“Hey, Sydney. What’s up? Something wrong with your phone?” Theresa asked.
“I don’t know. This is weird.”
“What’s weird?” She looked over my shoulder at the display. “Do you need to use my phone?” She held her phone out.
“No. Maybe he changed his number and forgot to tell me.”
“Who changed his number?” Theresa sat in my visitors’ chair. “What are you talking about?”
“Brad. It said his number was no longer in service.”
“Uh, huh. And he didn’t give you his new number?” Theresa frowned, too.
“He didn’t. Wait, maybe he left a voicemail.” I had no voicemail notifications, but I connected to voicemail anyway. I listened to messages and deleted a couple old ones. “Nope.” I shrugged.
“Hmm. Maybe you got dumped. Sorry.” She gave me a look of pity.
I didn’t need, or want, her pity. “What kind of coward just changes his number and doesn’t tell me he’s breaking up with me?”
“Well, he kind of did tell you by not giving you his number.” She stood. “Maybe he just forgot. Yes, I’m sure that’s what happened.” She didn’t seem like she believed that any more than I did.
I stood and shoved my chair under the desk. “Jerk!” I recalled the dinner he’d made, the romantic table setting, the tacos he’d packed for me when I had to leave yet another date because of my job, and the thoughtful napkins he’d included in the bag with the tacos. I still had his Tupperware container. My eyes burned, and a lump formed in my throat. I swallowed then turned away and busied myself with pretending to look for something in my desk. “I want to go to Frakes Realty this morning, but I have to use the restroom first.” I hurried to the ladies’ room, hoping I would make it to an empty stall before anyone saw my eyes tear up. I didn’t want anyone to see my face, and I didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet.
As it turned out, I’d shed a tear or two, but got myself together before Theresa came looking for me in the ladies’ room. I splashed water on my face, stopped at the water fountain, then met her at her desk. I was ready to hit the road. She took one look at me and didn’t say a word.
As I drove us to Frakes Realty, I caught the sideways glances coming from Theresa. I knew she had something on her mind, but she gave me a break. Good. I wanted to focus. Someone had lied, and I needed to get closer to the truth. I didn’t know if I would find the truth there, but I saw no harm in trying.
I rolled into the parking lot and pulled up between a Honda Accord and a Fiat. I hoped one belonged to Sylvia. I slid my notebook from my pocket and jotted down the plate numbers. I marched to the office entrance, with Theresa hot on my heels hurrying to catch up. Get a move on, girl! I pushed the door open and went inside. What the hell? Where was the furniture? I turned around and bumped into Theresa before heading in the direction of Sylvia’s office—or so I thought. The office was empty. I don’t mean there wasn’t anyone there. I mean there was nothing in the office. Not a desk, chair, or even a paperclip. Well, I’ll be doggone. Where the heck did they go? I looked at Theresa. She shrugged. I glared at her as if it was her fault. I wanted to kick something, but there was nothing here to kick, except Theresa. Can’t kick her because she’d kick me back.
I sighed and walked through the offices, hoping to find a clue as to where they’d gone. And why? Could they have tried to kill a certain detective? Or were they up to no good and running? I chewed the inside of my cheek. I needed to think. I looked at Theresa and shook my head. I wondered why the door was unlocked—the door! Was their name still on it? I hadn’t noticed. I walked to the front door, shoved it open, and stepped outside. There was no longer a Frakes Realty sign on the door.
Theresa stood next to me with her arms crossed. “Now what do we do?”
“Got any ideas?” I walked back to our car then stood there, looking around. I felt like kicking the car’s tires.
“You could get in touch with that girl. The ex-mistress.”
I suspected Monica Stewart was no longer an ex-mistress. I could call her, but first, I wanted to call Sylvia Frakes. I had her cell phone number from the first time Bernie and I spoke to them. Even if she had lost her phone, she must have replaced it—and might still have the same number.
“Do you think she killed Jane Doe?” Theresa frowned.
“I don’t know, but somebody may have tried to kill me last night.” I reached for the door handle.
