Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery)

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  When Sandy, our stick of a waitress, returned to check on us, I showed her one of the photos of Jennifer.

  She frowned as she held the photo. “She looks familiar. I think she comes in here. I can’t say for sure, though.”

  “Do you normally work this shift?” I slid my notebook out of my pocket.

  “I do, but I’m part-time. You might want to ask Becca.” She pointed to a tiny waitress across the room. She looked to be about twelve years old. “She works full-time and has worked other shifts. I can’t because I need a sitter. Hard to find one for the night shifts.” She gave me the photo and took her water pitcher to refill glasses at her other tables.

  When Becca strolled past, Bernie flagged her down. She had large round eyes the color of iced tea. They were framed by thick long lashes. She was as cute as a button. She had braces and her hair was reddish-brown, with a stubby ponytail at the nape of her neck. Becca reminded me of Bambi.

  “Can I get somethin’ else for y’all?” She set a stack of menus on the table and had her pad out, even though we weren’t sitting in her section.

  Bernie handed her a photo of Jennifer. “Have you seen her before? In here or anywhere else?”

  “I think I’ve seen her. Do y’all have any other pictures?”

  I gave her one of the close-ups.

  She tapped the face. “Yeah, I’ve seen this girl.” She handed the photos back. “What did she do?”

  “Nothing that we know of. We’d just like to talk to her. Where have you seen her?” I asked.

  “In the parkin’ lot. Beggin’ for money.”

  “What time of day?” Bernie asked.

  “All times. Nights, too. My managers make her and her friends leave when they catch ’em out there.”

  “Do you remember the last time you saw her?” I sipped my ice water.

  “Sure do. Yesterday.” She’d placed her hand on her hip, all attitude.

  “What happened?” I kept writing. We’d been lucky to find this information.

  “I was hoppin’ mad ’cause a big group of people I waited on that night didn’t leave me a tip. Not a dime.” She rolled her Bambi eyes.

  “All right. Go on.” Bernie wrote in his notebook.

  “I was goin’ to my car, and she came from out of nowhere. Scared the heck out of me.”

  “Then what happened?” I asked.

  “She asked for money. Said she was tryin’ to take the bus to someplace, but they all say that.”

  Bernie looked up. “Did you give her any money?”

  She whirled on him. “Do I look like Bank of America or Goodwill to y’all?” She scoffed. “I ignored her.”

  Bernie handed her a business card and a five-dollar bill. “Thanks. If you see her again or think of anything else, please call us.”

  Becca slipped the card and money in her pocket. “Sure.” She grabbed her menus and strolled back to another table. She handed each of the four customers a menu.

  I left a tip on the table for our waitress and headed to the front to pay the bill. Afterward, we went back to the station, where reports were calling our names. Oh, the joy.

  My cell phone rang as I stepped out of the car in the station parking lot. I glanced at the display but didn’t recognize the number.

  “Who is it?” Bernie asked.

  I shrugged then answered. “This is Sydney.”

  “Detective Valentine? This is Monica. Monica Stewart.”

  I raised my brows. “Thanks for getting in touch, Ms. Stewart.” I glanced at Bernie and pointed to the phone, as if he couldn’t figure it out for himself.

  “I’ve been kind of busy. Sorry it took so long,” she whispered. I wondered who she was afraid would hear.

  “We need to talk to you.”

  “I can’t talk to you.” Then why call me?

  “Can we meet you somewhere?”

  “I don’t want to be seen with you in San Sansolita. Too many eyes and ears there.”

  “Where would you like to meet? Give me a time and place.” I hoped she would say right now. Reports could wait.

  Silence. Paper rustled in the background then gum smacking. Why do people make phone calls right before putting something in their mouth? It’s rude.

  “Ms. Stewart?”

  “I can meet you at the McDonald’s in Yucaipa. Now. It’s right off the exit.”

