Sister-Hood

By Debra Erfert

Avery James, field producer of Hollywood's hottest reality show, My Only Love, hires Larabee Investigations after someone tries to kill her while scouting next season's filming location in Arizona. Maxine Larabee hopes solving the celebrity's case might end her company's financial struggle, and at the same time prove to her lead investigator, Jack Atmore, she has what it takes to be a good detective.

But Max has a bigger problem than just trying to prove her investigative abilities to a man with whom she's attracted and probably falling for. The strongest lead in Avery's case trails straight to an ex-contestant Chantilly Belle, a woman who's engaged to His Royal Highness Prince Armanno d'Avalos of Cardinara. Getting to question Chantilly might be more difficult than getting Jack's respect, or keeping Avery alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debra Erfert
• Release date: Mar 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781959375050

Book preview

Chapter One

M ax, Sinclair is coming your way, Jack said.

I reflexively touched the tiny listening device in my ear when I heard his voice. I texted a quick <> even though I knew he could see me from whatever corner he was hiding in. It was my turn to discreetly follow our client’s husband.

We’d tag-teamed Frank Sinclair since he left his office ten minutes earlier. It wasn’t hard to spot the slightly balding forty-five-year-old businessman. He was taller than most people around him. And it helped that his wife had texted a picture of him this morning. Although he’d removed the dark blue jacket, Frank still wore the vest that matched his pinstriped slacks.

From the contented grin on his face, he enjoyed walking the busy city sidewalks. That, or he was looking forward to something. Lunch with someone special, perhaps? Frank’s wife had hired Larabee Investigations to find out who that someone was.

The unusually heavy morning monsoon had subsided, leaving downtown Phoenix relatively cool for mid-July. The city had an impressive high-rise skyline. While not as massive as New York or San Francisco, the modern office buildings could compete, architecturally, with any coastal city. I could breathe here. Everything—everyone—I loved was here.

I kept a few moving bodies between Frank and myself. Losing my target now would give Jack Atmore another reason to doubt my abilities and judgment. Technically, I was his employer, but he had a dozen more years of private investigator experience to his credit.

While he never verbally criticized me, I could see disappointment on his subtly frowning lips whenever I failed to live up to his professional ideals. Jack didn’t seem to take me seriously, possibly because I’d married Harry Larabee, the late founder of the PI firm. I had been a widow for eighteen months now, and I’d missed Harry every day since his death.

Frank strolled inside a small restaurant. I was a couple of steps behind him. Not surprisingly, he didn’t bother with the hostess for seating. He went straight to a cozy table near the back, already occupied by an attractive woman.

Yesterday, using a generous gratuity, I’d prearranged a table at most of the eateries within a three-block radius of Frank’s office, not knowing where his lunch date would take place. After I gave a smile and a nod to Kayla, the hostess, she gave me a menu and an expedited pass to the front of the line. I took a seat two tables away, facing Frank and the unknown woman.

Tandy, my client, didn’t want to know the specifics of identifying the woman or even how long the affair had been going on. All she wanted to know was if Frank was a scab of a husband, and if she should kick him loose and let her heart heal.

I flicked my phone’s camera to video mode and filmed from around the edge of the menu. Judging by the embarrassing kiss they were locked in, Tandy wouldn’t have a reason to trust his lying butt again.

Twelve Hours Later

Leaning back in my lumbar-supporting executive chair, I stretched my arms up high, extracting wonderful spine-crackling relief. I stared out the window at the lightning flickering on the dark southern horizon. With all the electronic paperwork squared away on the Sinclair case, all I needed to do was hit Save and I’d be done with it. Tandy was satisfied, if not happy about the outcome. With the e-payment securely in my account, Larabee Investigations would be in the black for another two weeks—if nothing disastrous came up.

I ran my finger along the laptop’s track pad and clicked on the disk icon, saving the current document and its attached pictures of her husband’s meeting at the restaurant and illicit trip to the Hotel San Carlos. Tomorrow, I’d email it to Tandy so she’d have physical evidence of her husband’s infidelity—if she chose to use it against him in a divorce. I was too tired tonight to think about wording a sympathetic note to go along with the file.