“Wait! What?” Theresa grabbed my arm and spun me around. “Someone tried to kill you? And this is the first I’m hearing about it?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” I knew I hadn’t.
“No! What happened?” She’d placed her hands on her hips.
“Someone set fire to the apartment next to mine.”
“Get out of town! How do you know someone set it? Maybe it was an electrical fire.”
“That’s what I thought, too. But the fire chief told me it was arson.”
“Why do you think they were trying to kill you and not the tenant in the other apartment?”
“Because nobody lived in the other apartment. Plus, an accelerant was used on the living room wall we share.”
“Wow. What time was it?” Theresa looked around, studying everyone who walked by. The people put their heads down and scurried away.
“About two o’clock in the morning. Somewhere around there. I heard the smoke detector go off, then I smelled the smoke and was able to get out in time.”
“Boy, oh, boy. I’ve never been in a fire before. I don’t know what I would’ve done if it had been me.” She shook her head.
“You would’ve done the same as I did. You’re a cop. You’d keep your cool, for the most part, and do what you had to do.”
“Did you keep your cool? Were you scared?” she asked.
“I sure was. Really scared.”
“So, you think this case is the reason for the fire?” She pursed her lips. “Maybe the man that rented Jake and Shelly the house is after you.”
“Why me? You’re the one snooping around, looking for him.” I watched her reaction to that bit of news.
She looked around the area. “That’s true. I’d better watch my back. I haven’t found that guy yet.” She opened the car door and slid behind the wheel, so I gave her the key.
“Just look for someone resembling Abe Lincoln.” Laughing, I buckled up as she pulled out of the lot. “He should be easy to spot. I wonder if he was wearing that hat when she met him.”
“Yeah, right.” She chuckled. “Hey, where are you living now?”
“With my sister and her family. They have a spare bedroom.”
“Well, you said you were thinking about buying a house. This is your chance to get out there and start looking.”
“Yeah. Well, I was planning on talking about it with Brad since that’s his area of expertise. But…” A sense of loss crept up on me, and I gazed out the window.
“You know what? You need to go see the man. You know where he lives. Go see what’s what.” She cruised down the street, past restaurants.
“Really? I don’t take rejection well.” I swallowed, feeling my eyes start to burn again. I blinked.
“Who does? Besides, if he did dump you, what do you have to lose by going to his house?”
I turned toward her. “Let me put that another way. If he dumped me, what do I have to gain by going there?”
“Hmm. I see your point.” She shrugged. “Go anyway.”
“Let’s have lunch first. I see someone in the Denny’s parking lot who I’ve been waiting to talk to.”
She pulled into a parking space near the front entrance.
Chapter Twelve
Before we got out of the car, I showed Theresa the photos of Jennifer Moore. As we strolled across the lot, I filled her in on what I’d learned from Becca, the Denny’s waitress.
The group of drug addicts eyeballed me with narrowed eyes. Yeah, you’re the ones who should be leery? I’m sure some, if not all, of the
m had experience with law enforcement. People with substance abuse issues usually did. The very careful, lucky, or wealthy ones escaped, at least for a while. Eventually, it caught up to all of them, no matter their socioeconomic status.
I hoped Jennifer wouldn’t run because I sure didn’t feel like chasing her. I wanted to know if she knew Jane. I stepped in front of her. She looked shrunken and weak. Her filthy clothes hung on her skinny frame. A sour odor wafted from her body and her hair was stringy.
She backed away. “What do you want?” She practically spat out the words. Attitude was okay. I had some, too.
“Are you Jennifer Moore?” I drew myself up, nice and tall. According to her father, she was about an inch shorter than I was. That looked about right, if she stopped slouching.
“Who wants to know?” She glanced at her friends and smirked.
Everyone’s a comedienne these days. Comics need an audience. Time to get rid of hers.
I glanced at Theresa then gazed at the group of junkies. I gave her a photo of Jane. She guided the others several feet away, across the parking lot. Jennifer backed away from me then looked behind me and to each side of the lot. Was she ready to make a run for it?