  Bernie and I walked into the Yucaipa McDonald’s, and he went straight to the counter for coffee. I scanned the restaurant and spotted her in a booth near a window toward the back. She’d raised a hand and waved me over. I went to the counter, nudged Bernie, and asked him to get me a bottle of water, then I joined Ms. Stewart.

  “How have you been?” I sat across from her as she stirred sweetener into her coffee with shaking hands. Her previously French-manicured nails had been bitten to the quick.

  She sighed. “As good as I’m going to be, I guess.” She smiled nervously. She’d had her braces removed. She had a pretty smile—toothpaste-commercial quality. It was a change from the braces with food bits stuck in them. Short dark-brown hair had also replaced the frizzy blond. She’d transformed herself. I wondered why.

  “You changed your hair.” I smiled, trying to relax her. Some people tended to talk more when they were nervous. Others talked less. Based on her behavior at Frakes, I pegged her as one who’d talk less. Compliments never hurt to loosen the tongue.

  “Yes, I did. Does it look okay? I did it myself.” She smoothed her hair. “And I got my braces off.”

  “Your hair looks good.” I scooted toward the window when I saw Bernie coming toward us.

  “Hello, Ms. Stewart.” Bernie smiled. “How are you?”

  “Please, call me Monica.” She grinned, smoothed her hair again, then averted her gaze. Bernie must’ve made her more nervous than I did. But that was the second time she’d told him to call her Monica.

  Bernie glanced my way. He’d sensed it, too. This was my deal. I knew he would stay out of it as much as he could. I anticipated him finding an excuse to leave. We didn’t want her to shut down after she took so long to reach out.

  “Monica, we stopped by Frakes Realty, and Sylvia told us you’d quit,” I said.

  She laughed. “Is that what she told you?” She shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  “Is that what happened?” I removed my notebook from my pocket.

  “Not quite.” Monica bit her lip and stared off into the distance. “She told me that I was no longer needed.”

  “She fired you?”

  “Well, technically, I’m not an employee. Not in the sense that I get paid by the hour or have a guaranteed salary.”

  I lowered my voice. “When we were there, I got the feeling that you wanted to tell us something.”

  “I didn’t.” She wouldn’t make eye contact. Monica brought her cup to her lips. Her hand trembled, and she clamped her other hand around the cup to steady it. Coffee sloshed onto her hands anyway. She had no reaction to the heat of the drink. It may have cooled because she hadn’t replaced the lid. I wasn’t sure how long she’d been there before we arrived. Because she’d been pouring sweetener into her coffee just moments ago, I’d assumed she’d arrived right before we did. Bernie offered her napkins, and she wiped her hands while he mopped up the table. She mumbled her thanks.

  I unscrewed the cap to the bottled water Bernie had brought me. “Monica? Did Sylvia threaten you?” Speaking to her was like pulling teeth. My own. With rusty pliers and no anesthetic.

  Monica shrugged. “Let’s put it this way. Sylvia suggested I find another agency because she didn’t need me anymore.”

  “Was it because you told us her cell phone accessed the electronic key for the Moore house?”

  She frowned. “I forgot about that. But, no. That wasn’t it. I think it’s because of her husband.”

  “She said he was away. What did he have to do with her wanting you gone?”

  “She thought we were messing around.” She glanced at Bernie, who had al
ready looked away, though he’d certainly heard every word. He reached into his pocket, slid out his phone, and held it up, the display facing him.

  “I’ve got to take this.” He grabbed the soggy napkins and stood. He dropped them in the trash as he strolled out the door with the phone to his ear, pretending to talk to someone on the other end. What an actor.

  “Were you sleeping with her husband?”

  She stared into my eyes, a bit defiant. “No.”

  Here we go. The reason for her current lack of employment. “Did he flirt with you in front of her?” Something was up, and I wanted to shake her. Hard. Why do these stupid women sleep with married men and expect to come out smelling like a rose?

  “We didn’t flirt.” The tears began to flow. “I met him a few years ago. He was always nice to me.”