But my night’s work wasn’t over. I had other cases still open.

For the past two weeks, investigator Blake Bullet Davenport and a young intern had been imbedded in the warehouse department of a big store, where inventory was disappearing a little bit at a time. After Bullet did a thorough background check on each employee, he found a few with questionable histories that didn’t line up with their applications. Since he didn’t send another email today, I guessed he would update that case at our usual morning briefing.

I pulled up Jack’s last email, sent—I glanced at the computer’s clock—thirty minutes ago at 11:42 p.m. He’d worked late tonight, too. If he’d gone home, he didn’t knock on my door to say good night.

I stretched my shoulders back and continued to read. He had his case nearly completed, according to his report. It was a simple case of embezzlement at a small jewelry design company. Our client didn’t want the police involved. She only hired family.

Sometimes families could be a blessing—a needed support system during a time of sorrow. But other times, they were an anchor around the heart. I inherited three stepchildren when I married Harry seven years ago. The oldest daughter and son had already moved out before I moved in, but the youngest was only eleven at the time. Becca took her dad’s death hard. Her mother had died when she was five. At Harry’s funeral, she told me she considered herself an orphan. That hurt me, even though technically she was right.

I clicked on Becca’s latest email. Eighteen going on thirty. She needed money again. No pleasant greeting. No I love you in closing. Not tonight, Kitten, I said as I closed the laptop lid, shutting down an argument I knew would happen the moment I replied her to ask why.

I got up and headed to the studio-sized fridge I kept in the corner of my office. In it, I had a variety of sodas, fruit juices, single-serving milks, and food in various stages of decay left over from when I couldn’t finish meals I’d brought from home. A snack would keep me awake until I got home.

Just as I reached for a half PB&J sandwich from today’s lunch, my phone rang. My ornery side wanted to let it go to voicemail, thinking it was Becca calling since I hadn’t returned her email. But I had only one phone line, and I used it as my business phone as well as my personal. I checked the caller ID. It had a number with a California area code. Hmm. Curious, I touched the little green phone icon, accepting the call.

Larabee Investigations. Maxine Larabee speaking.

Maxine, I need your help, an anxious, unfamiliar woman’s voice said in a rush. She had a hint of a Southern accent. Not a common inflection in Arizona.

I forgot about my hunger. The fatigue I’d felt a moment ago disappeared in an instant of sudden excitement. How can I help you, Miss. . .? I left the sentence open in what I thought was an obvious question.

My life’s in danger, she said, again with urgency, but this time she nearly whispered it.

You need to call the police—

No! No, I can’t do that—the publicity wouldn’t be good.

Publicity? That was more curious. Are you in immediate danger?

I—I’m not sure. May I come to your office? I’d like to hire you, but I can’t discuss it over the phone.

I checked the clock again. Midnight. Can this wait until morning?

No! I need help now, and y’all come recommended by Scottsdale City Councilman Henry Caplin.

Oh! That was major name-dropping.

Councilman Caplin’s death threats and near abduction two years ago happened to be one of the highest-profile cases ever to come through Larabee Investigations. While Harry took the lead, Jack became a major fixture in Caplin’s life, going everywhere with him as his personal bodyguard. Jack’s muscular stature and intimidating height seemed well-suited for that duty.

Harry actually found the man behind the organization intent on intimidating the councilman into changing industrial building zones, but it was Jack who physically saved the councilman from being hauled away by three men into a waiting Suburban. It had earned our company a tidy sum, along with several new cases. And now another one—if this woman and Caplin were indeed friends. I needed to keep her happy. Do you know where my office is?

Yes—I can be there in twenty minutes. I’m coming by taxi.

Fine. I’ll be waiting down in the lobby to let you in. What’s your name, please?

There was a pause. Avery James. The line went silent a moment before I heard three soft beeps. She’d hung up.

I wanted to do an internet search on any Avery James from California before I let a stranger into our locked building. Sitting behind my desk again, I lifted the laptop lid, waking it up. Using the most logical spelling, I typed it in the search box. The name Avery James wasn’t unique. There were at least forty-two