Deven lifted her gaze to meet his. “What do you mean?” She watched him grip the neck of the beer bottle and casually bring it to his lips to take a sip. Still, he didn’t answer but it was evident in his face that he knew something. “Benji,” Deven leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Where is my sister?”

The question had a frown flitting across his face. “That’s why I called you. I thought you knew.”

Her heart sank to the pit of her belly. “What do you mean? You haven’t heard from her?”

“Not in a couple weeks,” he admitted. “I knew she was going out of town, and I had some stuff to take care of. We were supposed to handle some business over the weekend, but she hasn’t called me back. That’s not like her.”

“What kind of business?”

“Just . . . work stuff,” Benji waved his hand to dismiss the question. “That’s why I had to come in town. But Ken would’ve responded to me by now so that’s why I reached out to you.”

Deven sat back feeling defeated as the waitress returned and sat their meals on the table. For some reason, she didn’t think Benji was being completely truthful with her. Well, the part about looking for her she believed, but this “work stuff” and whatever he and Kennedy were tied up in, was the part that seemed suspicious.

She picked at her lettuce, but food was the last thing on her mind. How much could she really trust Benji? She didn’t know. Still, she debated revealing the police and alleged suicide information she had received. But by the look on his face now, he seemed increasingly concerned since it was obvious Deven was just as clueless as he was. And if anybody could possibly know what was going on with Kennedy, it would certainly be her best friend.

The food smelled delicious, the sauce still bubbling with the heat. Benji just sat and stared at his meal, apparently having lost his appetite as well.

“Yesterday, the police came to my door,” Deven began, noting how his face grew even more troubled at the mention of law enforcement. “They found a woman in Kennedy’s apartment that had died of a drug overdose.”

Benji’s eyebrows widened in confused shock. “Wait, what? Who was it?”

Deven shrugged. “They said it was Kennedy, but . . .” she trailed off, remembering the picture she saw.

“Well, was it her?”

His urgency had the suspicion blooming again and Deven looked up at him through narrowed eyes. “Do you sell drugs, Benji?” she asked.

“What?” Benji’s head whipped around to make sure no one had heard the accusation. He leaned in closer, his voice a little above a whisper. “What the hell are you talking about, Deven?”