“I’m fine.” Laurel gestured to the matching leather chair. “This is official business, Abigail. I need to know everything about those flowers and now.”

Abigail rolled her eyes and took the chair, sitting gracefully in it with the mountains behind her. The weak light poured inside the windows, caressing her reddish-brown hair, which she’d bluntly cut to fall at her shoulders, just like Laurel’s. Her features were delicate and her skin more cream than peaches, making her unique eyes stand out even more. Today she wore black slacks and a green sweater that probably cost as much as Laurel’s entire wardrobe. “I returned late last night from a retreat, didn’t see the flowers, and only noticed them when I woke up. They’ve obviously been there for days.”

Laurel sat back and watched for any nuances in Abigail’s expression. She had an eidetic memory and didn’t need to take notes, but she would write down the entire conversation later. “Your neighbor’s house looks vacant. Any chance they saw anything?”

“No.” Abigail studied Laurel as intensely as she was being studied. “The Northertons are snowbirds. They move to Arizona in October and don’t return until May or June. Like most people around here.”

“Are they retired?” Laurel asked.

“Yes. He worked in Silicon Valley and she owns a chain of eye clinics across the country. They retired here three years ago because their children, two of them, live in Genesis Valley. They see the kids here in the summer and then have them all visit Arizona in the winter.” Abigail picked a piece of lint off her dark pants. “How predictable, right?”

“That life might sound ideal to many people,” Laurel murmured. “Why would anybody leave flowers scattered over your lawn?”

Abigail threw up her hands. She wore silver rings on both, one with a stunning ruby in the center. “I don’t know. Black dahlias, as I’m sure you’re aware, symbolize betrayal.”

“Who have you betrayed?”

Abigail stilled. “I’d watch my tone, were I you, sister.” Her warning held a muted British accent left over from attending school for years in Great Britain.

“Why is that?” Laurel asked, keeping her tone mild.

“You really do not want to hurt my feelings.” Abigail leaned forward. “Speaking of feelings, how is our Captain Huck Rivers?”

Huck had worked on the case that revealed Abigail’s half brother, not related to Laurel, had been a serial killer in the area, one Abigail had killed to protect Laurel. Her brother had murdered young blondes and thrown them off Snowblood Peak to the valley below, and concurrent jurisdiction had worked for both agencies. “I have no idea,” Laurel said.

Abigail smiled, flashing white teeth. “Oh, sister. We both know you and that mouth-breathing hottie with the hard ass rolled around in the sheets last year, as they say. Surely you’ve kept in touch.”