  “But Sylvia didn’t like him being… nice?”

  She nodded. “Vincent treats me like a princess. Nobody ever did that before.”

  “Okay. Be honest. What did you want to tell us when we were at Frakes Realty? It seemed like you had something to say, but you couldn’t because Sylvia was there.”

  “I think Sylvia was in the Moore house that night.” She shook her head. “She didn’t lose her cell phone. I saw her with it right before you came into Frakes.”

  “Why would she lie?” Or was Monica lying—to get rid of Sylvia because she wanted her husband? I had to keep that in mind.

  Monica shrugged. “I don’t know. Isn’t that your job? To find out?”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  “I can’t think of anything. You won’t tell her I talked to you?”

  I couldn’t promise her anything, but I shook my head. If she was involved in a crime, all bets were off. “Can I reach you at the phone number you used to call me today?”

  “Yes, that’s my phone number.” She gazed out the window at Bernie, who was pacing with the phone to his ear. Maybe someone had called after all.

  “What’s your home address?” I watched Monica scanning the lot.

  She pursed her lips, but she told me the address. I didn’t mention that I’d already tried to locate her. I flipped to the page in my notebook where I’d written the address I’d received from the DMV. The street was different but the house number was the same. That put her in a completely different area of town. How did it all get so mixed up?

  “I need to go now.” Monica texted someone, not looking at me. “Are we done?”

  “One more question.” My cell phone buzzed, and I glanced at the display. It was my reminder to call Brad. I turned it off.

  “Okay.” She finished her text then looked up with narrowed eyes. She took a sip of coffee and stood.

  I scooted from the booth and joined her. “Do you have plans to get in touch with Sylvia’s husband, now that you’re no longer working there?”

  Her smile twitched, and her face flushed. “Maybe I already have.” She lifted a shoulder. “What do I have to lose now?” She tossed her coffee cup into the receptacle as she strutted toward the glass doors. She shoved the door open with her hip, but before stepping through it, she turned and smiled. Where did the confidence suddenly come from?

  She’d made up her mind about Vincent. I hoped she didn’t regret it. She’d already forgotten about Sylvia—or didn’t care. Big mistake. A woman scorned, and all that.

  I filled Bernie in on the conversation on the way back. As he rolled into the station parking lot, he received a call from Khrystal. She wasn’t feeling well and was dizzy. I hopped out of the car and watched him run to his own, then he sped out of the lot.

  Chapter Nine

  A few hours later, I ate dinner at Mac’s with her family. Her husband, Mike, had cooked a vegetable stew. The stew was one of the best I’d tasted in a long time. Josh picked at his food throughout the meal, removing the stewed tomatoes and eating the corn. I remembered Mac doing that at around his age, too. Once, she’d thrown up after stuffing too many vegetables in her mouth, trying to finish them so that she could have the chocolate cake Mom had made for dessert.

  To go along with the vegetable stew, Mac had baked homemade rolls, which melted in my mouth. The house was toasty and had the fresh bread smell that made me want to eat too much. I touched the roll beginning to form around my middle. That reminded me: I needed to start exercising again. Mac had regained the few pounds she’d lost when I trained with her a couple of months ago.

  “We haven’t worked out in a while. You up for starting again?” I smiled, hoping I didn’t look like the Joker from Batman.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Mac patted her stomach. “Maybe I need to do something before I have to start shopping in the tent section. It’s hard to get back to it.”

  Josh scooted from his chair, ran around the table to Mac, and placed his hands on her stomach. “Oh, Mommy. You’re so squishy.” He squeezed. “Squish. Squish.”

  “Now that’s cute and embarrassing at the same time.” Mac eased his hands off then tickled his tummy. He wriggled away and ran to Mike, who lifted him and set him on his shoulders.

  “Time for your bath, buddy, then it’ll be a story and bedtime.” He turned to me. “’Night, Syd. Josh, say good night to Aunt Syd.”