“I’m not in the mood to chase you. If you run, I’ll catch you.” I snapped my fingers. “Like that. Guaranteed.” I hadn’t been working out lately, but I knew I could easily run her down. “I just have a few questions.”
Jennifer’s shoulders slumped further. “All right.” I guessed I was keeping her from making a living panhandling.
“Let’s start with introductions. I’m Detective Sydney Valentine, of the San Sansolita Police Department.”
“Cool name.”
“Thanks.” I pointed to Theresa. “She’s Detective Sinclair.”
She flicked her gaze in Theresa’s direction then turned back to me. “You know I’m Jennifer Moore. What do you want?” She folded her arms in front of herself and thrust out a bony hip. The girl needed a meal—and a bath.
“First of all, where do you live?” I got my notebook out.
She shrugged. “Here and there. What’s it to you, anyway?” She scratched her arms and picked at a sore until it bled.
“Where were you three days ago?”
She scoffed. “How the hell do I know? I don’t know where I’m going to be from one minute to the next.” Her mom had said she lived moment to moment.
“Look. This will work out better for both of us if you lose the attitude.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. I expected her to pout next. “Fine.”
“When was the last time you were at your parents’ house?”
Another eye roll. “Which house?”
“The one they’re selling. In San Sansolita.”
“It’s been awhile. Like, maybe six months.” She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know.”
I pulled out Jane Doe’s photo. “Do you know her?”
She frowned and leaned in. “She looks… dead. Is she dead?”
“Do you know her?” I moved the photo closer to her face.
She took the photo from me. “Hard to tell ’cause she’s dead. She’s pretty banged up, too.”
“Think hard. Have you ever seen her before? In your parents’ house? A family friend, maybe?”
She shrugged. “I don’t recall ever seeing her before. Ever.” She handed me the photo then glanced at her friends. “Can I go now?”
“Where do you live?”
“Here and there. I told you. Everywhere.” She smirked.
“There are places where you can get help. Get off the streets. Safe places.”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard it all before. Are we done?”
“Sure.” I waved Theresa over. That was a bust. I ambled back to our car and put the photo back in my pocket.
Theresa joined me. “Get anything?”
“No. She doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going. Lives from moment to moment.” I watched two females from the group converge on a man exiting Denny’s. He hurried to his car with his head down, ignoring them. “You get anything from the friends?”
“I asked where we could find them if we need more assistance and got nothing. I’ll tell you, they’re a secretive bunch.” She looked at the gang. “I showed them the picture, and they all said they had no idea who Jane Doe was. They didn’t seem to care, either.” Theresa headed to the driver’s side and got in.
“Tough crowd.” I got in, too.
“I didn’t like them. Not a one.” She sniffed her arm. “Do I stink? I feel like I need a bath now.”
I laughed. “Are you hungry?”
“Absolutely not! I’ve lost my appetite. I want to go brush my teeth and get some hand sanitizer.”
I nodded. “Let’s stop at Walgreens. It’s a block down.”
“Well, all right.” She sniffed her other arm and frowned.
I bought two packs of Trident spearmint gum from Walgreens and gave Theresa one. “This will have to do for now.”
Theresa purchased hand sanitizer and slathered it on. We headed back to the station and I caught her staring at me when she stopped at a red light.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She spoke in what she probably thought was a soothing voice—like someone at a funeral home, making arrangements for a dearly departed loved one. I supposed my relationship with Brad fit the criteria in her opinion. I had a dead relationship.
“Actually, I don’t, if you don’t mind.” I gazed out the window. My phone buzzed, but I didn’t recognize the number on the display. “Hello?”
“Sydney, it’s me. Brad.”
I glanced at Theresa, who was watching me. I frowned and pointed to the steering wheel. “Drive.”
“Excuse me?” Brad asked.
“I’m in the car. I was talking to my nosey companion.”
“Oh. How’s Bernie doing?”
