Both were young, with olive complexions, strong noses, and pretty, full-lipped faces under lush black hair. The taller, thinner one wore a fitted black silk blouse over low-rise black slacks and red sandals with four-inch heels. Her companion, round-faced, curvier, and firmly built, sported the same combo in chocolate brown.

Tall swung her food. Short said, “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m Lieutenant Sturgis, LAPD.”

“Lieutenant. Wow,” said Short. “Finally.”

“Finally?”

“We figured it would happen eventually,” said Tall. “Given the nature of our business. But don’t worry, we’re legal, nothing sleazy. In fact, we’re allergic to sleaze—it makes us sneeze.”

Shared laughter. Both girls flipped their hair.

“C’mon in, guys, we’ll tell you all about us.”

The setup was a small reception room, unstaffed and empty, and two larger offices, each furnished with antique carved desks, tufted pink-suede couches, and a bank of flat-screen computers.

“How ’bout we use mine?” said Tall. “There’s still hot coffee in my Krups.”

Short said, “Sounds good,” and ushered us into the left-hand office. Drapes were drawn and she opened them to a view of taller buildings on Wilshire. “Make yourselves comfortable, guys. Black, or cream and shug?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

Tall settled behind her desk, checked her computers before turning to us. “I’m Suki Agajanian and this is my sister, Rosalynn.”

“Hence, SukRose,” said Short. “Everyone calls me Rose.”

I said, “When I heard it, I assumed it was a play on sucrose—sugar.”

Rosalynn Agajanian ticked chocolate-nailed fingers. “Carbon twelve Hydrogen twenty-two Oxygen eleven. Or, if you really want to impress someone, blah blah blah glucopyranosyl blah blah blah fructofuranose.”

Milo said, “I’m beyond impressed. Suk and Rose, huh?”

Suki Agajanian said, “Our parents named us for a joke. Daddy’s a biochemist and Mom’s a molecular physicist. The line was we were their sugar babies.” Her nose wrinkled. “Growing up, we thought it was lame, despised when they grouped us together as a dyad.”

“You’re twins?”

“No,” said Suki. “I’m twelve months older. She”—pointing—“is the whoopsie baby.”

Rosalynn pouted, then giggled. “You play, you pay.”

“Anyway,” said Suki, “we made limoncello out of lemons when we started the business. Perfect name, don’t you think?”

“Perfect,” said Milo. “So business is good.”

“Business is great,” said Rosalynn. “We incorporated just over a year ago and already have over ten thousand names in our data bank.”

Suki said, “Actually, closer to twelve thousand at last count.” She clicked a keyboard. “Three thousand six hundred eighty-seven Daddies and seven thousand nine hundred fifty-two Sweeties. Not including any that signed up today.”

I said, “Who runs the New York office? Sister Honey?”

Both girls laughed.