  Josh held on to Mike’s ears. “Good night, Aunt Syd.”

  “Good night Josh and Mike.” That kid always made me smile. They headed down the hall. Moments later, the sound of Josh’s giggles and the bathtub filling with water echoed toward us. I looked at Mac. “Squish, squish, huh?” I squeezed my roll, but Mac had me beat by a wide margin. “Well, at least he didn’t say you’re so fat.”

  “I’m saying it. I’ve gotten so fat that I’m almost a whale, Syd.” She grabbed her belly again. “What time do you want to get started? Morning or evening?”

  “Let’s try mornings—six o’clock—get it out of the way. If I wait until evening I won’t do it. I’ve been tired lately and I know it’s from lack of exercise. I can’t seem to get enough sleep and have no energy.”

  “You know, women can get tired when they’re pregnant.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

  I studied her face. “Anyway, let me know which day you want to start.”

  “Hey, when do I get to meet your guy?” Mac leaned in, whispering.

  Why the whispering? It wasn’t a secret that I was dating.

  “Soon.” Time to change the subject. “I’m thinking about getting out of my apartment.”

  “What?! You’re moving in with Brad? Already?” Her eyes had grown wide, and she gripped the table, her knuckles white.

  “Calm down. Of course I’m not moving in with Brad. Do you know me at all?”

  “Then what are you talking about getting out of your apartment?”

  “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to buying a house. What do you think?”

  “Oh, Syd! That’s a great idea!” She jumped out of her seat, clapping her hands.

  “Again, calm down. Do I have to put you in restraints, or what?” I shook my head. “What’s the big deal?”

  “What’s the big deal? This is big! First, you get a boyfriend. Now, you’re going to buy a house.” She returned to her seat with a dopey smile on her face.

  “Uh, huh. So?” I failed to see the reason for her outburst. People buy houses all of the time. I’m a person. I can buy a house, too.

  “Ahhh. My Sydney is growing up.” She folded her hands under her chin and tilted her head.

  “Oh, for the love of—”

  “Where can we start looking?” She hopped up, flounced into the living room, and picked up some magazines. She had a bigger dopey smile on her face when she returned.

  “We?” I couldn’t help frowning.

  Mac stopped mid-stride. “You and me, of course. Right?” A pout crept onto her face.

  Uh-oh.

  I sighed and forced a smile. “Right. You and me. We’ll look.” Now what? I thought I would ask Brad since he dealt in real estate. I hadn’
t prepared myself for the possibility that Mac might want to be involved.

  “When do we start?” She sat beside me and placed the magazines between us. They were real estate magazines of new home communities. She flipped the pages and pointed. “This one is not far from here.” She looked at me, smiling.

  Hint, hint. She expected me to move close. Would that be so bad?

  “Wait a minute. You have a house. What are you doing with these? Are you looking for a new house?”

  “Oh, no. I just love looking at these magazines, especially the upscale communities.” She shrugged then looked over her shoulder toward the hall. “A girl can dream, can’t she?” she whispered.

  Well, apparently, she could. No harm in that, I supposed. I couldn’t help but feel her joy. I looked at the photo and read the page. My eyes lit up, I was sure, because Mac grinned, thinking I was excited about her magazines. Something else had caught my eye—an ad for a new community built by Portrero Meyer Homes. I didn’t know what to do with that information, but it was something new, all the same.

  I slid the magazine closer to me. “Can I take this one with me?”

  “Sure.” Suddenly, Mac looked at me. “Hey, you never answered me about Brad.”

  “I’m sorry. What was the question?” I was stalling. I knew what she’d asked. Oh, the pressure.

  “When do I get to meet him? You’ve been dating for weeks.”

  “I’ll talk to him about it. I haven’t met his family yet, either.” I hoped that would suffice—I was wrong.

  “You shouldn’t meet his family until he’s met yours.” She pursed her lips and nodded, arms crossed. “That’s the rule.”