“Good guess, but my nosey companion isn’t Bernie this time. It’s Detective Theresa Sinclair.” I gazed at Theresa and grinned.
She rolled her eyes.
“Tell her I said hello.”
“Nosey companion, Brad says hello.”
“Hi, Brad!” Theresa said, all cheerful. “Are you dumped?” she whispered.
I shrugged. “Brad, why did you call?”
“Do I need a reason? It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”
“That’s because I couldn’t get through. When I tried, I received a message that your phone wasn’t in service.”
“Oh! My phone fell out of my pocket when I was cutting the grass, and I ran over it. I got a new phone and switched carriers and phone numbers. I got a good deal to switch.”
“Why did it take you so long to let me know?”
He sighed. “This is embarrassing.”
“Try me.”
“I couldn’t remember your number. That might come as a surprise to you because I’m awesome and all that.”
“And don’t forget modest,” I said.
He chuckled then cleared his throat. “I’m just not good with remembering phone numbers. I always use my contacts or recent calls list when I call you.”
I knew about not remembering phone numbers. I’d been trying to get better at memorizing important numbers.
“How did you manage to call me now?” This was going to be good. I couldn’t wait. What kind of bull was this guy trying to feed me?
“Get this. I went back to the e-mail you sent to my personal e-mail after we met on the dating site. You gave me your cell phone number. Remember?”
“You kept it?” I felt my eyes tear up. How sweet was that? I sensed Theresa gazing at me, so I turned to the window.
“I keep all of your e-mails. Don’t you keep mine?”
Uh, no. Nope. “I kept your Tupperware.” I wasn’t good at being sentimental.
Brad laughed. “All right. When do I get it back? You owe me a cooked dinner, by the way. That reminds me. What happened to your apartment
building? I stopped by and it looked like there was a fire.”
“That’s one of the things I was trying to call you about. There was a fire. Arson, in fact.”
“What the hell happened? Where? Are you all right?”
“So many questions. The fire chief told me he thought someone was trying to hurt or kill me.”
“Are you kidding me? They torched your apartment? With you in it?”
I would’ve bet any amount of money that he was squeezing the life out of his phone and turning all shades of red.
“Well, not exactly. They set fire to the empty apartment next to mine and used an accelerant.”
Theresa pulled into the IHOP parking lot. I glanced at her, and she shrugged, rubbing her stomach. She mouthed, “I’m starving now.” I nodded. She cut the engine and headed toward the restaurant entrance.
“Maybe it was accidental,” he said.
“Brad, he was sure it was arson. I believed him.” I stepped out of the car. “I have to get going. Can we talk or get together later?”
“Sure. I’d like to see you this weekend, Sydney.”
Oops. I forgot about babysitting Josh. It was time to piss or get off the pot, so to speak. “Okay. Let’s talk later.” We disconnected, and I headed toward the IHOP entrance. My phone’s text message notification buzzed. I read Bernie’s text. He’d decided to take the day off to stay with Khrystal. I responded with an “Ok. Hope she feels better soon.”
I joined Theresa in IHOP and gave her the scoop on Brad while we gorged on our food. She grinned the entire time. After eating, we went back to the station. I put in a request to Dispatch for information from the DMV for the license plates I’d written down while we were in the Frakes Realty parking lot. We wrote up our reports on the day’s events before the end of our shift.
I called Bernie. They were home, eating dinner. I headed over there. I wanted to see Khrystal and also had some questions for him about buying a condo. Bernie could add his input on the pros and cons since he’d made his purchase several years ago. He’d had plenty of time to have regrets, or not. I’d never heard him complain, however.
Because of traffic congestion, it took me a little longer than usual to make it to Bernie’s condo. By the time I arrived, Khrystal had gone to bed early. Bernie told me she’d had another rough night, but she didn’t need to go to the hospital. He said she was exhausted. His skin sagged and had a grayish tone to it. Stubble covered his usually clean-shaven face, and his hair was uncombed. I couldn’t imagine what Khrystal must have looked like.
Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery) Page 29