Two Sisters

Like two alley cats, they glared at each other over the desk—a stalemate, but not really. Lansing didn’t appear to be a fool; he couldn’t be, not if he was running a club as apparently successful as this one. Bars in Houston with good clientele brought in thousands every night. Hell, maybe tens of thousands. Lansing wouldn’t jeopardize his setup by pissing off a cop.

“Tell me,” John prompted.

The door to the office opened unexpectedly. Both men stared. The red-haired dancer John had watched stood on the threshold. His impression had been right, he thought cynically. She was beautiful, but he could see her looks had just started to fade. In a few more years, the gleam in her eyes would be harder and the glow of her skin somewhat dimmer. She’d have to move down the strip to less expensive clubs where the women were older and the drinks cheaper.

For the moment, though, she still looked good. Very good, as a matter of fact. John let his eyes take her all in. Red hair framing a face with high cheekbones and a generous mouth. Short terry-cloth robe allowing a full view of long shapely legs.

Lansing introduced her.

“Detective Mallory, Tracy Kensington. Tracy, this is Detective Mallory. H.P.D.”

Her expression turned stony, giving John another glimpse of her future. Two lines formed on either side of her mouth. “I knew you were a cop. You got the look.”

“Tracy…” Lansing’s voice rose in warning.

She held up both hands, the robe gaping slightly to reveal a patch of perfect skin.

“He’s here about April.”

“Have they found her?” She sounded expectant.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about her disappearance, do you?” John said by way of an answer. “I heard you and Miss Benoit weren’t exactly close.”

“Who told you that?” she asked. Not waiting for him to answer, she spit back, “That sister of hers is—”

“Leave,” Lansing interrupted. “You can close the door on your way out.”

“But I need to talk—”

“Later.”

She sent John one last look, then left, slamming the door.

John turned back to Lansing and raised a single eyebrow.

The manager shrugged his wide shoulders at the unspoken but obvious question. “Professional jealousy, I guess you’d say.”

“How intense?”

Lansing shook his head. “Not that intense. Tracy wouldn’t hurt her. She wouldn’t want to risk breaking a nail.”

“Are you sure?”

Lansing’s eyes grew even colder. “Women are vicious creatures, Detective. I wouldn’t guarantee anything when it comes to them.” He stood up behind the desk. “I hate to be rude, but I’ve got a club to run, so if there’s nothing else…”

John made no move to get up. “Then tell me about April’s trouble and I’ll be on my way.”

“April Benoit’s biggest trouble is April Benoit. She gives everyone here a hard time, from the bar girls to Tracy. She’s got an attitude, that’s the best I can say. A chip on her shoulder.”

“But it didn’t bother you?”

Greg Lansing’s eyes were guarded when they met John’s. “What do you mean?”

“You bailed her out of jail a few months ago. Drunk and disorderly.” John had run her name the day after he’d spoken with Elizabeth. It was how he’d obtained April’s address and place of employment—along with an arrest record Elizabeth obviously didn’t know about.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t anything. The girls were having a party. One of ’em roped some poor sucker into marrying her, so they were celebrating. They got loud and out of hand. No big deal. April didn’t want her sister to know, so I helped her.”

“Tell me more.”

“There’s nothing more to tell.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“She knocked Tracy off her pedestal. What does that say?”

“Did she know how to use it?”

Lansing spoke reluctantly. “She can shine on the clients, if that’s what you’re asking. Every man in the audience thinks she’s dancing just for him—more than one always trying to make the promise real.”

“Anyone in particular? Was she going out with any of the customers?”

“That’s not something we encourage, but the girls don’t always listen. She coulda been.” He came from behind the desk, his fingers beating an impatient rap against the wood. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I really need to get out there. On the floor. We’ve got a convention of computer salesmen coming in at ten.”

John rose slowly. They were almost eye to eye. “You never defined that trouble for me, Mr. Lansing. The trouble you told Elizabeth about.”

Lansing stiffened. “Is this an official investigation?”

“It’s as official as it needs to be.”

“I don’t see a warrant.”

“That’s ’cause I don’t have one.” John smiled amicably. “But you know what? I don’t need one to make your life miserable, do I? I can call the liquor board, the restaurant inspectors, the SOB people.” He waved his hand to the hallway outside. “You know how crazy those sexually oriented businesspeople are. They’d love to see the inside of this place, I’m sure.”