”

“And what makes it serious?”

“Suspicious circumstances, primarily. Do you have cause to believe something’s wrong?”

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip.

“Ma’am?”

“I don’t know for sure that anything’s happened to her, but I’m worried. I mean Houston’s a dangerous place, right?”

“But do you have a specific reason to believe she might have been harmed?”

“Well, her boss—he’s an ex-boyfriend—told me she might be getting into serious trouble. He wouldn’t say more.”

“And he is…?”

Elizabeth spelled out Greg Lansing’s name, then in a halting voice, told the woman where he worked.

“He runs the Esquire Club? And your sister works there?”

“What difference does that make?” Elizabeth heard the defensiveness in her voice.

The woman on the other end of the phone hesitated. “Well, it does put a different spin on things, doesn’t it?”

“You mean if she ran an oil company, you’d start looking for her, but since she’s an exotic dancer, you’ll give it a few days first?”

“I mean, Ms. Benoit, some people have more stable lifestyles than others. It’s more significant when they disappear because of that. Has your sister ever done this type of thing before?”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly. “About two years ago. She went to the Caribbean for a week without telling me.” With a man she didn’t know. She’d sent Elizabeth a postcard, but then at the end of the week, she’d called Elizabeth collect. Crying and desperate, she said the man had abandoned her. He’d turned out to be different than she’d thought was her only explanation. Elizabeth had sent her money for the fare home, and April had assured her of one thing—she would never disappear that way again. She promised she’d tell Elizabeth if she was leaving town, and she had done so faithfully.

Until now.

Elizabeth tried to explain but she could almost hear the investigator’s mind slam shut.

“Why don’t you give it a few more days, Ms. Benoit? If you haven’t heard from your sister by Tuesday or so, then call us back. That would probably be the best way to handle this.”

Elizabeth thanked the woman and hung up. There was nothing else she could do.